


The Oncoming Storm

by d8rkmessngr



Series: Storming the Universe [1]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), Torchwood
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dark, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Prequel, Protectiveness, Rape/Non-con Elements, Season/Series 01, Sexual Abuse, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-24
Updated: 2013-10-03
Packaged: 2017-12-27 11:45:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 42
Words: 464,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/978496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d8rkmessngr/pseuds/d8rkmessngr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He left Jack on the game station. Abandoned. But then…he came back…different. An AU look on what happens if things happened differently. Doctor Who 'verse with Torchwood later on. Be sure to read the warnings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 'I bring life.'

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** Please read each chapter's individual warnings. Some parts down the road may briefly mention non-con, abuse, and/or violence. Dark in the beginning. Please note there are some dark thoughts as my boys are broken…for now. Each chapter will be labeled for your convenience. 
> 
> **Author's Notes:** Please note this is an AU that will cross over DW to TW season one. I'm probably spoiling my own story, but it will eventually be Janto. There's a bit of a journey first. I hope you enjoy. I'm working on this and intend to post regularly every other day. And again, I always believe in happy endings. So without further ado…

**Game Station, Year 200,100**

_'I bring life.'_

He couldn't place the voice he could hear tickling his mind. A rush of sensation, memory and real, swept over him: Extermination, death, then the painful release of muscles that couldn't move before, and his first breath.

It was with a gasp that Jack Harkness returned to life, to awareness. He staggered to his feet, shaking fists up already because his last memory was…

Gone.

He blinked, refocused. Still gone. 

"Okay," Jack drawled out with a rasp. "I was not alone last time, I didn't order any hyper-vodkas, and I'm not waking up in a bed so…where did everyone go?" Jack glanced down at himself, his t-shirt and vest were flawless; then again, extermination by Daleks never left a physical mark. His pale blue eyes swept out before him and landed on three small, innocuous looking piles of dust.

Jack fingered one pile. He arched a brow as he noted it felt softer and finer than the beaches of Boeshane. He let it trickle between his fingers and looked up, frowning.

No screaming. No gunfire. Not even the grating, whining robotic Dalek chanting. Nothing. 

"He did it," Jack breathed, a grin spreading across his face. "I can't believe it! He did it!" With a little whoop, Jack leapt to his feet. He jumped over the piles of Dalek dust everywhere, not caring if his boots were kicking them up as he went. Jack skidded around the corner to the corridor where he could see the edges of the TARDIS light. Jack could hear its hum, like a beacon. He was about to call out to the Doctor and froze at the end of the hallway. Stunned, Jack watched the TARDIS fade until the last sight he saw was its blue police siren light twirling, twirling until even that was gone.

"Doctor…"


	2. "Yes, you were abandoned."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning For This Chapter:** This chapter contains explicit sex, strong language.  
>  **Notes For This Chapter:** Note there are events here that was referenced in DW's "The Parting of Ways" and DW's "The Empty Child"

**London, Blitz 1941**

With a final thrust, Jack groaned, arched his back, his eyes still clenched tight. It was easier to pretend, easier this way to forget in a blinding, dizzy rush of an anonymous orgasm. 

The hands snaking up his shoulders from behind, however, were too callused, too large, too rough, to fool him for long. 

Jack rolled away, eyes still shut until his sweaty back hit the duvet that covered the scalloped roof tiles. He lay there panting, listening to the bombs go off in the distance, shivering as the night air acrid with fire graced his cooling skin.

A deep chuckle off his right ear made Jack swallow hard.

"You are a crazy fool, Captain Harper." A broad hand stroked his chest, lingered around his nipples, and gave them a painful pinch. "Only you would think to be out here, on a rooftop, with the Germans bombing around us." There was awe and maybe a bit of fear in his voice because, yes, he was crazy to fuck someone out on the rooftop during the Blitz. 

"I would like to think of myself as being _avant garde_ ," Jack quipped as he ran a hand through his damp bangs. The smile he got was warm, the kind a friend might give to another friend they pass by on the street. Shit, he must know him then. Frantically, he tried to think of the man's name. He was tall, dark, and perhaps handsome if it weren't for the disfiguring scar down his left jaw. In the right light, the right turn towards him, Jack could fool himself. It was so good of a deception he forgot to remember the man's name.

Ooh, that's a no-no in any century, Captain, Jack thought fatalistically. He glanced quickly at the bars on the man's uniform. He was already getting dressed. Jack could hear Big Ben far away. No, not yet, still too much time. Jack propped himself up on one elbow.

"General," Jack guessed from the uniform, trying to remember his 20th century military history. He lowered his voice in invitation. "Going so soon?"

Under the moonlight and distant fires, the look the General gave him made his throat ache. "I should be with my men in the shelters."

"We're safe here." This building survived until the 24th century, but Jack didn't tell him that. He smiled ruefully to himself and thought if Jack had never met him, Jack could have easily left for that spot right now, timelines be damned. 

The general gave him another look over his shoulder as he pulled on his trousers. It was a dark look, a hungry look that roamed Jack's naked body with a greed Jack knew he could take advantage of. Jack kept the small smile on his face as the nameless, almost faceless man stood over him. 

"Ah," the general murmured as he stroked himself through his open fly, his erection already renewing. "but are you safe from me?"

Corny in any century. Jack would have rolled his eyes but he didn't want Ge—Gerald, yes, Gerald was his name, to walk away so he just kept smiling even as he stood higher on his knees, closed his eyes when the general curled a hand tightly to the back of his neck, and roughly pulled him towards his crotch.

And just for a few minutes more, Captain Jack Harkness, currently known as Captain James Harper, pretended. 

The German bombs were never ending and proved to be a good motivator for formerly repressed men to tumble into bed with another man, easily swayed by the threat of death all around them and Jack's smoky, sly, inviting smile.

It was easier with men than women, Jack had discovered. He didn't have to worry about babies (on their side at least) or needing to promise forever after to them. He'd discovered on Ellis Island that he could keep his promise on forever, but his mate? Death lured them all away from him like a lover. No, it was better to feel cock slipping against his, its heated hardness forcing its way into his body, sweaty bodies crashing against each other in a physical frenzy that invited no memories, no feelings, and no regrets. Just sex. Yes, it was easier with men. They just wanted to drive their fears deep into Jack's body and Jack…he just wanted that brief blinding white hot blankness he got pistoning into a body or being pistoned into. He just wanted to pretend. 

Jack _wanted_ to pretend that time wasn't realigning and a blue police box would soon materialize in the heart of World War II London in five days. No, it was the wrong police box and timelines must be kept unspoiled. Even if Jack never met him before, as a former Time agent he knew too much could go wrong if a timeline got corrupted. But oh God, oh God, he would be right there and yet so unfathomably out of reach; him and Rose. They would come and go, taking a version of him, a bit of him, then discard him hundreds of millennia away. But they would be right there. Just five days. Five more days.

"Harder," Jack sobbed out and gritted his teeth as he felt the anonymous cock (yet another face turned in the right light, the right way) ram into him. He slammed back against his lover (Carl? Joe? Adam?), trying to get him to exorcise him of faces that had haunted him for over seventy years. "Harder, damn it," Jack grated out. He grunted, his head hung low to his chest, his arms straining to hold him up. Jack panted. He could feel tears—no, sweat, it was only sweat—streaming down his face and dripping down to the yellowing folds of table clothes beneath him. They had swept every folded cloth off the pantry in the basement of the officers' club. They couldn't find a bed. Every one of them was full of frightened boys with their sweethearts one last night before they go off to war. The man had suggested the basement. He was impatient and had just swept the fabric to the grimy floor with a meaty arm before demanding Jack stripped. 

The release was sharp, painful, yet woefully inadequate in chasing away the gong of the grandfather clock upstairs. Jack stayed on his hands and knees, panting, winded. The other didn't even say goodbye. Jack waited until he’d left, got dressed and snuck out of the basement. He would have cleaned up the linens (young Lana had enough work picking up after the officers upstairs) but the clock gonged again and again. Jack couldn't bear hearing it any more and fled. Five days, his mind chanted as he ran out the building. 

Five days.

_"Mummy?"_

Odd seeing from this vantage, Jack Harkness truly understood the damage, the near catastrophe he’d wrought. He watched from a tower as Rose climbed up to save a dead boy. He fought back the urge to go after her when she floated away in her Union Jack shirt. He stood there, watching himself dance with Rose by Big Ben.

Then, he saw _him_.

His fingers twitched the minute he saw him dash out the alley, calling out for Rose, talk to a cat, and then chase after a young woman. His fingers twitched. His body ached. Right there. God, there was the TARDIS. He still had his key. He could just…just…But he _couldn’t_.

"Damn you!" Jack shouted down to the alley. Despair had roughened into rage after decades of waiting. The bombing concealed both voice and presence. _He_ never looked up.

Jack dropped to his knees, chest heaving. He could find himself, his past self running around with a pair of who he’d thought at the time were from the Agency. Jack should warn himself. Don't go near them. Don't have anything to do with them. Get away as fast as you can. 

Don't…don't fall in _love_ with them. 

He was right there. Himself, following after Rose like a stupid, stupid boy. He was over there, foolishly letting himself get enchanted by an extinct Time Lord and let himself believe he could possibly be redeemed. Jack should find himself. Maybe…maybe kill him? Would it kill his present self? Horses, starvation and a gun shot to the heart didn't strike him down. Would temporal murder? Or was it temporal suicide?

Jack laughed. He laughed and laughed until he was crying and suddenly he couldn't stop. He doubled over on the roof, forehead to his fists, bombs screaming around him, London burning, and here he was sobbing over a stupid police box below him. 

Tears dried and so did his strength. Jack sat there for hours, days, he didn't know. He couldn't stand; he might be too tempted to just drop down ten stories below. Jack had an arm on one drawn knee as he dully watched them return finally, laughing because a virus was no longer a virus, and he knew moments later, they were going to come save him.

They should have left him with the bomb.

The familiar sound of the TARDIS slipping back into the vortex brought tears to his eyes. Jack didn’t want to watch but he couldn't bring himself to tear his eyes away from the fading box. Going. Going. Gone again.

"See you in hell, Doctor," Jack whispered, his eyes gritty, his throat tight. He stayed where he was, watching where the TARDIS had stood before. He could imagine what was being played out right now. He would be having his drink right now, readying to die with an antiquated German bomb. 

Behind him, a breeze that was not warm, not cold, that blew. Jack took no notice. Probably a fighter plane's wake as it zipped by to its target. Jack ignored it, the torn flyers and debris slapping against his body, the pebbles scratching any part of exposed skin.

It wasn't until he heard the odd whooping sound and the swish that Jack's head jerked up. He spun around, mouth agape as he saw the TARDIS solidified just a few feet away on the roof.

The wind died down and Jack stood to his feet. He stared, because it couldn't possibly be here. He was going mad.

When the door creaked open, Jack staggered forward a step, still in disbelief. A slim man, just his height, with short, light hair stepped out. He tapped a finger to his chin, scanned his surroundings, stopping short when his eyes fell on Jack.

"There you are!" A huge grin spread on the man's pale face and he looked rather handsome now despite the somber dark suit.

"Doctor?" Jack stammered, not coming closer. "You…you look different."

The man frowned, grimaced, before he lit up and snapped his fingers. "Ah, yes, regeneration! Die, come back, new and improved." Shrewd light eyes narrowed on Jack. "How did you know it was me then?"

Jack nodded towards the TARDIS. "The police box sort of gave it away." Jack took another step then he stopped. Something lumped in his throat. "I've been waiting a long time." Jack tried to steady his voice. "You abandoned me."

He didn't flinch at the accusation. "Yes, you were abandoned." Jack flinched instead. 

The man's voice lowered to a lull. He came close enough to frame Jack's face with both his hands. Jack stood transfixed. He couldn't have pulled away even if for some reason he’d wanted to.

"But now I found you," his voice was low and soothing. "I came back for you." Suddenly, he smiled.

"My handsome Jack."


	3. "It felt different."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning For This Chapter:** Other than the sex (not yet), none. Abusive relationship overtones this chapter.

**Time Vortex**  
 **One week later...**

It felt different. 

Jack stood in front of the wardrobe and scrutinized himself. It felt odd to be standing here again. And there was a sickening feeling when he discovered barely any Rose's or his clothing remained on the ship. It was like the Doctor threw everything away save a few articles for sentimental reasons. 

If the Doctor did sentimental, that was. 

"Do Time Lords spring-clean?" he muttered. Jack reached in for the greatcoat he'd hung there. 

In a fit of nostalgia, Jack had changed into his old attire of a blue t-shirt and jeans, topped with the black leather vest he found on the bottom of the closet. It felt weird wearing it again and he felt oddly pleased the Doctor had even bothered to keep any of it on the TARDIS. Jack had trotted out to the control room with his arms wide and a "Ta da!" The Doctor, deep in thought over a console he was dismantling for some reason, had looked up, studied Jack critically and looked back down muttering, "That can't be right." 

"I like the forties anyway," Jack grumbled, wishing he didn't feel so peeved. He slipped his braces over his shirt and looked at the mirror in the closet. A little thin, his face sharper, he didn't look too bad for a hundred year old man. 

"Still looking good," Jack winked. He gave his braces a snap. His smile faded. 

A hundred years. Would he still be around for another hundred more? Two hundred? God, a _thousand_? 

The amusement faded and a little fear flitted across his face. 

What had happened to him? 

It was the first question Jack had wanted to ask when the Doctor showed up. Actually, a fist to his jaw or a deep searing kiss, Jack was still deciding when the Doctor draped his arm around his shoulders and waltzed him in. The return, the feel of the Doctor pressed up against him was all too much. To Jack's dismay, his knees buckled the moment he entered the golden glow of the TARDIS. Next thing he knew, Jack was waking up alone in his old living quarters. 

They'd done nothing but just jumped from one time to another, the TARDIS jolting with each abrupt stop before another jolt and she flew to another one. It was hard to have any conversation then when you were too busy clinging to the walls for dear life. Jack even fell asleep on the settee, the Doctor still preoccupied with whatever kept him busy and muttering. 

"How do I ask?" Jack murmured to the mirror. He slid the grey braces between two fingers, up and down as he chewed his lower lip. "Hey, Doc, you're not the only one with long life now? I guess you're stuck with me for a while." Jack rolled his eyes. Oh yeah, that would go well. Not. 

"What do you think, gorgeous?" Jack asked over his shoulder. 

The TARDIS only murmured, barely a vibration, shuddered and then stilled. 

"What's wrong?" Jack frowned. He brushed a palm against the wall and thought it felt cold and clammy. He missed how it pulsed under his bare feet. He used to sleep naked in his quarters because he thought he could feel the ship breathe under him. Rose had made the mistake of walking in on him once, waking him up with such a screech that it had sent the Doctor running with that screwdriver of his. The Doctor had laughed, hustled Rose out with a reminder of what century Jack was from and the TARDIS had discretely dimmed the lights for Jack. Not that Jack would have minded if either of them had stayed. 

"You miss Rose," Jack surmised, his mouth crinkling sadly when the ship shuddered under his hand. "Yeah, I miss her, too. Maybe the Doctor wouldn't be so..." Jack shrugged. He patted the wall, checked the mirror again and headed for the control rooms, mentally rehearsing what he was going to say. 

But then the Doctor had the TARDIS try to go to year 800,000. The jolt threw everyone off their feet, setting spots in the ship on fire and all thoughts of telling the Doctor fled. 

 

Jack watched the Doctor paced around the TARDIS' central controls, muttering under his breath. Once more like before, the Doctor was fiddling with the dials and the TARDIS gave a protesting chirp, and then stilled. 

"Damn!" A quick pivot and the Doctor slammed his hands on the coral counter. 

Jack winced at the squawk the ship made. That was a new one. The TARDIS went back to what sounded like a disgruntled hum. Jack patted the settee he was sitting on. The ship softened to a purr. Better. Since Jack had first returned, the ship still felt...off. The hum he slept to before sang differently, like a shy singer suddenly aware of an audience. Jack couldn't sleep (not that he slept a lot these days) under the unfamiliar vibration. 

"Everything okay, Doctor?" Jack was a little bored. Pacing was what the Doctor did these days. 

"It doesn't make sense! He _is_ the factor!" The doctor shouted at the glowing column the counter surrounded. "Why won't you take us to—" 

"Doctor!" 

"What?" The doctor snarled. He spun around and Jack was surprised to catch a glimpse of the twisted fury on his normally congenial face. 

"Whoa!" Jack showed his hands, his eyes wide. "Nothing! I just..." Jack lowered his hands, frowning in concern. Did Time Lords get sick? "Is everything okay?" 

The Doctor blinked and it was like a switch. His face shifted; it was the only way to describe the sudden change because now, a more pleasant expression was in place. 

"I...what?" 

Jack smiled nervously. Okay, he'd never known the Doctor to have...tantrums. Then again, Rose always seemed to bring out a more patient side of the hyper Doctor. 

At the mention of Rose, his gut clenched again. The Doctor had made no mention since Jack rejoined him. No mention of returning back (or was that forward?) to get her. And while Jack didn't mind having the Doctor to himself, times like these (and it appeared to happen a lot lately), he missed Rose's calming effect. All the Doctor had been doing the moment he hustled Jack back in the TARDIS was go further into the future. But the Doctor just grew more and more upset with each destination. 

"No, no, no, no!" The Doctor threw up his hands in frustration again. "Still no! What is it? What else could it be?" 

The TARDIS rumbled. Jack bit back a smile. It almost sounded like it cursed at its owner. Lovers' spat maybe? 

"Uh...anything I can do?" Jack tried. The Doctor had him do nothing more than "sit and look pretty" (the Doctor's words not his; he would have preferred "gorgeous"). "You've had me doing repairs before. The ship's been fine with me handling her." 

The Doctor waved him off. "Yes, yes, of course you have but that was before." 

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Uh...before what?" 

"Before you beca—" The Doctor snapped his mouth shut and turned back around. He folded his arms and studied Jack with a pursed mouth. 

Jack had heard the term "bug under a microscope" before during his travels with the Doctor and Rose. Jack understood it now. He waggled his eyebrows at the Time Lord, offered his best disarming smile and to his discomfort, the Doctor merely smiled back. This cheeky regeneration thing...Jack missed the big ears and angular jaw. He was feeling like a hungry _Trew-kla_ was eying him up for dinner. Or for sex. Whichever it was in the mood for. It was always one or the other. Very annoying. 

"Doctor?" 

"I was thinking where we might want to go next," the Doctor announced, spinning on his heels as he paced around the controls. "Any ideas, Captain? Time and space, Jack! Time and space!" His eyes gleamed with a familiar glint Jack knew. "Shall we visit the Barcelona planet? Maybe see a planet come to life?" 

Jack smiled cautiously. "Barcelona's nice." 

"Maybe Graticaphoria?" 

Jack laughed. "Space pirates? I don't think so, Doctor." 

It was still strange to see this new face, but he still got the same flutter in his chest when the Doctor tilted his head and smiled at Jack. 

"Oh, I don't know. I think I would look handsome with an eye patch and a robotic parrot on my shoulder." 

Chuckling, Jack shrugged. "Better than U-boat captain." 

The Doctor frowned, puzzled. "What?" He shook his head and leaned his hip against the consoles, his right hand drumming against the surface in a thrum-thrum beat. 

"Think about it," the Doctor invited, his voice low. "It's you, me and the TARDIS. Where would you like to go, Jack?" 

Jack jumped to his feet, feeling like the years between them had never existed. He grinned happily at the Time Lord. "How about we go back to Raxacoricofallapatorius and see how Margaret the egg is doing?" 

The Doctor gripped his shoulders and beamed. Despite the stranger's face, the huge smile was familiar and gave Jack a warm glow in his gut. 

"Perhaps Beijing in the 10th century and we dine with emperors?" The Doctor abruptly grabbed Jack's left wrist and spun Jack around the floor expertly. 

Jack laughed, delighted. "Look, the Doctor can dance after all!" 

"I'm very light on my feet," the Doctor claimed. He waggled his brow towards Jack. "A very good dancer, in fact," he added, his voice growing husky. His hand around Jack's shoulders slid down to settle on the small of his back. He pulled Jack closer and his eyes darkened as they drew close enough Jack could feel him breathing against him. 

"O-okay." Jack's laugh faded into a nervous chuckle. For a moment, it sounded like...no, not possible. Not when he had witnessed how the Doctor watched Rose with barely hidden longing. "Good to know for future reference." Jack stepped out of the Doctor's arms, confused. "Maybe I'll buy you that drink after all and we'll go dancing?" Jack waited for the expected response. 

The Doctor's smile grew secretive. "Perhaps we shall." 

Wait, wait, wait! Jack backtracked, his mind reeling. Blood pounded in his ears. Okay, flirting was one thing, but the Doctor never— 

"Doctor?" Jack narrowed his eyes. This was more than just a different face. 

"Yes, yes, what is it?" The Doctor returned back to the ship. He flipped a few switches before glancing back up at Jack. 

"You're..." Jack narrowed his eyes. "Different." 

There was a flash of annoyance that flitted across the Doctor's face, so quickly Jack thought he was mistaken. "I told you before, regen—" 

"Regeneration, I know," Jack interrupted, trying to soften the words with a big, bright smile. His teeth flashed as he grinned. "And I'm not complaining about the looks, believe me." 

"Good." The Doctor stroked his chin, still looking disgruntled. "I looked rather goofy then." 

"I didn't think you looked goofy before," Jack muttered under his breath. Out loud, he agreed. "At least no big ears." 

The Doctor looked crossed. "What are you talking about? I didn't have big ears!" 

"Mickey was right. You needed to look at a mirror," Jack grumbled before he waved towards the Doctor. "I wasn't talking about your physical appearance. I mean, it feels like you...changed," Jack finished lamely. He cringed when the Doctor walked up to Jack on the settee and placed his arms to the back on either side of Jack. 

"Hm," the Doctor said with a half-growl. "It appears I wasn't the only one who _changed_ , though, Captain." 

Jack stared at the inscrutable gaze. He felt pinned. His throat tightened as the Doctor leaned in closer. "What?" Jack managed. His heart pounded. Did that mean the Doctor knew? 

Then, shadows that were behind his light eyes fled and the Doctor's face brightened. "Or maybe Crestantal!" He abruptly walked away from Jack and leaned by the counter. The Doctor pulled a thoughtful face and tapped his nose, thinking. "I remember they had the tallest banana trees. They actually reached the sky!" 

Jack relaxed. "And you like bananas," he teased shakily. He slumped back on the settee. His knees were weak all of the sudden; breaking away from the Doctor's gaze was like getting a breath of fresh air. Jack gulped, feeling a little flushed. Weird. 

"We can go anywhere, Jack." The Doctor's voice rippled around him. Jack blinked up at him. "We could see the birth of stars, see the start of the human race, watch the universe triple with life, or..." The words grew heavy, almost intoxicating. Jack's eyes slid shut, then they flew open again. 

"Or," the Doctor sat down besides Jack on the settee, his arm sliding across the top of the seat. "We could go to the end of the universe." He matched his gaze with Jack again. He was suddenly sitting very close. Very close. Jack could feel his hip against his. 

"End..." Was the ship getting warm? Jack's tongue felt thick. His eyes fluttered. He could feel the Doctor's fingers tracing the skin where his hair ended. "End of the universe?" he mumbled. Jack's brow furrowed. "That's far...she can't go that f-far, can she?" Jack shook his head. No, the Doctor mentioned they'd never gone further than..."Too far, Doc...Doctor..." 

The Doctor's fingers drummed a beat lightly on his skin. "Not far, Jack," he purred by Jack's ear. "Not far at all. Just a blink in time, Captain." 

Jack worked his mouth. Jack felt himself sagging back. Something wasn't right. "Doctor?" he mumbled. "I..." He couldn't hold a thought. The Doctor's fingers did a light rhythm again his skin, his voice was thick and syrupy in his ear. 

"Think about it, my handsome Jack," the Doctor's voice lowered until it was almost a hiss, hot breath in his ear. 

"We could see the end of the universe. A hundred trillion years. I could show you Utopia." 

"We...we can't..." The sigh was almost plaintive. Jack felt himself sliding across the settee. His legs dangled out but the Doctor's hands were warm and heavy on his torso. 

" _You_ can, Jack." 

"M-me?" Jack moaned. "I...I can't..." He tried to raise his arm where his wrist strap was but he could barely lift him limb. What—what was wrong with him? 

The Doctor was still smiling, a small, thin smile that held none of the humor of before. His eyes darkened. Jack could see himself in them. 

"D-doctor..." 

"Shhh..." the Doctor soothed. He reached up to Jack's forehead and brushed back his hair. 

"End of the universe," the Doctor intoned. He stroked Jack's face with a knuckle. "And you're taking us there." A dark, syrupy voice oozed over his awareness. Jack felt his limbs leaden. The ship beneath him trembled and he shivered too like he was cold. But he wasn't. A warm, heavy sensation infused with his bones. 

Jack tried to tell the Doctor he didn't understand. He couldn't, there was no way, but Jack opened his mouth and found words wouldn't come out. He blinked wearily at the Doctor. 

"Tired?" the Doctor asked sweetly. He tsked when Jack nodded weakly. "Then just sleep. And when you wake, it'll all be just a dream." 

A dream? Fear rippled over him. Jack weakly grabbed his arm. The Doctor understood. 

"Don't worry." The Doctor's smile grew feral. "I'll be right here." 

A shiver went down his back but before Jack could question it, he sank deeper into darkness. His last thread of thought as everything around him dissolved, was that the TARDIS sounded like she was crying.


	4. "It felt good to sit under the sun."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning For This Chapter:** Dubious consent groping

**Arcateen V, year 8,000**   
**One month later…**

It felt good to sit under the sun. All three of them.

Jack watched the Doctor talk to the tall, reed thin alien with fleshy long braids shimmering down its back on the courtyard. Bipedal, androgynous, and hairless all over its pale iridescent skin, the Doctor had called them "walking mood rings", a reference the Doctor said derived from the sixties. He'd promised they would go there. But then, the Doctor tried to go to year 2,000,000. The TARDIS made it there, choked and slingshot backed to year 8,000 and stayed. Now, they were stuck in Arcateen V for three of the planet's days while the ship refueled. The Doctor was as furious as Jack had ever seen and locked himself in a room Jack had never noticed before. The Time Lord had stayed in until now, waltzing out, announcing he could use some fresh air, grabbed Jack by the arm and practically dragged them both out to the planet's main market center.

It was eerie; no one talked here. They communicated silently with their minds and Jack had been nervous about their telepathic abilities until he’d realized they couldn't read his. One commented empathetically it was like trying to read the dead, and then praised Jack's strong mental shields. The Doctor merely smiled and said nothing.

Jack sat on what their version of a public park bench was, sipping their version of water. Life anywhere, he'd discovered, always had the basics in common and it was a lot safer than trying to imbibe their beverages. Jack remarked trying that once when he’d still been in the Agency, he’d woken up naked back on his ship after drinking some green drink. The Doctor, though, didn't laugh. His mouth curved a little and went "Hm." His eyes raked over Jack and Jack had the distinct feeling the Doctor was envisioning it. The thought both chilled and thrilled him. Jack marked it up as "Weird" again with the rest of the odd stuff he'd been noticing with the Time Lord. 

Regeneration, Jack learned from watching the Doctor, meant a complete physical change. "Death" for a Time Lord meant new face, new voice, new…personality? It was the only reason Jack could think of for the strange nuances the Doctor was displaying.

For one thing, Jack was discovering this Doctor was a bit more infuriating at times. He reminded Jack of the officers in World War I and their "need-to-know" attitude. Sadly, apparently to the Doctor, Jack didn't need to know most of the times. Jack felt more like a passenger instead of a "companion" this time around.

Jack missed _his_ Doctor; the one who switched his sonic blaster for a banana (speaking of which, Jack hadn't seen that screwdriver around), the one who talked about bananas and coconuts, the one with such a passion for humanity that you couldn't help copy. Jack missed the big ears, hooked nose, lopsided grin, and the dark gaze that softened when it landed on him and you couldn't help but smile back, feeling like nothing else existed around you…

Blinking rapidly, Jack rubbed a knuckle over his eye. He grimaced. Okay, that's how you got in trouble before, he told himself sternly. 

Taking an experimental bite of whatever they were selling—it tasted like fruit but looked like a rock— Jack studied the Doctor as he _talked_ to one of the natives. Jack stifled a smirk as he watched the Doctor, looking unusually dapper and proper in a long brushed wool coat and black suit (he missed the more casual leather jacket and dark jeans, though), nodding solemnly to whatever the telepathic was _telling_ him. This version of the Doctor looked a bit more bookish, scholarly than what he was accustomed to. The Doctor had joked when Jack told him that he always thought he looked very "Whitehall" whatever that meant. The Doctor, in any appearance, loved to speak cryptically. 

Jack frowned mildly, not liking the fact he was sitting here while the Doctor was over there. The Time Lord had a talent (or curse) for getting into a lot of trouble in the least amount of time. He remembered walking with Rose down a plaza one time, chatting about the flower market they’d just seen. It had been only a few minutes, the Doctor trailing behind them but they’d turned back only to find their Doctor was being arrested for murder.

Jack rolled his eyes at the memory. He grinned when he saw the Doctor tap his chin with his fingers in a rhythmic pulse. _Thrum-thrum-tap-tap_ over and over and it was hypnotic to watch. Jack watched the fingertips lightly touching his lips and Jack remembered how warm and firm they were on the game station. It was brief, chaste almost, but enough to tell Jack he was willing to die for him.

Actually, I did, Jack thought ruefully. He swallowed and took another bite out of the alien fruit. Jack still hadn't told the Doctor about himself and the Doctor never asked. It was getting harder and harder to find a chance. Or, Jack was just a coward. But shouldn't this be a good thing? The Doctor wouldn't be alone any more. 

The Doctor, at that moment, glanced over as if checking Jack was still there. He settled on Jack, narrowed his eyes fractionally and gave him a lazy smile that made Jack's skin unexpectedly shiver. Jack tentatively smiled back, not sure how to respond. 

That was the other thing about regeneration. Jack never recalled the Doctor looking that…well, intense before. While his looks weren't particularly handsome (but he wasn't ugly either), his eyes, his voice, his m-mouth…Jack tugged at the collar of his shirt with a finger, frowning. Compelling would be the right word for it. Jack found himself staring at times. To his dismay, the Doctor caught him countless times, but all he would do was give Jack a little smirk before launching into whatever suited his fancy that day. 

The Doctor looked at Jack up and down and that languid smile curved to something more…Jack wasn't sure what, but he found himself needing to look away. Breaking eye contact, the Doctor acted like he’d lost interest and was paying attention to the conversation again like it never happened, his long fingers tapping over his lips again.

Jack gulped. It actually felt like the planet brightened around him when he broke gaze. His palms were sweating; his fruit had rolled out of his numb grasp to join the drink on the ground. Jack took a shuddering breath. He chided himself for turning away and forced himself to keep watch of the Doctor once again. He stared; his gaze went over unbidden to those white hands rapping lightly on his lips. It felt like his heart was matching the silent beat. _Thrum-thrum-tap-tap, thrum-thrum-tap-tap, thrum-thrum…_

_'You are not like the other.'_

"Geez!" Jack started in his seat. He spun around and stared at the alien suddenly next to him.

Jack showed his hands. He was careful not to show any teeth when he smiled. "Sorry. I didn't hear yo…" He chuckled when he realized what he was going to say. Jack shrugged.

The alien looked amused, or its color was amused, a soft pink hue overlaying its slender body. The tendrils that hung off its head floated up like silver ribbons, then settled around its narrow shoulders.

_'You do not talk like the others, like us. Yet you can hear us.'_ It cocked his head, studying him with large deep blue eyes that changed colors. 

_'Are you damaged?'_

It didn't mean to, but that hurt. Jack winced, shrugged again and looked away. He looked at the Doctor glumly, who took no notice. Jack scanned the surroundings with a wary eye. Jack noted the Doctor never looked his way again, listening with intensity to the Arcateenian.

_'I have offended you.'_

Jack shook his head, offered a bigger smile. "I'm not offended," he reassured it, him, or her? He stared fascinated at the tendrils waving towards him. He offered his right hand, paused, before extending it further, leaving it open, loose, and non-threatening. "Captain Jack Harkness."

_'Lithimath of Sandreen.'_

"Nice to meet you, Lithimath of Sandreen," Jack dropped his voice to a rumble and smiled. A tendril brushed against his cheek. It felt like a breeze trailing his skin, leaving behind a tingle that was pleasant. "Does it mean anything in your world?"

_'It means our wind…over the city.'_

Jack winked and saw Lithimath glow a soft lemon yellow. "It suits."

_'Thank you.'_

It sounded amused in his head. Jack watched, enthralled as he saw the silvery white tendrils float and hover around him, lightly touching his body. It felt like feathers, even through his greatcoat.

_'I can not hear your thoughts yet you are very bright.'_ The alien sounded curious.

Jack scrunched up his face. "I'm assuming you're not talking about my intelligence." He tentatively reached for the closest filament. He pulled back his hand. "Will I hurt you if I touch them?"

_'No.'_

They felt like nothing he ever encountered; silk as he brushed against them, warm thin wires when they settled on his palm, yet they lightened to puffs of cool air when they parted.

This was what he missed the most traveling with Rose. The Doctor had seen it all, faced wonders like these with a casual air of part boredom and detached fascination. It made his periods of excitement so addictive to behold; they were rare (even rarer these days) and bore the force of a flash flood people were helpless against.

But this needed to be shared with a pair of new eyes. Jack had seen enough to be blasé about it, but Rose would greet this with an almost childlike delight Jack missed having himself. 

The filaments lingered on his fingers and Jack gave the tips a gentle squeeze before a parting stroke on the tips with his thumb.

"Interesting," Jack grinned at Lithimath.

The alien cocked its heart shaped head and considered Jack. Its eyes swirled to violet.

_'So are you Captain Jack Harkness.'_

The mental purr in his mind vibrated down to his belly. Jack swiped the tip of his tongue across his lower lip. Interestingly, Lithimath changed to a hue of silvery blue, its eyes so violet they looked solid. 

_'Are you a merchant?'_ Lithimath's strands snaked down to his thighs and stroke across his trousers.

Mm, very, very interesting. Jack shook his head. "Traveler."

_'Interesting.'_

"How so?" Jack stared at the tendrils curl then straightened around Lithimath. Like vines of spun silver glinting in the sunlight.

_'A traveler would have chosen our gardens or parks, not our markets.'_ Lithimath's eyes studied Jack and turned back to deep blue. _'Unless you are looking for…unconventional weapons…'_

Jack blinked. "Oh. Is that what this place is?"

_'You did not know?'_

"Captain."

Jack raised his eyes when a shadow crossed his view. He blinked up at the Doctor, taken aback by the dark fury brewing behind his eyes. He hadn't seen it since the Doctor faced the Dalek emperor and found, for the second time, to be afraid.

"Sir," Jack managed. It was automatic. The Doctor's face demanded the title. 

"Our business is done here," the Doctor said stiffly, lifting up a crooked finger. A few odd, shiny pendants swayed in his grasp. He pulled them in with a fist then turned on his heels, his long wool coat flapped around his legs as he pivot. 

Jack stood up, a little disappointed they weren't staying. Before he could take a step, tendrils coiled around his left hand, others slipped around his middle.

_'Do not go with him.'_ Lithimath leaned forward on the bench. The strands tightened urgently, pulling him closer. 

"It's okay," Jack assured, brushing away the tendrils as gently as he could. "He's a friend."

_'No. Do not go with him.'_

Before Jack could reassure it, the Doctor spun back around, grabbed Jack's right forearm. He pushed past the startled Captain and glared at the Arcateenian.

Lithimath blanched, its skin gone dull and gray. It actually made a sound, like a twitter, and it recoiled.

"Lith—" Jack frowned in concern. He jerked when the Doctor gave his arm a rough yank back before letting go. Ouch! That actually hurt! Jack glared at the Time Lord. 

"Doctor—"

"Captain!" The Doctor didn't wait. He stormed off, fully expecting to be followed.

"It's alright," Jack said hurriedly. He reached out a hand again to Lithimath's tendrils, alarmed to find them cold and limp to the touch. "He's the Doctor. He's—"

" _Captain_!"

Yikes. Jack pulled back. "It's fine," he said over his shoulder as he hurried after the Doctor. "Sorry. Goodbye!"

Lithimath never said another word.

 

Jack scowled at the Doctor's retreating back as he struggled to catch up. "What's your problem?" he complained out loud, but he was ignored. Jack gritted his teeth, muttered something impolite he’d learned in the 20th century and hurried after the Time Lord.

The Doctor was already by the TARDIS, scowling and growling. To Jack's amusement, he seemed to be having trouble with his key. Rolling his eyes, Jack shouldered past the Doctor, grasped the key, and turned.

There were no thanks. The Doctor glowered at Jack, snatched back his key and made for the door. Before Jack could follow, however, the Doctor abruptly spun around, slamming his arms on both sides of Jack.

"Doctor!" Jack huffed. It was a tight fit with the two of them in the doorway. His back was pressed up uncomfortably against the painted door. He tensed when the Doctor pressed up against him, his mouth by his ear.

"Is it necessary, Captain," the Doctor spat, his breath hot in his ear, "for you to tumble into bed with every living being you encounter in the universe?"

Jack gaped at the Doctor as the Time Lord stepped back. 

"Do not do that again," the Doctor tsked, his face revealing nothing, his voice bland as if he was reminding Jack to wipe his feet before crossing the threshold. A dark look and the Doctor entered the ship.

Jack gulped and heaved by the door. He sagged a little, feeling lightheaded. The Doctor looked…he sounded…His hand shook when it went up his hair.

Was the Doctor…jealous?

"That's good," Jack stammered to himself. Good. That was good.

Right?

 

"This is ridiculous," Jack muttered, looking up from a book he found in his quarters. It was a trashy romance novel that had to have been left by Rose, but it was better than sitting out there as an observer again. He could hear the Doctor in the control room, loud and frustrated as yet another jump only made the TARDIS stutter to a halt. A month since Arcateen and nothing but space again. Jack was bored out of his mind.

Jack tossed the book on the bed, uncrossed his legs and wiggled back into his boots. 

"I don't know what his problem is," Jack complained to no one in particular but he glanced up to the domed ceiling of his quarters. "But he can't keep turning down my help. Brilliant or not, two heads have to be better than—" Jack stopped short when he realized he couldn't open the door. "What…"

Another tug yielded no results. Jack could hear the Doctor clanging and banging outside. Jack thumped on his door. "Hey! Doctor?" The door wouldn't even rattle. Jack glared up over his shoulder. "Are you doing this again?"

The TARDIS said nothing.

Jack had been tempted to tell the Doctor about the TARDIS' almost rebellious behavior. Doors wouldn't open for Jack, sometimes Jack couldn't get out of a room. One time, it kept Jack in the gardens all night. He fell asleep in a grove of ferns the ship grew over him. It was funny at first but after a month of that, not to mention the odd rumblings it made in his quarters all night, Jack was starting to wonder if the TARDIS was mad at him or something.

"He's going to wreck something with that weird mood of his," Jack warned out loud. He tried the door again. "Open this door!"

"Take me there _now_!" The Doctor was bellowing too loud to hear Jack banging on his door. 

After a few minutes, Jack threw up his hands and dropped to the ground, his back against the door, with a huff. He sat cross-legged, glowering at the door that remained firmly shut.

Something rattled loudly outside and Jack winced. He glowered at the ceiling and folded his arms in front of him.

"Bad TARDIS," Jack grumbled.

The TARDIS merely purred.

 

His steps were hollow sounding as he ran down the maze of hallways. Nothing but the dead and Dalek dust greeted him. He searched frantically for a face, any face still alive among the metallic ruins of the station. Even the robotic hosts were all dead, smoldering, and blank eyed as he stood there and screamed out a name again.

"Doctor!"

Jack woke, like he always did with this memory/dream/nightmare, with a gasp and his pillow damp. In the dark, he huddled against his pillow, momentarily confused.

A hand settled on his bare back. Jack started.

"Sh, sh, sh, sh." A low, velvety growl accompanied the hand.

"D-doctor?" Jack gasped, suddenly aware he was in his living quarters, in bed, naked. "What?"

"You were having a nightmare." It was eerie listening to the Doctor in the dark, disembodied and heady. It surrounded Jack.

There should be something witty Jack could say about the Doctor finding him naked again but all he could manage was a weak, "Oh."

The Doctor's hand was dry, hot as it stroked his lower back. Jack bit his lower lip and pressed his face to his pillow. He must have kicked the covers off while he dreamt. He felt exposed and goose bumps rippled his flesh despite how hot the room was. Jack bit back a moan when the hand increased its pressure, deepening into the muscles, fingers digging along the knobs of his spine.

"You were calling my name." The Doctor lowered his mouth to Jack's ear. "So I came."

"Oh," Jack squeaked, his face burning. He wanted to turn around yet he didn't want to see the Doctor's face. He stifled a whimper when the hand became a finger and it scratched lightly down his spine. Up and down the arch of his back.

"What were you dreaming about?" the Doctor asked lazily, his finger now brushing the dimples on top of his cleft.

Jack gasped into his pillow. "Game station," he managed, squeezing his eyes shut. Memory and the heated rush from the Doctor's touch warred inside him. Jack wanted to throw up. He wanted to turn around. He wanted that hand to—Jack moaned when the Doctor's hand did move lower and _dipped_.

"Game station?" The Doctor sounded amused as his fingers curved around one butt cheek and _squeezed_.

"Doctor," Jack whimpered. He raised his hips against that hand, entreatingly. 

The Doctor chuckled low. "Tell me about the game station, Captain. In your dream."

"You left me." A tear squeezed out of his eye. Jack's hands gripped the sides of his bed as the Doctor kneaded the other cheek. "Alone," his voice cracked.

"Abandoned," the Doctor cooed.

"Y-yes…"

"But I found you, Jack. Your Doctor came back."

Jack sniffed loudly. Two hands now kneaded his ass, squeezing, massaging, parting…

"Say it, Jack. Say it."

"You came back," Jack sobbed out. It was too much. He could feel the stiff wool of the Doctor's coat draped over him, the heat of the Time Lord's body hovering on top of him, and his hands…oh God, his hands…

"Sh…" The Doctor moved his hands to his torso, pressing down on his back like he was crushing him to the mattress. "You were left alone in a graveyard, Jack. But I came back for you. Only me."

"Doctor," Jack whimpered. "Please…" He couldn't move, could barely breathe. The Doctor's voice echoed like it was far away.

"Go back to sleep, my handsome Jack," the Doctor soothed, his hands pulling away. Jack felt so cold. He shuddered and felt a blanket being pulled up over his bare back. "It was just a dream, Captain. Rest. Much to do later."

"Doctor…" Jack muttered as his eyelids grew so heavy. No, don't go. He fidgeted restlessly. 

"I'm right here," the Doctor cooed. He placed his head by Jack's jaw, his lips a hair's breath away from his ear. "End of the universe, Captain. You're the factor. She won't go there without you. You must have something to do with it."

Jack didn't understand what the Doctor was saying. The body heat on top of him felt…sinister, yet a shadow of what he dreamt and yearned for. He forced his eyes open further. He tensed at the dark swirl writhing in the Doctor's eyes. No, this wasn't right, it…it wasn't the—

The ship was practically wailing but silenced at a word when the Doctor snarled at the air over his shoulder. Jack watched blearily in the darkness, riveted to the black mass moving in his perception. 

The Doctor stroked the back of Jack's head. "Go back to sleep. Just a dream. Tomorrow, the real nightmare will begin."

Jack parted his mouth; he wanted to ask…ask what? Jack blinked sleepily as the darkness grew more solid, the shape he knew was the Doctor was merging and as he felt his body grow heavier and heavier, he thought distantly to himself that the Doctor truly felt like a different person now.

But that was a fleeting thought and Jack sank into a dreamless sleep in his quarters, unaware of the Doctor sitting at the end of his bed, watching.


	5. "Tell me, Jack. Would you go to the end of the universe with me?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning For This Chapter:** Dubious consent. Non-con.

**Time Vortex**   
**Two weeks later…**

The controls hummed under his hands. Jack watched, fascinated, as the TARDIS blipped and beeped, the dials turning and…

A jolt, a squawk, and then with a poof of smoke.

Nothing. Again.

Jack groaned, pushing up from his elbows, and clawed a piece of coral to pull himself back up to the pedestal. He shook his head towards the domed ceiling. The TARDIS twilled. 

"Ouch," Jack grumbled. It was worse than falling through the vortex from his Rift Manipulator. He sheepishly looked across to the Doctor, who was also getting back up on his feet. His smile wavered at the stormy expression that rose from behind the counter.

"Sorry," Jack shrugged as he brushed dust off his shoulder and knees. There goes another shirt. He stroked the top of the control console with the back of his fingers. All was forgiven. Jack knew it had tried ever since the Doctor surprisingly gave the flight controls back to Jack to try. "She just won't go past year three million with me."

The Doctor had a sour look on his face. Jack resisted the urge to sigh. The Doctor's mood lately swung from tolerate to downright outrage. It was like dating those twins back in the twenties. Sheesh. 

"Maybe…" Jack said slowly, patting the console when the TARDIS rumbled, "We've maxed out her limit—"

"Impossible!"

Jack jumped at the fist that slammed down on the counter. The ship squealed. "Doctor!" Jack snapped. It wasn't his ship but it grated him anyway to see the Doctor abuse her like that. The Doctor had always talked to the TARDIS before with fondness. "Look, I don't understand what the problem is! She just won't go! You tried. I tried. Maybe that's as far as she'll—"

"No!" The Doctor's eyes blazed. Jack took a step back in reaction. "She's done it before!"

Jack blinked. "She…she has? What? Past three million?"

The Doctor scrubbed furiously at his closely cropped hair. It stood up in wild tuffs of straw-colored hair. He yanked at his thin black tie, straightening it as he glared at the domed chamber. "She could go to the end of the universe if she wanted to!" he snarled. 

Jack couldn't help himself. He laughed. "What? That's like trillions of years! That's imposs—" Jack gasped when he found himself slammed back hard into the controls, staring inches away from the Doctor's hard stare. 

"Not impossible, _Captain_ ," the Doctor hissed. "We have all the components. We just need to figure out the equation."

Jack's arched back against the controls and he could feel the knobs and dials digging painfully into his spine. He should have been able to throw the Doctor off easily, but his gaze was caught in the maelstrom brewing in the Doctor's eyes. The hair in the back of his neck rose and he discovered his body wouldn't, _couldn't_ move.

"You know I'm right, Captain," the Doctor said low, lying bodily on top of Jack, chest to chest, his hand gripping Jack's wrists with surprising strength, pining them above his head. "End of the universe is not impossible. Just…difficult."

Breathing harshly, Jack panted. "O-okay. Not impossible. S-sure." He winced as his back creaked, being bent in too awkward of a position. Ouch. God knew how those twin acrobats did it. He winced as his lower back cramped, his legs throbbed as they locked, trying to hold him upright.

Jack wet his lips nervously when he realized the Doctor wasn't moving. "Uh, Doctor?"

"Hm?" The Doctor's mouth curved with a sly twist. His gaze narrowed on Jack and his smile stretched hungrily. Jack's eyes widened. He tugged at his hands. The Doctor, however, didn't pull away. In fact, Jack became very aware of the Gallifreyan's knee coming between his legs, forcing them apart.

Jack closed his eyes, biting his lower lip when the Doctor _pressed_ closer. He could feel the heat over his groin, the Doctor rocked against him and the zipper in Jack's trousers rubbed over the swell between his legs. Jack stifled a groan.

"H-hey," Jack joked weakly. "I thought I had to buy you that drink f-first." He gulped when the Doctor shifted and—oh God, a bolt of pure lust shot up his back. Jack stifled a moan. "Or go d-dancing at least?"

The Doctor's eyes closed briefly and when they reopened, they were dark, murky and…and…Jack's breath stuttered as he found himself staring into them. 

"Tell me, Jack," the Doctor purred. "Would you go to the end of the universe with me?"

The pressure building up between his legs made it hard to think; his words unsteady, his mind foggy. The ship around him for some reason began shaking. "What? I…y-yes…" He would. Jack would go to Hell itself with the Doctor. 

The Doctor's hand wandered, fingers pinching and stroking inside Jack's upper thigh until—

Jack threw his head back, slamming into the console as he cried out in surprise. A hand squeezed between his legs, over his trousers.

"Doctor," Jack whimpered, bewildered. What was the Doctor doing? Jack pressed against the hand, aching. 

"Yes," the Doctor cooed. "You like this, don't you?" He placed his head by Jack's jaw, his lips a hair's breadth away from his ear. His hand squeezed and rubbed over the growing bulge. A dark chuckle filled every one of Jack's senses. Jack's head spun. 

"You were all alone on that station, Captain. Everyone dead…but you."

Jack pressed his face to the Doctor's neck. He could hear himself keening under his breath, his hips jerking against that warm palm cupping him so perfectly.

"Were you scared, Jack?" Teeth grazed at his ear. "Were you terrified to find yourself alone?" The hand gripping his wrists tightened. "How long did you wait alone in that hollow station before you left for Earth?"

He didn't want to hear any more. Jack gasped harshly, twisting feebly, trying to get his hands free so he could touch. The Doctor laughed throatily.

"Tell me, Captain." A sharp hiss licked in his ear as the hand over Jack began adding more pressure, just at the base with the heel of his hand, enough to make Jack cry out.

"What did it feel like waiting and waiting and never knowing if someone will come for you?"

The Doctor's voice echoed in his mind. Jack choked. He could still taste the Dalek dust in the air. He could still taste salt from waking up every night. He could still taste the sour tang from when he tried to drink himself to oblivion.

"Did you dream of this?" The Doctor very deliberately curled around the semi-erect bulge between Jack's legs. The Time Lord pulled. Jack's trousers brushed against his cock, a rasp tactile sensation coupled with the firm heat of the Doctor's palm. The TARDIS below them trembled but the Doctor ignored it. 

"Did you dream, long for someone, to come back and touch you like this?"

Jack gulped air as he ground his hips against the hand, the body on top of him a weight that was both frightening and exciting. The edge of the counter dug into his back, his shoulders ached as he was bent backwards towards the console.

"Tell me," the command slurred to a snake hiss. "Or would anyone do, Captain? Did you just want anyone to touch you like this?" The hiss drew out long and hot against Jack's cheek. It felt like it could cut. " _Tell me_!"

"Just…j-just you," Jack groaned as he thrust up against the hand. "Doctor… _please_!" He could feel the Time Lord shifting his weight and Jack writhed as the Doctor rocked into him hard, slamming his pelvis against him, driving Jack back against the pedestal’s edge, his hand squashing down on Jack's erection, his mouth breathing harshly over his pulse point.

"Alone," the Doctor snarled. "You were alone. Abandoned. Discarded and you waited. You would have waited forever!"

"Yes!" Jack gasped out. It felt like the answer was being ripped out of him; everything he didn't even want to tell himself. The Doctor was grinding him into the counter, his hands on Jack's shoulders, his eyes dark and endless as he stared at Jack and kept demanding, demanding everything to come out: every person he fucked and let fuck him, every nightmare he had, every unscrupulous mission he did for an antiquated Torchwood just to bide his time. The Doctor ripped every answer out of him like driving an arm down his throat and wrenching the answers out. Jack's vision blurred as the Doctor's voice buzzed in his ear, hissing like gas, burning like fire. He couldn't think. Jack couldn't breathe. His throat was raw with each reply, his eyes burned with each shameful confession. His chest heaved against the weight on top of him. 

"Would you have waited forever for your Doctor, Captain?"

Another slam of the hips sent his shoulders smacking into the controls again. A rib cracked. Jack flailed, groaning as his arms were finally freed when the Doctor moved his hands to his hips for better leverage, better force. Jack's neglected erection tented in his trousers and he pounded desperately against the firm stomach on top of him. Jack weakly clutched the Doctor's shoulders. He didn't know if he was trying to push him away or trying to get him to send him into completion. Pain rivaled the building pleasure pooling in his groin.

"Would you have waited _forever_?" The Doctor bit him hard on the neck, drawing blood. 

" _Yes_!" Jack sobbed, shuddering as his release came violently. 

A laugh filled his awareness; heady and sharp that it seem to choke the air out of him. Jack groaned, his arms flopping down to the console. He looked blearily at the Doctor as the Time Lord pushed off him, his breath just as harsh. 

Jack felt himself being flipped onto his stomach over the console. He mumbled surprise, too winded and weak-kneed to do anything more. There was a stirring of apprehension when he could feel the Doctor standing behind him. This…this was what he wanted, wasn't it? The decades of nameless faces in the dark, frantic hands on damp skin, the raw pounding into heat just to forget. It was to forget this: the painful awareness of not being wanted, left behind, and perhaps forgotten. Jack could hear the Doctor behind him, breathing raggedly. Jack gulped, struggled to breathe, his heart pounding in his ears. Something was screaming into his ear, but he couldn't understand it, couldn't hear it. His mouth was dry as he waited for the Doctor to do something, anything. When the Doctor approached, Jack suddenly felt trapped.

"W-wait," Jack whispered but he could barely speak. He weakly tried to push off the console but his elbows wouldn't lock. Jack could see the Doctor's shadow stretching out to the pedestal and an inexplicable wave of panic swept over him. "D-doctor, h-hold on!" His head buzzed with all sorts of thoughts he couldn't understand.

A spark, almost an explosion, erupted just above the Doctor's head and the Time Lord staggered back in surprise, slamming into a support column. The TARDIS _screamed_ —it was an inhumane screech like nails scraping rock—and the ship bucked so violently Jack yelped. Gravity was lost for a second and Jack felt temporary weightlessness, his body floating above the console before another jolt and both men crashed to the ground. The two men grunted as the ship rumbled then jumped wildly. Jack grunted as they collided with each other and crashed to the floor.

The Doctor rolled off him with a curse.

"Did…did we land?" Jack gasped, propping himself up from the floor with his elbows. His head spun. It felt like he was drunk and he blinked blearily at the Doctor.

The Doctor leapt to his feet and stood there, feet slightly apart, his face red. 

"I've had enough of your interference!" the Doctor roared at the golden columns foggy with smoke. The time crystals in the central pillar froze mid-way, its blue light pulsating. "This ends now! _Right now_!"

"Doctor?" Jack got up shakily, swaying on his feet. "Is she okay?" He stared worriedly at the ship. He rubbed his eyes tearing from the smoke.

" _She's_ fine," the Time Lord grated out. He looked over his shoulder at Jack. He grunted, turning back to face the central core. "Get yourself cleaned up," he ordered in a flat voice.

Jack flushed, realizing now his trouser front was damp. Shit, it had really happened. Jack stared at the Doctor's back, struggling to find something to say.

"I'll deal with you later, Captain." The razor-thin promise floated out from behind the rigid back.

Jack swallowed. He nodded mutely and left the room, his knees knocking, his head stuffed with cotton. The doors to his living quarters flew open just as he bumped into the doors, the lights brightened as he clutched his throbbing head and wove drunkenly towards his bed. Jack fell onto his bed facedown.

He lay there, halfway on the bed, gasping for breath. 

"What…what just happened out there?" Jack gasped weakly. "We…we were going to-to…" He laid there, his hands clawing the bed as he fought to clear his head.

It would be a few minutes before Jack's head cleared sufficiently enough to change.

It would be another five hours before he could get out of his room. The TARDIS locked him in again.

 

**Unknown Moon**   
**One week later…**

"I miss Rose."

Jack didn't know why it came out. It just did. While Jack stood there, staring at the exposed scorched wiring of a monitor the Doctor just pulled, it just came out. Jack blinked in surprise. Oh well, it was bound to come out sooner or later. Jack'd be the bad guy and say it first.

The Doctor grunted, pulled another panel across from Jack. He parted wires with his fingers, growling when they sparked.

"Hey, do you remember the time you and Rose followed that—"

A violent yank sent a spark large enough to send them both stumbling back.

"Never mind," Jack finished, grimacing as he watched the Doctor pull at some of the wires with unusual vehemence. The Doctor muttered to himself as he pulled the pendants he bought in Arcateen and threaded the wires through the crystals that clearly looked modified. Jack wondered what the Doctor could possibly be working on. Jack hadn't seen the TARDIS in this much disarray since—Wait a minute.

"Hey, where's the kinetic extrapolator?" Jack tilted his head and studied the pedestal with a frown. "Doctor, I thought you were planning to merge it with the ship." Margaret the Slitheen wasn't using it any more. She was an egg now or had been, no, maybe she wasn’t by now. Jack wrinkled his nose. Temporal grammar always gave him a headache.

"The what?" the Doctor grunted as he screwed in what looked like the rest of the pendants from Arcadeen into a metal panel behind some newly installed switches. 

The TARDIS squealed and the ship shuddered.

"Oh, switch off!" the Doctor barked, fingers flicking at the dials he just installed. The sounds abruptly cut off and he smirked. He darkened and looked over to Jack. "What are you talking about?"

Jack frowned. Was the Doctor old enough to get senile? _Did_ Time Lords get senile? "The tribophysical waveform macro kinetic extrapolator," Jack reminded him. "You know, the one we found in Cardiff? The one Rose said looked like—"

"Rose Rose Rose Rose!" The Doctor slapped a tool down on the console. His head shot up, eyes burning as he glowered at Jack. "Always with Rose!" 

Jack blinked, mildly taken aback. "Well, I mean…she was your Companion first before I joined in and…" Jack shrugged. "I thought maybe you missed her," he mumbled. Jack now regretted saying anything at all. 

"And do _you_ miss her?"

"Of course." Oh, maybe not a good idea because the Doctor's eyes narrowed. 

Then, like a switch, the shadows fled and the Doctor shrugged. Jack smiled hesitantly.

"Then perhaps we should go to Rose's time."

Jack brightened. "Really?" Maybe the Doctor's mood would improve. He'd always have a soft spot for her, Jack thought with only a little regret. "That would be great, Doctor. We had fun."

The smile the Doctor gave was deceptively mild. "Yes. We could go there and leave you there. You could stay there with Rose." His face twisted to a sneer. "Wouldn't that be _fun_?"

The blood drained from Jack's face. "What? No. I meant—"

"Of course," the Doctor continued, ignoring Jack as he closed up the panels he was working on. "It wouldn't do much good, would it? It could only last for so long. She'll die eventually. All things do." The Doctor leveled a dark gaze at Jack.

"Except you, Jack."

All the strength in his body bled out. Jack stumbled back, his mouth open in shock. "I-I ah…"

The Doctor stood there, his hands splayed out on the controls, a smirk on his face. "I'm right, am I not? Your Rose would grow old and age while you perhaps stay as young and as handsome as you are now." The Doctor cocked his head, the smirk flattening on his pale face. His eyes glinted like coals. 

"She might even resent you, for staying beautiful while she wrinkles and decays." The Doctor stepped away from the pedestal. "A price to pay," the Doctor shrugged.

"For being immortal."

Immortal? Jack took another step back. The smile on the Doctor's face had faded and the Time Lord looked at him expressionless. "You…you knew?" Jack wiped his mouth with a shaky hand. "When?"

The Doctor's mouth twisted. "I knew. The moment I saw you."

All this time…Rage bubbled deep inside. Jack's breathing grew ragged. "You knew and you…you…" Jack lunged at him, one fist pulled back.

Perhaps he wasn't thinking clearly or the Time Lord was a lot stronger than they’d ever realized, Jack's fist was caught, twisted behind him in a painful hold and the Time Lord slammed him facedown over the pedestal.

"Why?" Jack cried out, twisting angrily under the Doctor. "Why did you _do_ this to me?"

"I did _nothing_ to you," the Doctor hissed, putting his full weight on Jack. He was shorter than Jack, centimeters of difference. He shouldn't be this strong. Jack choked on the anger lodged in his throat.

"Liar!" Jack tried to buck him off but a fist to the back of his head slammed him into the coral. Blood blinded him, choked him as it flooded to the back of his throat.

"Someone brought you back to life. Brought you back forever." The Doctor pressed his face to the back of Jack's hair and breathed deep. "You reek of the vortex. Every pore in your body is dripping with time frozen still."

"I didn't do this!" Jack coughed, blood spitted out. Tears of pain sprang up when the Doctor fisted his hair.

"You reek of the time vortex!" the Doctor snarled. "Why do you think you were abandoned? Why do you think you were left behind? You are _wrong_ , Jack Harkness!" 

_Slam_! 

The Time Lord shoved Jack down again. 

"You're a fixed point!" 

_Slam_!

"A fact!" 

_Slam_!

"No!" Jack's voice cracked. He sputtered, choked in his blood; his hands clawed the edge of the console. Using the leverage, Jack pushed back off from the pedestal now streaked with his blood. 

The pair fell back, struggling apart. Jack yelped when he felt an arm around his middle, tackling him down to the settee. Jack grunted, suddenly finding himself on his back, the Doctor bodily across him, pinning him to the long seat.

The Doctor grabbed his wrists and trapped them on either side of Jack's head. His face was white with rage and—oh God, twisted with disgust.

"You don't know," the Time Lord hissed, his face speckled with Jack's blood, "how hard it is to look at you right now."

"Doctor," Jack cracked.

"Even the TARDIS could barely tolerate you," the Doctor spat out. "She hasn't flown right the minute you came on board!"

"This is not my fault!" Jack cried, his neck straining as he tried to roll the Doctor off. His eyes pleaded for the Time Lord to understand, but he realized the Doctor's eyes were fixed to his throat. God, he wouldn't even look at him now. "I didn't do this! I don't know what happened to me!"

"Perhaps vanity?" the Doctor ignored him. "Did you fear aging? Your looks corrupted with the years?"

"No!"

"Even I will grow old one day, Jack," the Doctor spat out. "I'll shrink and die and one day no more regeneration. Even the TARDIS will die. But you?" His lips curled back. "The universe will crumble and become dark matter and fall into nothing yet you may still remain; alone, unchanged."

"N-no!" This one was barely audibly under the tears. "I didn't ask for this! I didn't!"

"You're absolutely wrong, Jack Harkness! An abomination!" the Doctor hissed. He jerked, pulling away and he stepped back, wiping his face clean of Jack's blood with the back of his sleeve.

Jack's chest heaved and heaved; he couldn't get enough air in his lungs. He couldn't get up. The anger, the rage had dissolved to a cold fear from the Doctor's words.

"Look at yourself," the Doctor turned away from Jack in a cruel dismissal. "I'm sick to my guts." The Doctor slammed his hands down at the counter. He stared at the coral surface, his breathing loud and strained.

"Off with you," the Doctor said in a tight voice. "I can't look at you right now."

"Doctor…" Jack choked.

**_"Go!"_ **

Jack stumbled out of the settee, weaving to his living quarters from memory. He couldn't see; blood drying over his eyes. His nose and forehead had already stopped bleeding; proof of how wrong he was. The Doctor had cracked open his head before.

The revelation broke him; a sob forced out of his lungs like it was squeezed out of him. Jack crashed into the doors, staggered past his bed and practically fell into the side door that led to the bathroom. He didn't stop, crawling now as his legs lost his strength. He clawed the toilet, lunging towards the bowl. Jack retched; violent spasms came out of his throat like broken glass. Tears, blood, bile dribbled out of his eyes, nose, mouth and it felt like he would choke. But he didn't. Because he was _wrong_ , oh God, so wrong, he had been left behind because it was that unbearable to even _look_ at him. 

"I didn't ask for this!" Jack gasped out as his body seized in another miserable bout of agony. "I-I d-didn't…"

The TARDIS around him never reacted, never hummed. It was the final rejection that tore at his heart. The cry Jack had denied himself for over seventy years broke free, ripped from his heart. It came out first as a howl before it splintered to a breathless sob.

Jack huddled over the toilet and wished he could die.

 

He dreamt the dust was around him; spinning, swirling in a wind he neither could see nor feel. He reached out a hand to brace himself on the wall and felt solid stone soften to ash. He gasped, breathing in dust by mistake. He fell and the ground vanished beneath him in a sparkle of dust.

He fell…

Jack jerked, gasping, his throat rubbed raw from decades of loneliness and grief. He had crawled into his bed in the dark and never crawled out.

"You never came back out." A bodiless voice, cold and flat, surrounded him.

Jack felt the ache in his throat. "I thought you didn't want to see me."

"I don't."

Jack pressed his face to his pillow, wishing he could suffocate himself. "That's why you left me behind," his voice was muffled.

"Yes." The bed dipped. "But I came back."

Jack squeezed his eyes shut. His heart hurt like a knife was slowly digging into his chest. He gasped. "I didn't ask for this. I swear. Doctor, I—" Jack twisted to face him.

"Don't turn around."

Jack bit his lower lip. Even now, in the dark…Jack nodded and buried his face into the pillow, fists around the cushion.

Hands on his back startled him. Jack stiffened, raising his head.

" _Don't_." The hiss made Jack swallow hard.

Jack closed his eyes and felt hot dry hands pulling down his trousers, his boxers. He felt the Doctor settle on the back of his thighs. He was still dressed in his suit; stiff, brushed fabric that felt like knives on his overheated skin as the Doctor settled between his legs. Fingers rolled up his shirt, under his arms. Jack could feel fingers tracing his ribs along his torso, the ridges of his spine. 

The touch left a trail of fire that rivaled the sick, cold feeling in his stomach. Jack closed his eyes tighter, wishing desperately he could erase that twisted face in his mind, a face that saw him as an abomination. 

"You were left behind." The whisper spun around his conscious, stealing the air around him. "Because you were wrong."

Jack bit down on his lower lip. He could taste blood. 

The hands on him felt like the anonymous ones Jack blindly tumbled into bed with, uncaring and too angry to remember faces. Jack flushed as the hands on him now roamed lower. 

"But I came back for you anyway, Captain." The words blew hot on his neck. "My handsome Jack."

It _hurt_ when the Doctor took him; dry, without warning, his stroke cold and impersonal. It drove the air from his lungs. Jack's eyes flew open in shock, his mouth opened in wordless agony. Jack's fists shook as he jammed them against his head. There was no talking, no touches on his skin; just the scrape-scrape of his suit on his bare skin, his fingers tapping on Jack's shoulders as the Doctor rocked into him.

But it was him; his hands, his cock ramming into Jack core deep. No rooftops. No basements. No floors covered in yellowed linens. It was here, in a ship that didn't want him, with the man who’d left him, in the vacuum of dark. Even the ship was silent and all that could be heard were the sounds of clothing brushing against skin, soft grunts Jack couldn't keep in. And the drumming…

_Thrum-thrum-tap-tap, thrum-thrum-tap-tap, thrum-thrum-tap-tap._

Jack clenched his teeth to keep the cries of pain from escaping. He closed his eyes…

And pretended.


	6. "How long would you have waited?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning For This Chapter:** Dubious consent. Non-con, abuse.

**Time Vortex**   
**One week later…**

Jack groaned, his head hanging low as another thrust seemed to split him apart. When he felt the rush of liquid heat filling him, it was silent. Jack winced when he felt the softening cock leave him as if the Doctor couldn't get out fast enough.

His arms quivered and Jack nearly dropped facedown to the bed. He was surprised when he felt hands bracing his torso and easing him down on his side, a blanket pulled up to his shoulders.

It hurt to breathe deep but it hurt more staring at the dark profile looking away from him. 

Each time the Doctor came to him, in the dark, it was painful, but more painful for the fact the Time Lord never said a word. He barely said anything to Jack when Jack stumbled out into the console room every morning. Jack would watch the Time Lord work on the oddly silent TARDIS until the silence grew too much and Jack went back to his living quarters, stayed in the darkness and waited for the Doctor to come.

He always came.

And it always hurt.

This was the first time the Doctor didn't leave right away though. An anomaly that gave him courage.

"I never asked for this," Jack rasped, his throat dry from lack of use. There had been no point in talking when no one would talk to you. "I…" Jack swallowed when the Doctor stirred. 

Instead of leaving the room, the Doctor turned slightly towards Jack, still hidden in the darkness. 

"I know."

Jack felt a sob break out, his breathing hitched when he felt the Doctor's hand slip under the covers and settled on his inner thigh. Not stroking or petting, but just laid there, just above his knee. It was an acknowledgement of his existence.

"I waited…" Jack whispered to the black mass in front of him. "I waited as close as I could to Cardiff because I knew you might come back to refuel."

"How long would you have waited?" The hand traveled and stroked the fold where his leg and hip meet.

"Forever," Jack sighed out, closing his eyes and tried to remember the rare tender touch. For next time.

"Forever?" The Doctor sounded amused. "I don't have forever. You do."

Jack choked and tried to roll away from the Doctor but the hand on him stopped him.

"What if I could take forever away?"

Jack opened his eyes. "What?" he croaked. 

The Doctor was unusually patient. "What if I could take forever away?"

"You mean…fix me?"

The smile was audible in the dark.

"Perhaps."

Jack swallowed. "I would be able to die? I would be able to…" He didn't dare finish.

"Stay with us? With the ship?" The Doctor pulled the covers away, exposing Jack. "With me?" His hand spread wide over Jack's flat stomach. "Do you want that?"

"Yes." Jack flushed at how fast he answered. "God, yes."

The Doctor was close enough Jack could feel his exhale against his mouth.

"Would you die for your Doctor, Captain?"

A hand slipped behind his shoulders and turned him on his back. Jack stared at the pale skin so close to him. The Doctor's eyes shut and turned slightly away from him.

"If I say yes," Jack whispered. His breath stuttered when he felt hands on his body, caressing, as if mapping every contour of flesh. "Would you look at me?"

The sigh against his throat made Jack's eyes burn. 

"You know I can't." The hands swept over his chest, curved around to cup his buttocks. "It's a Time Lord's instinct. It's in our guts." Lips hover over Jack's mouth but didn't touch. "You're not natural, Jack. You're wrong. It's in our nature to stay away."

Jack choked, hiccupped because he had no words to defend himself. The Doctor shushed him, pulled his head to his shoulder. Cool wool absorbed Jack's tears.

"But if I can fix you…" the Doctor hedged.

"I would stay," Jack answered brokenly but without hesitation. He inhaled sharply when he felt a dry hand parting his legs. A soft hush could be heard as the Doctor hitched down his trousers. Hard, throbbing, hot, his cock bumped against Jack's hip.

"You want to stay…with us…with your Doctor…"

"Yes." Jack bit back a moan when he felt the blunt tip of the Doctor's cock force its way through his sore opening. "Yes," he sobbed out, his hands fisting the back of the black suit. The Doctor was invisible in the dark, silent in a mute TARDIS and black suit. It was like embracing Death.

"I ask again…would you _die_ for your Doctor, Captain?"

The Doctor's fingers cradled his head to his chest, his fingers rapping the back of his skull with that hypnotic _thrum-thrum-tap-tap_ again. It roared in his ears. Jack felt like he was drowning. The beat echoed in his head with the Doctor's voice, his cock stretching Jack and filling him with first agony, utter agony and then sharp, bitter pleasure when the Doctor pushed deep inside him. It was like the Doctor was trying to reach his heart.

_Thrum-thrum-tap-tap…_

_"Tell me, Captain."_

He would. He would die forever and ever for him.

_"I want to hear you say it."_

_…thrum-thrum-tap-tap._

His life, the man he was right now, was the Doctor's.

_…thrum-thrum-tap-tap…thrum-thrum-tap-tap…_

_"Would you?"_

Pain, joy, sorrow, even…death. If the Doctor wanted to give it to him, Jack would take it. Gladly, with both hands.

"Y-yes…" Jack sighed out, his words halting as each stroke burned. He closed his eyes so he couldn't see the Doctor's close his and buried his face to the Time Lord's smooth throat. He made soft gasps as his body rocked under each jerk and thrust. "I would die for you."

Jack could feel the smile vibrating in the Doctor's throat. 

"Well…" the Doctor purred as he quickened his pounding. His hands clawed the back of Jack's head, forcing the captain to curl around the Time Lord's body as he rode his cock. 

"It may indeed have to come to that."

It didn't make sense. None of it did. The joy Jack should have gotten with their reunion was barbed with bloody glass. Pain came before pleasure did. And the promise of not forever sent a icy shiver down his body instead of hope.

But then the _thrum-thrum-tap-tap_ confused him and Jack simply let go and drowned in the sensations of a parody. 

 

Jack woke up alone to a welcome sound: the TARDIS humming under him, under the floors, the bed, around the walls. He hadn’t realized how glad he was to hear it until it was gone.

"Hello, gorgeous," Jack whispered. His head felt heavy, his limbs leaden. He wanted to stay in the bed for as long as he could, but no. The Doctor, just before he’d left, had told Jack that this morning, they would try to take forever away. "Wake me up in five?" Jack said weakly. He tried to roll onto his back, but a bolt of fire shooting up from the base of his spine made him groan.

The TARDIS' hum grew in volume. She sounded off and Jack swallowed, remembering what the Doctor said.

"Hey, just bear with me a little longer," Jack whispered. He pressed his face to his pillow and bit down on it when he tried to move again. "It'll be…God…fixed soon." Jack panted as he sat up. Why wasn't he healed up yet? Maybe _not forever_ was already starting somehow?

"The Doctor said he'll fix me," Jack said out loud. He stood experimentally, relieved to feel his strength returning. 

The ship rumbled and his room shook.

Jack cast pleading eyes towards the ceiling. "Just a little longer," he begged as he staggered to the closet. "Is it that hard with me in here?"

Like a whale song, the TARDIS wailed long and mournful. It filled the room.

Jack blinked rapidly. She sounded like she was in pain. Jack sniffed loudly as he struggled to dress. "I'm sorry," Jack whispered. His fingers shook as he buttoned his shirt. "I'm so sorry."

The wailing grew so loud, the walls quivered.

Jack made sure he wasn't touching the walls, hoping to calm her, but he missed the pulsing warmth the walls gave. He stopped by the door and hesitated. 

"Sorry," he whispered and reached for the door.

It wouldn't open. 

Jack bowed his head. "Not again." He leaned against the door. 

"No, don't do this," Jack pleaded, his forehead to the door. "Let me out of here."

The wailing was hurting his ears. The TARDIS sounded almost …human as it moaned and shook.

Jack patted the door, weakly. "I have to…you have to let me out. The Doctor…he'll fix this."

The door wouldn't open.

"Please." Jack jiggled the knobs again.

The TARDIS just kept wailing until…

It stopped.

Jack raised his head. He wiped his eyes with the heel of his hands.

The door clicked.

"There you are!" the Doctor declared, catching Jack under his arms when the startled captain fell through the open doors. "You're usually more prompt, Captain."

"The TARDIS—"

The Doctor waved off his concern. "She's just sleeping."

"S-sleeping?"

The Doctor flipped a small square of crystal, part of a pendant from Arcateen V, like a coin before putting it in his pocket. "Can't have her upset at you all day, can we?" He dropped an arm around Jack's shoulders. Jack tentatively matched the smile. 

"Let's go," the Doctor's voice lowered and Jack felt an odd chill rippling up his arms. He led him towards the medical bay with a curled grip around his left elbow.

"Forever awaits."

 

The medical bay seemed different. Well, it wasn't a room he’d encountered much during his travels with Rose and the Doctor. But Jack remembered it being bigger, brighter and it didn't have that.

Elevated a meter off the floor, at first glance, it looked like a bed under an odd canopy made of glass shards, but it was wider, elongated and oval in shape. Jack paused when he realized there were four cuffs, two on each end, a collar, opened and waiting. 

"Okay," Jack laughed nervously. "The last time I saw one of these, people paid money to see someone throw knives at me." At the Doctor's frown, Jack explained. "I was on a traveling circus." Opening as the man who can't die, not that Jack would tell _him_ that.

"Ah." The Time Lord sounded amused. "A man of many talents."

Jack scratched his jaw and laughed awkwardly. Normally, he would respond to that with a many varied response. But today, he shrugged. 

The Doctor ran his knuckles to the back of Jack's neck. He appeared to enjoy the way Jack sucked his breath in on contact.

"No knives here," the Doctor promised, "but it will cut something out." He gripped Jack by the elbows and steered him with almost a gentle touch towards the odd bed. "Your vortex."

Jack frowned. "Cut? Like hair? Or…" He swallowed and pointed meaningfully to his lap. Jack sighed out of relief when the Time Lord merely chuckled. "Okay then." He ran his hand across the platform and shivered. It felt like ice.

"Your body's permeated with the time vortex." There was a hint of disgust in his voice. Jack averted his gaze and stared at the platform. "It's what's repairing you, healing you."

It didn't sound like it was a bad thing but the rough words from the Doctor made him grimace at himself. He felt like he should apologize.

"If we…cut it out of you, bleed you of the vortex, deplete you of the energies keeping you here…"

"No more forever," Jack finished quietly.

The Doctor placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Get on, Captain."

 

Jack stared up past the Doctor's shoulder as his wrists and ankles were strapped. "No leeches?" Jack joked weakly as he saw the Doctor pull out slender tubes.

The Doctor paused and raised an eyebrow at him. He scoffed and stopped by Jack's arms. He rested a hand over Jack's upturned wrist.

"You have a pulse." There was surprise in his voice.

Jack turned his head towards the Doctor. "Um…yeah."

"I would have thought something like you would have none."

Jack pressed his lips together and he looked away. "I'm alive. I'm not dead."

"You should be."

It was true but the words still squeezed around his heart. Jack's chest seized and he swallowed again and again until his voice steadied. "But I'm not." Jack's voice tightened bitterly. "I know, that makes me—"

"Wrong."

He was going to say it himself, but it hurt nonetheless to hear it. Jack shut his eyes. He didn't want to see what he could hear in the Time Lord's voice.

"This may pinch."

Jack blinked open his eyes. "What?" Suddenly he arched his back, crying out when the first hose tipped with a long needle slipped into his vein, snaking through the blood vessel with burning accuracy. Jack sagged, staring blearily at the tubing slithering off his left wrist.

"Okay, a little warning would have been—God!"

Jack's head slammed back as the second was inserted to his right wrist, then before he could take another breath, his ankles. Jack could feel the needle burn even as ice knifed through his veins, his body burning hot and cold at insertion. By the time the Doctor finished, Jack gasped, eyes tearing as he gulped air to stave off the vise grip in chest.

"You…" Jack panted, "…call that…a _pinch_?"

The Doctor ignored him as he swept his hands across Jack's limbs. Jack could feel the heat of his hands through his trousers and sleeves. Jack kept his stare on the Doctor, who pursed his lips and studied the tubing.

"That's it?" Jack joked, his voice cracked. His heart hammered, echoing the rhythm the Doctor was tapping on his right knee.

Still silent, the Doctor's mouth curved secretively. He turned around and pulled out something that looked oddly familiar.

"I was wondering where that sonic screwdriver went," Jack quipped weakly. "Thought maybe you had a lot of cabinets to build."

An eyebrow cocked towards him. "Laser," the Doctor corrected. "Who'd have sonic?" For some reason, the Time Lord chuckled. "Consider it an…upgrade."

Jack furrowed his brow. "Oh." He watched, dry mouthed as it was activated, glowing in the Doctor's hand. This was it. Jack watched as it drew closer. His breath quickened as the distance shrank until…

Contact.

The tubing lit up with a fluorescent glow and simultaneously, Jack _screamed_ as it felt like his blood was boiling, exploding, from the inside, scalding every fiber of his being. Light cracked through his skin like fissures, burning, scorching, and oh God, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe!

Agony squeezed his insides, squeezed until he could feel his guts overheat. Jack screamed and screamed, but no words could quantify it. No words could describe it. It was simply _pain_. 

His spine cracked as he arched off the platform, trapped by his cuffs and the collar the Doctor clamped over his throat after the first cry. The Time Lord was expressionless as he waved the device along his limbs and it felt like his bones were bubbling and popping inside his body.

Tears streamed down his face, spilling salty drops into his open mouth. Jack writhed in place, sobbing, screaming, groaning as it felt like he was being taken apart.

Blue vapors rose out of his body like smoke, dissipating above to the strange glass canopy that hung over him like a chandelier. Like steam, it floated out of his body, deceptively harmless but it felt like someone was digging a sharp object into Jack's body and gouged his flesh out bit by bit. 

The Doctor pulled the device away and Jack collapsed, gasping desperately. 

"Not good enough," the Doctor murmured as he studied the tubing. "We will have to do this again."

"God," Jack sobbed out. "I…I…God…" He couldn’t speak.

The Doctor pocketed his laser tool and climbed up the platform, straddling Jack. He ran his hands over the damp clothing clinging to Jack's sweat drenched body. Crawling up his body, the Doctor pulled the tubes out as he got closer to Jack.

"You did good, Captain," the Doctor soothed as he wiped Jack's pained tears with his palms. "My handsome Jack, you have done well." He undid the collar and tsked at the angry red indentation on Jack's throat. The Doctor pressed his lips on Jack's throat. "You'll do better tomorrow."

Tomorrow? Jack choked. "I…I can't…"

The Doctor darkened. "We're not finished here."

"I…Doctor…it _hurts_ …" Jack was still having trouble breathing. "P-please…"

"Perhaps you wish we stop this," the Doctor hissed, gripping the sides of Jack's face hard enough to leave bruises. "Perhaps you don't want to stay with us."

"N-no…"

The Doctor crushed his lips over Jack's. He pulled back with a snarl.

"I can still taste the vortex in you," the Doctor hissed. "Still wrong, still very wrong, Captain."

Jack heaved. "Doctor…"

"We'll stop this and we'll let you live forever while we age and leave you and—"

"No!" Jack cried out. The horror the Doctor spat out to him stabbed him far worse than what he just endured. "No! I—"

"Forever, Captain," the Doctor hissed. "I'll give you back forever and let you languish alone in—"

"No!" Jack howled, bucking as he tried to escape the words.

"Forever."

"I don't want it!" Jack choked as he pleaded. "Doctor, I don't want it. I…"

"You want to stay…with us…"

Jack closed his eyes and swallowed. He nodded. "Please…" he whispered. "Please."

His eyes flew open when he felt fingers undoing his trousers. The Doctor still straddled his torso and splayed his hands on Jack's chest.

"Tomorrow then," the Doctor said in a flat voice. He roughly yanked Jack's pants down, clawed fingers pushing his knees up; his fingers ripped his shirt open, ignoring the buttons that fell. "Tomorrow," he repeated.

Jack shakily nodded. He closed his eyes as he felt the Doctor push into him. He drew a shuddering breath as the Doctor fully sheathed inside him. He felt the Doctor move roughly inside him and Jack shook.

Tomorrow. It had to be better tomorrow.

 

Jack shook in his bed, his limbs shaking sporadically as he tried to get up. One hand clutching his open trousers barely hanging on his hips, the other clawing the silent wall, Jack stumbled blindly into the bathroom. 

The TARDIS mournfully sang. 

Jack paused, resting heavily on the bathroom wall in front of the small pool for bathing. "H-hey…" He cracked a smile. 

The sound he got in reply was a low moan.

Jack's smile faded. "It'll work," he reassured. Jack gasped, sagging. His knees shook and he staggered towards the water. "The Doctor said t-tomorrow. We'll keep…keep…" His voice trailed off. Jack's eyes rolled to the back of his head and he fell into the water.

As his lungs filled with water and his body sank to the bottom, Jack heard the TARDIS' high pitched siren and wondered if she was angry it hadn’t worked the first time.

 

The first breath back to life was always the most painful. Jack gasped, his watery cry ripped out of him. He flailed, his legs kicking until he heard the TARDIS' chirp, almost inquiring.

Jack coughed and coughed until he was sitting up and realized he was in barely enough water to reach his ankles now. The pool now drained save a few inches of water that was still warm.

Jack stumbled, groaning as he braced himself against the pool edge.

"Thanks," Jack managed. The air warmed when he shivered. Jack pulled himself out of the water; his clothes clung to him like wax paper. He sat on the floor, too winded to do anything more than pull at his sagging trousers, grab at both ends of his shirt. The warm air embraced him.

The TARDIS cooed around him.

"Tomorrow," Jack gasped. "Tomorrow we'll do this again and fix this." Jack looked towards the ceiling, comforted by the minute vibrations under his aching body. "The Doctor will fix this."

Jack leaned heavily on the bathroom wall, gasping. His eyes drifted shut even though he knew he should get out of his wet clothes.

"Tomorrow," Jack mumbled as he sank deeper into exhaustion, blinking half mast as water dripped from his bangs. "The Doctor will make this better tomorrow."

The TARDIS' purr turned into a snarl.


	7. "Tomorrow came too many times."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning For This Chapter:** Dubious consent, verbal and mental abuse.

**Malcassairo, year 40 million**   
**Two months later…**

Tomorrow came too many times.

Jack stood on the top of the ridge and watched the Doctor, in a rare moment of glee, talking to a strangely beautiful blue green alien, dressed in an equally beautiful semi-transparent robe. Jack huddled into his greatcoat. It felt cold here. Even the Time Lord favored his long black wool coat today. He made a sobering figure among the crowds of friendly blue aliens gathered around him. 

The TARDIS, perhaps because she was adjusting to Jack or the Doctor's intervention by putting her to sleep often, was able to leap to year 40 million with a few minor sparks and bumps. The Doctor, still clearly not happy for whatever reason the mercurial Time Lord wasn't sharing, had determined it wasn't "good enough". 

Jack thought it was pretty amazing they’d even got this far. Not that the Doctor would listen. He usually ignored Jack these days. Unless it was time for his "treatment".

Or in his quarters, in the dark. And he still wouldn't look at him.

A chill rattled through and Jack's shoulders hunched around him. It seemed he got colder more easily these days. When Jack commented on his cloudy breath as they stepped out of the sleeping Tardis, the Doctor dismissed his concerns. It wasn't like he could freeze to death, the Doctor pointed out to him with a scoff, and went to seek out the natives. 

Jack couldn't argue with him; he was still immortal. And it was a flaw he couldn't defend. The vortex energy, the Time Lord had once thrown at him, was constantly renewing itself, stubbornly holding onto Jack and dooming him.

Jack swallowed, remembering how each "session" felt. He was almost grateful it wasn't every day; the Doctor alternating from his "sessions" with whatever he was tinkering with in the console room. Jack rarely went in there any more. The silence from the Doctor, the TARDIS or both was painful, if not more so, than lying in that strange platform the Doctor had built. It felt like it could kill and it probably did, but he would revive/awaken with the Doctor standing over him with an unreadable expression on his face.

"Perhaps tomorrow," the Time Lord would always say. 

"Tomorrow," Jack glumly repeated out loud. He was grateful though, because the Doctor was right; there was no one else in the universe that could fix him or even want to.

Jack kept his eye on the Doctor, who had no qualms talking and walking with any of the strange aliens. His fingers tapped against his thigh a soothing _thrum-thrum-tap-tap_ to pass the time. 

Jack sighed.

He wished he could join the Time Lord, but the Doctor had complained Jack would be too much of an "ill distraction" to be of any use. It hurt, but Jack fatalistically saw his point and stayed back. Jack, instead, stayed on the ridge and watched as the Doctor shook their hands, spoke with his voice and hands and looked nostalgically very…"Doctorish".

Jack snorted at his thoughts. Very perceptive, he thought in the voice of the Time Lord. This was why the Doctor referred to them as the "brains and the brawn". Guess who was the "brains" of the two? Jack would have been annoyed at the inference. After all, he was a 51st century ex-Time Agent; you didn't become one without some intellect. Yet Jack couldn't bring himself to be annoyed. Not when the Doctor referred to them as a pair. It made Jack feel so ridiculously pleased, he still flushed thinking about it.

"Chan you do not join him tho?"

Blinking, Jack turned to his left and found, during his reverie, one of the younger aliens had wandered up the hill to join him. Bright eyed, dark blue spotted with emerald that would lighten when she grew up, the alien looked and acted like a small child. 

Jack hunched down until he was eye level and extended his hand, grinning when she shyly took it. "Captain Jack Harkness and you are?"

His smile faltered when she replied and he realized he didn't have the vocal cords to repeat it.

"Nice to meet you," Jack replied lamely, recovering quickly by shaking her hand. "What are you doing up here?"

"You were alone," the child said in the pure, untainted logic of the very young.

Jack smiled, charmed, and pointed a finger to the Doctor, still shaking hands and talking. You would think he was a politician. "I'm with him."

The child tilted its head and suddenly looked so much older that Jack thought maybe he had been mistaken the first time. She looked back down the valley, then back up at him. She blinked.

"No, you are not." Then, a distant voice calling to her, probably a mother, pulled her away. She scampered down the hill, making a wide pass around the Doctor, who was climbing back up to join Jack.

The Doctor looked over his shoulder at the little one. He smirked at Jack.

"A bit on the young side, isn't she, Captain?"

Jack jerked like he was slapped. "I was only saying hello," he snapped.

"Hm, of course you were." The Doctor waved down to the group. His smile was a bit forced, but he waved as the aliens continued to do so. "Anyway," the Time Lord continued without moving his smile. "I wouldn't get too attached to them. They went extinct in the year 50 trillion." He paused, thinking as the last alien left. "I believe the last one died out in the end of the universe."

Jack stared at the little alien child who turned around to wave farewell. He raised his hand up in a weak gesture. "H-how did they die?"

Still waving, the Doctor's smile faltered unpleasantly. "Yes, yes, goodbye already," he muttered as some still lingered. "God, these people are friendly. What was I saying? Ah yes! How did they die, you ask? Genetic mutation." The Doctor dropped his hand with a snort and turned on his heel. "Sort of like the Spaniards introducing small pox to the Aztecs. Decimated their conglomerates." The Doctor sniffed and cleaned his hands with a handkerchief from his pockets. "They'd never recovered. Wiped them out completely from the universe."

"Oh." Jack watched the child skip with her mother as they descended down pathways to their carved out homes in the rock. The city glowed under the moon and stars. It looked almost ethereal. "That's…" Jack waved at the little alien one last time. "…sad."

"Yes, yes, all very tragic." The Doctor lowered Jack's arm with a snort. "Let us be off. Lots to do, Captain. Lots to do."

Jack reluctantly turned around and followed after the Doctor. Absently, he wondered how the Doctor knew all this if they haven't been able to reach the end of the universe yet. He opened his mouth to ask when he noticed something.

"Did you cut yourself?" Jack trotted up to the Time Lord. He nodded towards the spotted handkerchief in his hand.

"Hmpf," the Doctor grumped. He stuffed it down his pocket. "I think I nicked my hand on one of their rings." The Doctor opened his palm and showed Jack the tiny cut in the fleshy part of his hand. "Nothing to worry about."

Jack grinned. "Want me to kiss it and make it better?"

The Doctor surprised him with a laugh. "Maybe later, Captain. We should get your treatment done first and get you fixed." He stepped into the TARDIS, not realizing Jack had stopped in his tracks.

Jack swallowed. His stomach cramped at the thought. "Looking forward to it," Jack whispered. It will fix everything, Jack told himself. Maybe by tomorrow…

One last look around him, Jack followed the Doctor in with heavy feet.

 

There was blood mingling with his vomit this time.

Jack pressed a fist to his stomach, gasping as another wave of agony rippled through him like water. Over and over, rarely giving him the chance to draw air into his lungs. He tried to sit up, only to collapse back on his bed, head hanging over the side.

The TARDIS twilled in inquiry.

"Rough session," Jack explained hoarsely. "I thought we could go for a longer—oh God…" Jack curled into a fetal position, gasping.

"I don't think I can do this," Jack groaned. He blinked, sweat stinging his eyes. He couldn't straighten himself and rocked on his side on top of the bed. It felt like his entire body was pulling itself in, shrinking his skin over his body, crushing him inside. Jack fought back a whimper but failed.

"Hurts…" Jack smashed his face onto the bed. "It hurts…I…why isn't this working yet?"

The ship warmed the room a degree and cooed mournfully. 

Jack tried to offer a smile but he grimaced instead. "Thanks." He sighed when the room dimmed and it eased the pounding in his head significantly. It seemed the ship forgave him since he was trying.

"This will work," Jack whispered. "We'll keep cutting the vortex out of me. It has to run out sooner or later, right?" Jack squeezed his eyes shut and gasped. It felt like needles were lit and pricking his gut. "Just…bear with me a little longer…"

The TARDIS rumbled subdued then silenced. Jack hoped it was a yes.

The next wave of agony had Jack coughing. He knew it only meant the next step would be his unnatural body healing himself. It meant the pain would be over soon but it also meant it hadn’t worked and tomorrow…

Jack choked. Oh God, not tomorrow. He trembled. His fist dug deep into his abdomen. He couldn’t…he couldn’t deal with this again tomorrow. 

"I…I can't do this again," Jack gasped, sobbed really, as his limbs flared up and he could feel his bones contorting.

"Sh…" A hand, always dry and hot, cupped the back of his head. Jack moaned, his hands weakly trying to push away the ones trying to straighten him on the bed, trying to strip him.

"No," Jack whimpered. It hurt too much. "Doctor…I can't…" He made a pained sound when he felt the Doctor climb on top of him. Jack blearily opened his eyes, trying to focus on the impassive features of his Doctor. Jack didn't know what he was pleading for. He couldn’t think. Everything hurt too much.

Hands pushed his knees apart. Jack groaned as his stomach cramped. He groaned when he was breached slowly, his body stretched with a burn. The Doctor slowly rocked into him with exaggerated care. Jack still cried out.

"You are doing so well," the Doctor said as he leaned into Jack's body. He blew hotly on Jack's damp cheeks. "I can see how much you want this, want us." His hands braced against Jack's hips. "We just need to keep trying. Take the energies before they replenish."

"I can't keep doing this," Jack winced. He tried hard to stay still.

"You will." The Doctor left no room for argument. "Perhaps continuously?"

"God," Jack moaned. He couldn't imagine.

It hurt so much, lying on his back, splayed out in offering to the Time Lord when Jack wanted nothing more than to curl into the twisting pain of his body. Jack whimpered, his hands feebly reaching for the Doctor. For what, he didn't know.

The next thrust, Jack choked. He looked up to see the Doctor staring back at him in the dark, not looking away.

Jack's chest expanded, the pain dulled minutely when he found himself smiling watery back at the Time Lord, who stared but didn't turn away. Jack groaned, eyes tearing, but he tightened his legs around his Doctor, locked his ankles around the thick material of his suit and pulled him in.

The surprised groan from the Doctor and eyes darkened with lust pushed back any pain from Jack's mind. Even the burning, sharp tearing agony Jack felt as the Doctor dove in him, Jack's legs tensing out of pain and pleasure, was ebbing. It was nothing to the feel of the Doctor filling him, slipping in deeper, his hands on Jack's shoulders, his mouth partially opened as he grunted. Dark eyes that had refused to look at him for so long now beckoned Jack, lust overblown the Time Lord's pupils so large, Jack found himself lost.

The Doctor found a pace that reminded Jack of the odd pattern the Doctor rapped out with his fingers on any surface. One, two, deep thrusts that jolted through Jack's body, followed by two short, abrupt jabs that made his legs shake. Over and over, the beat drilled into the captain's body and Jack was so lost in the pace that he cried out in surprise when he felt the Doctor curled his fists around Jack's growing erection.

"Almost there," the Doctor crooned as he pulled on Jack's erection, his cock matching pace pistoning into Jack. "We've almost cleansed you of everything that's wrong with you."

"Doctor," Jack cried out, his head thrown back as he felt himself being pulled in so many directions. Jack sobbed as he was slammed into his bed again and again. He felt the Doctor lean over, his lips hovering over Jack's. On impulse, Jack surged his head forward and met the Doctor's mouth in a hungry kiss.

The Doctor first acted like he was going to rear back but instead he froze and then with a growl, clasped his hands to Jack's head and leaned into Jack's mouth.

They parted for a second, gasping.

"I can still taste the vortex in you," the Doctor hissed but instead of pulling away, he wrapped his arms around Jack, bringing the captain to him. The change in angle made Jack groan which the Time Lord swallowed. It felt like the Doctor was trying to soak up and swallow every breath Jack exhaled, greedily sucking on Jack's tongue, his mouth demanding.

It was like being back on that platform again, but instead of pain, Jack felt drained. His cock trapped between them, the Doctor's suit rubbing against the swollen shaft and scrubbing at the inside of Jack's thighs as the Doctor pounded.

"Does anyone do this for you?" the Doctor hissed. "When you offer yourself like a whore, did anyone take you?"

Jack pressed his burning face against the Doctor's jaw. He groaned as they rocked repeatedly against each other.

"An abomination like you…did anyone still want you?" 

Jack moaned, feeling his mouth being possessed again.

"Or did you not tell them? In London were you too busy opening up your legs to them so they would never find out?"

He didn't know why he had told the Doctor about London, or about his decades of loneliness. It was like he could not _not_ tell him anything. Jack gritted his teeth when the Doctor pulled his mouth away.

"Your Doctor stayed despite knowing, despite how hard it is to look at you, touch you…" Hands groped between them and Jack arched his back. The next thrust made Jack quiver against the Doctor.

"I'm the only one who can stand by your side…"

Pleasure was building up. Jack moaned as hands gripped him so tightly, his body jerking up from the fullness inside him and the fist pulling him like a chain. 

"I'm the only one who will stay despite of you…"

 _Thrust, thrust, jab, jab_. Jack sobbed as the ache in him replaced the burning agony of before.

"…the only one who will touch you…"

A hand pulled Jack away from that mouth and fisted around his hair. Jack gasped, flinched.

"…so wrong…sick looking at you…"

Bile rose in Jack's throat. "I'm sorry," he croaked.

"…the only one…" 

Yes.

"…own you, mine to touch…"

He wanted no other. They were all…pretend.

"…mine to take…to break…" The Doctor's voice was suddenly in his ear. 

"I _will_ break you, _Captain_."

One thrust that touched deep, so deep and Jack threw his head back, shouting as he came. The Doctor snarled as cum stained Jack's belly and his suit. He surged, slamming into Jack and hot cum flooded inside Jack in a hard jet that actually hurt. 

Jack fell back on the bed, winded, dizzy, his head pounding so loud he didn't realize he blurted out, "I love you" until the Doctor paused.

The Doctor's eyes darkened and he smiled thinly. 

"I know."

 

**London, Canary Wharf**   
**2006**

The archives, while well organized, were daunting; endless rows of cabinets of every little thing thought strange, supernatural, or alien. If it was alien though, it was Torchwood's. It was an unofficial motto he had learned when he had been hired last year.

As a junior researcher, the bowels of the archives were his world, his domain, so as daunting as it was, Ianto Jones knew something good about the archives.

Hardly _anyone_ went down here.

A giggle drew his musing back to the present. Ianto blinked, and then flushed at the coy smile Lisa Hallett favored him before she stepped back.

"You know," Lisa said casually as she straightened her skirt and hand combed her short brunette hair. "A girl might be insulted if she sees her bloke's attention is somewhere else during…" She arched an eyebrow suggestively. Then she laughed, reaching over to help Ianto with his tie.

"Perhaps it was on work, like it should be," Ianto huffed as he finished tucking in his shirt, but there was little anger in his voice. "What if someone had walked in?"

"Posh, you yourself said no one ever uses the G to I section." Lisa backed away from Ianto and randomly pulled a file out. "I mean. Who would be looking for Happ, 1938 or…or…Harkness—good Lord—1909, even?" Lisa tossed the aged files back in the cabinets and shut the drawer with her hip.

Ianto rolled his eyes. She did have a point. "You never know," he was still protesting, half heartedly. "Someone could be…" Lisa lowered her eyes and gave him a kiss on the lips. "…searching for…" Another one, this time on his throat. "…ah…Victorian…" One over his ear. "…phasmagoria…" he finished weakly. 

The giggle blowing in his ear told him he hadn’t won the argument this time. 

"Phasmagoria? Good God, you have been down here too long. We should move you up to Development and Research."

"I like the archives," Ianto grumbled, tired of the old argument. "I have no interest in dissection or experimentations." Ianto finished buttoning up his waistcoat. "The Director is always fiddling with something. And now Frederick said he heard her talking about that dimensional ghost shift—"

Lisa sighed. She drew her arms up around his neck. "It's not all dissection and mad scientists. And Frederick is daft. The Director just wants to reach it first, but it's six hundred feet above sea level. It's all talk. We haven't got the coffers or the energy to do it. And our PM is not going to okay forty percent of London's power grid to us to make it happen. Even if we _are_ Torchwood." She smiled to herself as she adjusted the knot on Ianto's tie. 

"It's a good lateral move. I like it, the pay's better than the field agent's and after two years, you’re guaranteed a promotion up."

"I like the archives," Ianto stubbornly repeated. "It's quiet." At Lisa's skeptical look, he amended, "Most of the time."

Lisa shrugged because frankly, it was an argument they had constantly without a winner. They'd had it often enough, it was better to let it fall on a stalemate than to try and to win. Even the makeup sex for this wasn't as appealing anymore.

"I have to go back upstairs," Lisa said with obvious regret. "I might be working late."

"Do you want me to wait?" Ianto craned his neck and did a tweak to his tie on the shiny surface of one of the newer cabinets.

"No. Lord knows how long Dr. Singh may be. Pick me up some Chinese?" 

Ianto made a long suffering sigh. "If I must."

Lisa threaded her fingers with his. She smiled.

"I like your tie," she offered with a wink and a smile.

Ianto retorted. "You should. You bought it."

"Mm, I have such lovely taste." Then, with a kiss on his nose, Lisa slipped back on her lab coat and hurried for the elevator she could hear dinging at the end of the hallway. She waved a hasty goodbye over her shoulder as she trotted around the corner, squeaking for someone to hold the doors.

Ianto leaned against the desk overlooking the old cabinets. He looked at the piles of yellowing folders with a rueful grin. He never had any aspirations to be anything else and unlike others he knew, the excitement of a field agent didn't appeal to him like it did Lisa. It was only practicality—their loft rent had shot up the last few months—that had made her settle to the higher paying job as an assistant to Dr. Singh, the proverbial mad scientist in Ianto's opinion. Lisa thought he was brilliant.

Happ's file and Harkness' were placed in reverse. Ianto grumbled goodnaturedly to himself as he pulled the files again and—Oops. 

"Damn," Ianto groaned as sepia toned photos fluttered out with the pins that attached them. He gathered them up, glancing at them as he went, relying on the pencil scrawls on the borders to tell him where they went. 

Ianto paused at one that had only a tall figure in uniform, standing with just his cap tucked under his arm, standing remarkably loose limbed and casual despite the stock military pose. His smile, while wide, was secretive, as if the smirk on his face was not for the photographer but for whoever he held regard in his pale eyes. Looking carefully, Ianto realized he wasn't looking directly at the camera, but at a spot off the photographer's shoulder.

He looked…lost.

Ianto shook his head and rolled his eyes at himself. Romantic fancies down in the bowels of Canary Wharf were not good. Perhaps Lisa was right. He'd been in the Archives long enough. He took another look at the photo. Seemed good looking enough. For a man, that is. Lisa and her friends would probably find him "hot". 

The date said "1909" so—Ianto checked the border—this Captain Jack Harkness would now be over 130 years old, _if_ he was still alive. Hot, indeed.

Ianto chuckled, flipped a mock salute off to the photo and snapped to attention with a click of his heels.

"Captain," Ianto murmured with an amused twist of his mouth.

Before he could pin the photo back in the report, a low siren rang out 

Ianto frowned, looking up at the ceiling where the alarms spun red, then blue, then red. Temporal alarm. Huh. It never rang before. Was it a drill?

Ianto's mobile bleeped a few times before it registered. He dug it out of his pocket, eyes still on the siren with a frown. 

Lisa didn't even wait for him to answer.

"—Get to the tenth floor!"

Frowning, Ianto walked slowly towards the elevators. "What is it? The alarms are wailing down here. What's happening?"

"Just come to the tenth floor." Lisa sounded flustered and hung up before he could ask her another question.

"Well," Ianto sighed, pocketing his mobile. "I guess I'm going to the tenth floor."

 

The doors opened to bedlam in the cargo bay. Their security was in full garb running in orderly chaos, marching past Ianto in thundering droves. Director Hartman, prim in her tailored suit, looked calm as she gave orders but there was a tremor of excitement in her voice. There were clusters of people, all in lab coats, as they pointed something in the middle of the cargo hold.

"What's going on?" Ianto pulled Lisa aside. She didn't look scared but she clutched Ianto's sleeve with fervor. Assault weapons were leveled, personnel ordered to push back, and in the center of it all…

Stood a blue police box.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh _yes_ , what is a Torchwood story without our Ianto Jones? :)


	8. "Now, isn't this cozy?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning For This Chapter:** mentions past non-con/dubious consent, minor (very minor) het, verbal and mental abuse.

**London, Canary Wharf**  
 **2006**

A police box. It was a faded blue police box standing in the middle of the cargo bay of Torchwood London. And, it was…well, it wasn't doing anything really. It was just sitting there, serene and absolutely harmless looking.

The fifty bulletproof vested guards with their assault guns, however, said otherwise.

"What's going on?" Ianto whispered. Lisa was tugging him over to a gap among the crowds for a better look. "Wait—Lisa!" Ianto dug in his heels. He refused to be dragged here and fro like luggage.

"We can't see from here. Bugger, now they want us to evacuate," Lisa scowled when she noticed one of the guards was trying to herd the technicians away. She made a little hop to see above a head. "Bloody hell, when did everyone get so tall?"

"Lisa, I promise if you do not tell me—"

"It's him!" Lisa pointed excitedly between two broad shoulders to the innocuous police box. She grabbed him by the shoulders and practically used him as a battering ram and pushed through two people he vaguely recognized from the Engineering section.

"Sorry," Ianto mumbled at the foul look he was getting, but Lisa was determined to get a better look at…whatever that was.

"I can't believe it," Lisa whispered excitedly in his ear. "After all these years, we finally get to see him in person. "Oh God, I wonder if he'll blow something up again? I mean, there had only been sightings and—Ianto, aren't you excited?" Lisa finally calmed down enough to realize Ianto was giving her a puzzled frown.

Ianto furrowed his brow. "Um…" He pointed to the general direction of the box.

Lisa nearly shook his arm off. "Ianto Jones, how can you not know that's the Doctor?"

"Doctor…who?"

Lisa gaped at him like he was mad. "Ianto, you're not joking, are you?"

Ianto blinked when it dawned on him. "Wait, wait, _wait_. _That_ Doctor? But Torchwood was established back with Queen—that's over a _hundred_ years ago! That can't be him!"

"Time travel! He travels time and space in that box!"

Ianto pursed his lips, cocked his brow at his girlfriend. 

"He time travels…in _that_?" Ianto pointed to the box their security officers were closing in on. Ianto stared at it for a long moment. He turned back to Lisa.

"A bit cramped, don't you think?"

Before Lisa could reply, before they were hurried towards the emergency, the door to the police box opened.

Everyone froze, even Director Hartman stilled, her hand still up from trying to direct her men around the blue stand. Everyone looked with huge eyes as a pale hand crept around the door, then, with a flourish, the doors parted with a wooden rattle and a slim man with light hair, dressed in a black suit walked out with a broad step.

He looked left and right, smiling, not at all bothered there were dozens of laser sight dots aimed on his head and chest. 

"Good morning!" His voice rang across the large space without ever raising it. He tilted his head, his hands still on both doors, as his mouth curved to almost a sneer. 

"And which one of you is the director of this… _Torchwood_?"

 

Yvonne Hartman, when she had first been recruited for Torchwood London, had been told it was for Queen and country. For the British Empire. The _Doctor_ was enemy number one since day one. He brought death, anarchy, and storms that could rip apart planets. Aliens feared him, monsters avoided him, and the Doctor was master of time and space.

She hadn't expected him to be so… _charming_.

"Madam Director." The kiss to her knuckles was light; it rivaled the hooded eyes that stayed with her while he dipped his head to brush his lips across her skin. It felt like a warm fire lit under her, a flicker of heat wavered up her body. 

"Doctor," Yvonne was proud her voice remained steady. She cleared her voice, well aware that almost a hundred people were watching. "Welcome to Torchwood London."

"Thank you, I have heard much about this place…and _you_."

"Oh." An odd flutter was in her stomach. "And I've read much about you…" Yvonne paused. "Should I be calling you…?"

In one neat gesture that told her he'd done this before, the dapper gentleman pulled the hand he held, tucked it into his right arm. He offered her a very congenial smile that made her feel like she was the only one standing in the room. 

"Please, Director Hartman. Doctor would be fine."

"Y-yvonne," she corrected him. Damn, her voice quivered like a school girl. His eyes were as dark as gazing into the night sky. It promised the universe if she would only look closer. Closer…

"I…" She cleared her suddenly dry mouth. "We have questions, Doctor."

"Of course." He didn't sound surprised. In fact, he looked quite pleased. "And I can provide answers, but perhaps not here?" He scanned the room and winced delicately. "I'm not a public speaker, I'm afraid. I'm not _that_ kind of doctor."

Yvonne was horrified to find herself burst into a short laugh, bordering on a giggle. Good Lord, yes, somewhere else might be good to contemplate the universe living behind those eyes and preserve her dignity. She glanced behind her in question. 

"Oh, she'll be fine," the Doctor waved a hand in the air towards the odd blue structure, shaking his head dismissively. "I wouldn't advise going in though." He leaned to her and Yvonne obliged by tilting her head close enough she felt a shiver when his hot dry breath tickled her bare throat.

"I have a guard dog inside," the Doctor whispered. He pulled back and winked. "Nasty. Bit of a bitch really if you pardon my language. Last time someone tried to go in…" He stuffed his fist in his mouth, pretending to gag himself. He gave a mock shudder. "Mm! Poor thing. I never did find the rest of the intruder…"

Yvonne was sure he was jesting, but she swallowed when the Doctor lowered his fist and leveled his gaze at her. She couldn't tear away.

"Y-yes…yes. Of course. We'll seal the area off. We can talk in my office."

The smile she got in return both warmed and chilled her as they left.

 

_…thrum-thrum-tap-tap…_

_…thrum-thrum-tap-tap…_

It’d never felt so empty like this before. 

Jack sat there, in the dark, wondering as he had wondered since Malcassairo, whatever had possessed him to tell the Doctor about Torchwood. It was like he couldn't deny the Doctor anything. Not that it was a big secret, really. He didn't think telling him the Queen's response to him saving her life was to build an institute. An institute whose sole purpose was to recapture him ; her gratitude was to label the Doctor as public enemy number one. 

"Ingrate," Jack muttered. He looked around his living quarters. He wished the Doctor hadn't put the TARDIS to sleep. Jack understood it was to not upset her or damage her (because he was so wrong) but it was eerie in the silent chamber. He missed feeling her around him, like a blanket or like his increasingly inadequate greatcoat. Now, everything felt artificial and cold and empty. The cages of coral that were the spine of the ship now felt like ordinary carved stone. 

Like a tomb.

For some reason, the analogy sent a chill down his spine. Oh, irony of ironies. Wasn't he here so a tomb could be possible in his future? 

Time, the Doctor explained, was against him. The vortex inside Jack regenerated too quickly to truly siphon enough to make a difference. The days of agonizing treatments trying to leech forever out of him were failing. In other words, Jack was still immortal; still wrong in their eyes.

_Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, Jack Harkness._

Swallowing, Jack rubbed his palms against his pants. He had been told to wait. Stay with the TARDIS and (in the Doctor's words) stay out of trouble while the Doctor talked to Torchwood's director. What they could possibly talk about, what Torchwood could possibly offer the Doctor, Jack hadn't a clue. But the longer he waited the hollower and chilled he was feeling.

"They could be dissecting him right now," Jack muttered, ignoring the fact that he hadn't felt like this since Station five, the game station.

Dark, empty, and remote. So devoid of life. Like how the Doctor described Jack: empty of real life, standing still in the void of space.

His chest tightened and it felt like the walls were closing in, trying to force him out. Jack sat on his bed that still smelled faintly like the Doctor, and gripped the edge of the mattress just as hard as when the Doctor had breached him last night without warning. Jack was sleeping fitfully, recuperating from his last session, and woke to the false sensation of a caress on his hair, before he was roughly flipped onto his stomach.

But the Doctor had stayed with him; all night as he told Jack his plan to come here. The Doctor, despite Jack's failings, still wanted to find some way to fix Jack Harkness. The drumming, his Doctor said, would sustain him for now. The excruciating pain, the Time Lord chanted to him, was nothing. Like Jack was nothing. It was necessary, his Doctor said, to fix him.

_…thrum-thrum-tap-tap…_

Listen to the drumming, Jack was told. Only to that, the Doctor ordered, and not to his cries of pain or the TARDIS' distress. It was nothing. It was necessary; to fix something because Jack was wrong. 

It hurt to even think about it.

_…thrum-thrum-tap-tap…_

But it made sense.

Even as the Doctor moved inside him, snarling how disgusting Jack felt around him, how the scent of the vortex on his skin repulsed him, the Doctor was still going to find a way to save him. So Jack wouldn't be alone or left behind again.

Something pricked in the corner of his eye. 

Jack waited for his Doctor to return because of course he'd return. The TARDIS would welcome her Doctor home. This was the TARDIS, sleek and coiled in warm, welcoming coral. She was home like her predecessors had been for many Time Lords during the Doctor's time. She wasn't made of metal and wires and Dalek dust and artificial air. She was real. She was a presence waiting for her Doctor. Jack, on the other hand…

That tightness in his chest returned. Jack wondered if it had ever gone away or was it merely lurking in hiding like the insidious curse corrupting him from the inside out.

He needed to find the Doctor. Wrong or not, Jack knew he should be by the Doctor's side.

The captain got up to his feet, taking a deep breath until everything steadied around him. He hated how the treatments always made him feel so…detached afterwards for a long time. The Doctor said it was because he was fighting the process, his body greedily trying to hold on to forever.

Jack closed his eyes briefly. "I don't want this," he repeated. He was sure of it. Eternity alone was like standing on the shores of Boeshane with an empty hand. Jack told himself this every time he climbed up on the platform. He chanted it even when he wanted to cry out in pain. Sooner or later, his body would stop betraying the Doctor. 

But right now…

Jack shuffled carefully to the door. He resisted the urge to run. He didn't know what to expect here on this 21st century Torchwood, but it wasn't going to deter him.

The Doctor was probably in trouble, Jack reasoned. He _had_ to leave the TARDIS. The Doctor needed him. 

As Jack steered for the outside doors, Jack ignored how eerily familiar his footsteps sounded in the mute TARDIS. Hollow metal rapped under his feet and reminded him how dust tasted in his throat. Jack didn't think about it, but his hands shook when he reached for the door. 

 

Definitely needed to pick up Chinese now.

Dr. Singh was sure to keep all his assistants, including Lisa, working until late. The director declared the odd blue police box was off-limits before she shut herself in with the Doctor and her top team of scientists. 

Lisa gave Ianto a peck on the cheek as apology and ran after Dr. Singh with an armful of readings from the CCTV that recorded the Doctor's rather unusual arrival.

Ianto Jones stood five meters away from the box, well outside the yellow Caution ribbon someone had put up around the station. He'd snuck in because returning to his quiet, predictable archives didn't appeal to him today. He studied the structure, his arms folded in front of him, frowning at the item standing among the crated alien artifacts the Cardiff branch had sent over last month. Maybe because he worked in the archives, he was more fascinated with the object than the man Director Hartman seemed enthralled with. Must be from dealing with all those alien artifacts. Less guesswork, no unpredictable behavior and they all fit in categories and labels. No surprises. Ianto hated surprises. 

A complete circuit around it and Ianto stopped, his lips pursed as he came to a conclusion.

It was just a bloody police box, for God's sake. A 1960's police box to be precise. Would it be filed under "p" or "d" perhaps? Wait, the alien referred to himself as " _The_ Doctor" so should it be "t" instead?

The faded blue painted object was as unimpressive as its owner. Ianto had expected a towering figure, perhaps reminiscent of Churchill with a booming voice and a mass to match it.

Ianto hadn’t thought the Doctor would be so… _short_.

A rather impolite snort broke free before he could stop himself. Ianto muffled himself behind the back of his hand. Mustn't offend the Doctor. Bringer of death and master of time and space you know. Besides he’d only seen the alien from a distance, but he really did expect some dashing cut of a figure to step out of an equally impressive spaceship. At the very least out of a machine out of Wells' novel. Ianto was definitely not expecting it to look so ordinary.

Ianto muttered to himself as he cocked his head to the left and noted the worn, faded blue paint. Hm, traveling through time and space was most certainly hard on its exteriors.

Ianto stifled a giggle. _This_ was probably why he was assigned to the archives. This attitude wasn't fit for aliens, otherworldly creatures or people who looked oddly like funeral directors.

"Shut up, shut up," Ianto muttered to himself behind the cuff of his sleeve. He took a step back; not that the box would be offended—oh bollocks, there he went again. He bit his lower lip and swallowed his giggle and wondered if perhaps it wasn't hysteria he was reacting to. It was an alien artifact, after all. And Ianto had only encountered strange debris washed up from the Rift and dead alien corpses already encased in jars. This…well, this was different and months in the basement certainly hadn’t prepared him for this. 

How did he even _travel_ in that thing? It was a tiny box. Maybe there was room for one person to stand—Oh, that couldn't be fun. Standing inside a closet, spinning through time and space.

Ianto, as he studied the structure, drew closer and closer to it until he was barely a meter away and close enough to notice a scar on the wood that was deep enough to show the grain under the paint. Ianto blinked when it occurred to him he could read the sign by the telephone box. He began to back away when the door behind him opened silently.

Ianto yelped when a foot collided with his back and he felt a body topple against him. His arms flailed, his legs tripped over each other and he pitched forward. His chin hit the floor with a display of blinding stars.

Legs, arms, tangled as both tried to correct themselves and with an mutual "Oof!", they crashed to the floor.

Ianto lay there on his stomach feeling very crossed at himself. It was bad enough he snuck past security to see this, but to trip over one of the guards too? Ianto groaned to himself. Wonderful.

"Sorry." Ianto pushed himself with his elbows. "I can explain."

"Well," a baritone voice said with a little bit of wry humor. "I would very much like to hear this one."

Ianto blinked, looked back to the weight over his legs and found himself staring at the palest blue eyes he'd ever seen.

_Oh._

"You're not one of the guards," Ianto stammered.

The man, still looking amused, got up with a grace that belied the greatcoat tangled around his legs. He bent slightly towards Ianto, extending out his hand.

"No," a brilliant, white teeth smile was offered to him. "I'm not."

Ianto stared at him, momentarily speechless. "You came out of that box," he realized out loud. "You're an _alien_?" Ianto hadn't expected aliens to look so…unalien. Then again, the last alien he’d just seen looked more like a boring, quiet professor. This one had on odd period clothing, World War II maybe, short dark mussed up hair, and he looked nothing like a professor.

"You don't _look_ alien," Ianto blurted out. Almost immediately, he flushed. Again, the reason why he preferred the archives. He might have just started World War III here.

The alien who didn't look like an alien tilted his head. "Should I sit back down for this?" He wiggled his fingers, waiting.

Ianto stared up at him. Oh. "Sorry," he said sheepishly and reached out, grabbing the hand in front of him. It was a little cool but firm as it hauled him back up on his feet. Ianto hopped once as he regained his footing.

"Thank you," Ianto brushed the dust off his suit. When he straightened up, it was right into that intense blue gaze again.

"Uh…hello," Ianto couldn't think of anything else to say. Greetings from Earth perhaps?

"Hello," the other returned easily enough.

"…Hello…" Bugger, why can't he think of anything else to say? Ianto wished Lisa was here. She would most certainly know.

Dark eyebrows knitted in concern. "You're not going to pass out on me, are you?" He reached out a hand by Ianto's arm, waiting.

Ianto blinked, caught off-guard. "Pass—what?"

"Never mind." The hand now moved front and Ianto automatically offered his in a very human handshake.

"Captain Jack Harkness."

Ah yes, he looked like he would be a captain—Wait, a captain of what? He came out of a tiny police box!

"And you are?" Harkness invited.

"Oh! Ah, Jones! Ianto, Jones!" Ianto stammered. 

The hand felt warmer now and was firm, but not too tight as Harkness shook his hand. "Nice to meet you Jones, Ianto Jones." When Harkness released his hand, Ianto felt oddly bereft. "Where is he?"

"Who?" Ianto asked absently as he rubbed his hand against his suit. His hand felt like it didn't belong to him anymore. 

Harkness' friendly expression darkened. "The Doctor."

"He's still with our Director. This area's sealed otherwise I would take you to them." 

The captain—Ianto was tempted to ask him captain of what—looked a little nonplussed. He studied his surroundings, appearing a little uncertain.

"I can assure you he is alright," Ianto said quietly.

Ianto guessed right because Harkness looked at him, carefully, before he minutely relaxed.

"Sorry," Harkness shrugged as if he didn't care, but his eyes still darted around the cargo bay. "He was taking a while. I was worried he was either being dissected or—"

"Or he’d abandoned you," Ianto lightly returned, smiling reassuringly. 

A flash of panic flitted across Harkness' face, so acute, Ianto felt ill for saying it.

"Not likely," Harkness laughed, strained. "His ship won't ever leave without him." Harkness waved at the police box behind him.

The lines still remaining at the corners of Harkness' mouth made Ianto feel horrible. "I'm sorry," he murmured, "I've spoken inappropriately." He wasn't sure what though.

"No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did," Ianto could see the odd echo of misery in the startling blue eyes and it made him sick to his stomach realizing he’d put it there. "I'm a horrible, horrible man. Please don't blow up my planet on account of it, Captain."

The laugh that burst out surprised Ianto and seemed to surprise Harkness as well.

Harkness smiled at him. "I don't think you're a horrible man," the captain told him. "I think you're a beautiful boy who's trying too hard to think of the right thing to say."

Ianto blinked, not sure how to respond to being referred to as "beautiful". Especially not by someone who could fit under that category himself. At least, he was sure Lisa would think so. Harkness was "beautiful". For a man.

"I'm twenty two," Ianto pointed out, because anything else he could think of would get him in an awful amount of trouble. Or blow the planet up. Either would be very bad. "Hardly a boy."

Harkness looked unexplainably sad. "Trust me. Compared to me? You are." Harkness' eyes clouded and looked older than his face. They looked lost, displaced and Ianto had the uncanny sense he'd seen them before. 

But then the captain cleared his throat and the moment was gone.

"I should really be with the Doctor," Harkness hedged, looking a little fidgety.

"I'm sorry," Ianto murmured. And he truly was. "I barely snuck in. I doubt I can sneak you out." At the frown Harkness made, Ianto thought quickly. "But how did you fit in that box with the Doctor?" One would have been cramped, but two?

Harkness arched an eyebrow at Ianto. "How do you think two people can fit in a police box?" He chuckled when Ianto fumbled for a response. Harkness dropped a companionable hand on Ianto's shoulder. "How about a tour?"

 

There was a brief hesitation when Ianto reached the Caution tape. But when Harkness merely stepped over it, his broad shoulders slipping easily through one door, Ianto took a deep breath.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," he muttered. Ianto could only imagine Lisa's expression if she could see him. He rounded back his shoulders, walked over the tape (and nearly tangled his ankles on it), and entered the police box, fully expecting to collide right into the captain's back.

He didn't expect to trip down some stairs.

"Are you alright?" Harkness hurried over and helped Ianto to his feet. There was laughter in his voice as it pleasantly rumbled off Ianto's ear. "Sorry, I should have warned you about those steps."

"Yes," Ianto griped, his face burning. Extraterrestrial explorer indeed. Oh, he made a great Torch—Ianto started.

"I—I…" Ianto really should have remained in the archives today.

"Bigger than she looks on the outside, huh?" Harkness said with a little pride in his voice. "I have the lights on, but the Doctor has her in lockdown right now so I can't really show you much—"

"You call her a she," Ianto mumbled as he scan the chamber he was in. It was…it was spectacular, golden stone crawling up the domed walls that reminded him of Westminster. 

"Huh." Harkness shrugged. "Always thought of her as a she. You people have a habit of feminizing your crafts that way." He smiled with a fondness Ianto would associate with a lover. Harkness stroked the center pedestal edge with the back of his hand. "I can see why though."

Ianto had his eyes on the ceiling again, absently trying to calculate its height. "So you and the Doctor travel in this—Oops." His heel caught one of the stone vines that wove into the floor.

Strong arms went around his shoulder, pulling him up against a hard body before he fell. "Careful," Harkness sounded close to his ear. "Be a shame if you broke that pretty neck of yours." He smiled at Ianto, still holding on.

Ianto stared unblinking at him. For a reason beyond him, Ianto couldn't say why he didn't step back now that he was steady again. Eyes that looked familiar yet so unlike anything he’d ever seen riveted him to the spot.

Harkness' eyes drifted to his mouth. He swallowed. "If I was a better man," he murmured. "I would kiss you right now."

"I…I don't understand," Ianto asked in a daze.

The pale blue eyes cleared and Harkness stepped back with a clap on Ianto's shoulders. "There you go," he said gruffly. "Watch your step next time."

Before Ianto could gather up his brain which seemed to have dissolved into his shoes, a smooth voice cut the air.

"Now, isn't this cozy?"

Ianto lifted his head and caught a flicker of fear in Harkness' eyes before he spun around and saw the Doctor and the director standing in the chamber.

"Making friends, _Captain_?" The smile the Doctor gave Ianto made him shiver.


	9. "The twenty first century is when it all changes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning For This Chapter:** mentions past non-con/dubious consent, minor (very minor) het, verbal and mental abuse.

**London, Canary Wharf**   
**2006**

Ianto had always read about a person's skin crawling but always wondered what that sensation could be like.

Now he knew.

It was an oily feeling that lingered when Ianto felt the Doctor's gaze upon him. It was like fingernails scratched lightly on his arms, leaving faint burning abrasions on his skin. Ianto fidgeted on the spot and couldn't even bring up the polite response of smiling back or saying hello. He was surprised to see Captain Harkness go rigid; that only made the oily sensation worsen. There was a sudden urge to shower as well. 

"What is this?" Director Hartman had gotten over her initial shock and was sputtering. "This place was off limits under my orders! Who are these people?"

The Doctor raised a hand and smiled thinly at her. "May I introduce you to Captain Harkness?" He paused and his eyes narrowed, his mouth twisting a little. "My _companion_."

He didn't know why, but Ianto bristled, especially when he caught the impassive look on Harkness' face and the tensed muscle under his jaw. Harkness just smiled, tightly, and bowed his head a little, looking completely uncomfortable when he stepped forward and took Hartman's hand. 

"Director Hartman," the captain greeted, lightly holding her fingers before letting go. "Nice to meet you." His smile was less forced now, but his eyes looked dull. He stepped back, by the Doctor, who touched his back briefly with a hand.

Hartman looked both fascinated and disgusted, and blinked at Harkness as if he were a puzzle. She recovered and pointed at Ianto. 

"And who are you?"

Ianto flinched. He fumbled for his id badge. "I work downst—in archives…" he hastened to explain. 

"This place is sealed off." The director, who didn't recognize him of course, was frosty, her lips pursed. "No one was to step foot inside the Doctor's ship."

"I invited him in," Harkness quickly jumped in. He looked over to Ianto with a wan smile before he averted his gaze again.

"Yes, well, the captain here is a friendly sort," the Doctor chuckled. "No harm. It's not like they could fly away. The ship won't listen to _him_."

"Who's in charge of you? What's your name?" Hartman was still going, but Ianto suspected it was more for the Doctor's benefit.

"Worster is my supervisor," Ianto said quickly. "My name's Ianto Jones. I'm a junior researcher."

Ianto felt awkward standing there. He could see the Doctor's hand claw the coat material out of the corner of his eye. He fidgeted, wishing he wasn't here, feeling incredibly bad on Harkness' behalf. He stared at the stiff back, the greatcoat bunched in the Doctor's grip; he almost missed the Doctor's startled expression.

"Ianto Jones, is it?" the Doctor murmured. An odd, pleased look crossed his face. "Well, this just gets better and better." He looked back at the captain and the look dropped for something darker.

"You were to stay inside, Captain."

"And you were taking too long, Doctor," Harkness retorted. There was a flicker of surprise from the Doctor. "I wanted to be sure you weren't being taken apart by Torchwood." Chagrin swept over his features and the captain looked over to the director. "No offense."

"None taken," Director Hartman returned in a dry voice. "I assure you; dismantling the Doctor to see what makes him tick is not Torchwood's _modus operandi_."

It was good fortune that Ianto still had enough common sense not to snort.

"I find it charming however," Director Hartman oozed and Ianto inwardly winced, "that your captain would seek to guard you, Doctor. Possibly with his life."

There was that odd smile/smirk again. "Ah yes," the Doctor drawled, glancing sideways at Harkness. "You would think it impressive…his _life_ …Our Captain is quite the hero." He laughed and that odd expression dropped like it had never been there. The captain smiled faintly to the director but said nothing more.

Ianto swallowed a sigh of relief when the director dismissed him with a warning. Hartman looked more irritated than mad and she was too engrossed with what the Doctor was saying to really assert her authority on him. Ianto gave his goodbyes quickly before the director could change her mind. He glanced over to Harkness, hoping the captain could see the apology in his eyes, but the captain wasn't looking his way. Ianto didn't know why he felt disappointed but he gave the man another look over his shoulder and slipped out of the incredible machine that was mostly certainly not a police box. 

"Stay here, Captain. The Director and I have much to discuss with you."

There was a shiver up his back when Ianto shut the door behind him and the too smooth voice of the Doctor reached his ears like a hot wind. Ianto oddly panicked when he shut the door, realizing the captain was now alone with the Doctor and the director. But of course that was all right, wasn't it? Captain Harkness travelled with the Doctor. Ianto lingered a moment longer by the police box, shifting from foot to foot. Finally, feeling a little foolish, Ianto crossed over the Caution tape to get back to work.

He never saw the captain again for the rest of the day or the next day after. 

 

He never felt the first shot. 

The Doctor, as soon as young Ianto Jones left the TARDIS, tapped his chin with his pointer, muttering, "Now, where were we? Ah, yes!" Without warning, he spun around, whipped out his laser screwdriver and shot him. It was too quick, the pain too sharp all over to identify where he was hit. It just went dark.

Jack gasped; his throat and chest burned when he came back to life. There were a few seconds when he could feel his body trying to repair what was damaged and he felt the faint throb above his heart. His chest constricted. Ah, the Time Lord shot him in the heart. At least that was quick. Better than some deaths he'd experienced. The stray javelin was still the worst.

"…and the good thing is, he’s not dead for long…can be killed again…"

Jack became aware of the Doctor standing over him, gazing down at him with an almost benevolent expression.

"Welcome back, Captain." The Doctor extended his hand and pulled Jack up. He gave him a beatific smile, patting him all around. "All there? Good. Good. I think you'd proven our point to the director quite convincingly."

Jack coughed, staggering as he tried to steadied himself. His chest ached like a great weight sat on it. "A little warning would have been nice," he whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

The Doctor looked at him with blank eyes. "What?" Understanding lit his face. "Ah yes!" He opened his hands towards Jack in a small flail. "Look out!"

"Thanks," Jack muttered under his breath. He looked at the director, still looking quite stunned.

"You see, Madam Director," the Doctor said smoothly. "I think we might find a solution to your problem for the spatial breach and come to an ideal agreement."

Jack felt ice hardening down his back when the woman's gaze drifted over to him and her expression turned speculative. 

"Doctor?" Jack asked, faltering. What was going on? Jack nearly jumped when he felt the Time Lord's hand on his back again.

"Come, my Captain," the Doctor intoned, his eyes smoky as his mouth curved. "Let us demonstrate the vortex treatment as well."

His knees turned weak and Jack's stomach clenched. "Doctor," he protested faintly. 

"We're doing this for you," the Doctor hissed low. The hand on Jack's back dug deeper, grabbing his coat, pressing into his spine.

Jack swallowed the bile rising up his throat and wordlessly followed the Doctor to the medical bay, the director following on his shadow. They chatted like he wasn't there and for a moment, he wanted to stop, turn around, do something other than go back there. The hallway seemed long, but the Doctor's fist on his coat loosened to light fingers tapping on his back.

_…thrum-thrum-tap-tap…_

And with a sick feeling in his stomach, his mouth dry, Jack Harkness stepped back into the medical bay, the doors closing behind him with a finality that made him close his eyes. 

 

It was with illogical relief Ianto met the dim hallways of his section of the archives. The few others who shared the floor blinked at him with the kind of annoyance librarians reserved for noisy patrons. Ianto waved a feeble apology, ducked into the cubby that served as his office and sank into his seat. 

"Well done, Jones," Ianto muttered to himself as he tried to straighten his desk. He sorted the piles of folders left on his work area. "Not really impressive." Ianto sighed to himself. Dealing with people was a necessary evil but sometimes…Lisa had teased him that Ianto had only applied for the archives because there was less chance of _talking_ to anyone.

Ianto ran a hand through his hair, combing back any unruliness. 

Lisa wasn't completely wrong.

Ianto cringed, thinking of how he had flustered like a schoolboy, tripped over everything sticking out of the floor. The Captain was right; he would have broken his…well…

_"Be a shame if you break that pretty neck of yours."_

Good grief. Harkness' voice was deep and it clung to his mind like a cobweb. The man had absolutely no concept of personal space. Ianto could still remember how blue his eyes were when he’d caught him before Ianto could indeed break his neck. 

_"If I was a better man…I would kiss you right now."_

He was joking. Harkness looked like a humorous fellow. Right?

Ianto ducked his head and rifled through the files he needed to reorganize. Old files needed to be tagged for scanning, newer files needed to be logged. Photos were in an odd mess, left neglected due to the Doctor's arrival. 

One, detached from any of the paperwork, peeked out from under the piles. Ianto plucked it out and glanced at the border to figure out where it belonged. He jerked and stared at it.

Oh bloody hell…

Captain Jack Harkness stared back at him in the old sepia tone photo Ianto had held before Lisa's call. Harkness was garbed in the old-fashioned military uniform of the early 1900's. The antiquated photo didn't reveal pale blue eyes, but Ianto recognized them all the same.

Ianto checked the date. 1909.

"He's a time traveler. Makes sense. He traveled to 1909," Ianto murmured. He searched for the matching folder. Finding it, Ianto's eyebrow rose when he saw the hand-stamped Torchwood emblem on the top of the paper.

It was a mission report.

"He _worked_ for Torchwood?" Ianto yelped before he could stop himself. He darted his eyes left then right before he pulled the folder closer. 

Ianto bit his lower lip and lowered the folder. He stared at the photo in his other hand. The smile the subject wore looked war-weary. And now that he'd seen the real thing, he knew who the melancholy eyes were for. 

"Hello again, Captain," Ianto murmured. He lowered the photo to the desk. Ianto paused.

It was in the archives. It wasn't necessarily secret. _Anyone_ could have pulled it out.

Ianto began to read. As his eyes scanned the pages, his fingers stroked the photo he'd forgotten he still held. 

_"…possible mara was sighted in Lehore. Sent freelancer agent Jack Harkness to investigate…"_

 

**Two days later…**

The archives' usual serenity rang hollow today. What Ianto could count on before was now too gloomy, too cramped for his taste. He supposed it was because he’d got a "real taste of adventure" as Lisa put it, sneaking into the Doctor's box.

The entire Institute was busy with excitement. Lisa’d barely had enough time to have a few mouthfuls of cold Chinese this morning before dashing out to work again. Ianto was getting requests from all departments for the oddest bits of information. He'd never seen this many people visiting his quiet corner since he’d started working in Torchwood.

During the lulls, Ianto found himself rereading the Lehore mission again and again. In particular, the brief note in Harkness' handwriting where he put himself to blame for the death of fifteen men.

They’d drowned in mouthful of red petals.

_"…my men, my responsibility…"_

In summary, it was all Harkness’d ever written, but Ianto read it, analyzed it. He could probably identify the cursive handwriting now.

Ianto could hear the Captain as he read it; his smooth, deep voice that made you feel warm inside yet still shivers could go down your spine. 

Ianto sighed, looking at the cabinet "Ha" he’d left partially opened. A small stack of "Harkness" files were uncovered. He just couldn't bring himself to read them. It only gave him more questions. 

Questions he wanted to ask in person. Ianto just needed to figure out how to ask. The cargo bay’d been sealed tighter than a drum. 

Scrubbing his hands over his face, Ianto sighed wearily. He was obsessing for some reason. Ianto couldn't stop thinking about how the Captain looked, standing so close to him like he was going to kiss him.

"Not that _I_ would kiss him," Ianto muttered, but he could feel the flush creeping up his neck. 

"Ianto?" Lisa called down to the archives and Ianto stood, looking guiltily at the files surrounding him.

"You hungry? We bought Chinese." Lisa's voice drew a few heads to pop up to shush her.

We? Ianto's shoulders dropped. "Lovely," he muttered. Ianto squared back his shoulders, popped out to greet Lisa with a grin. 

"Chinese sounds brilliant," Ianto said. He gave one last look at his piles before he joined Lisa.

 

Lisa and a few of her friends from upstairs were invading the "d" to "f" sections to grill him.

"I really didn't see anything," Ianto repeated. He darted Lisa a look. He had told her that night in what he thought was in confidence. He wasn't sure if he was annoyed or flattered his girlfriend was going around telling everyone about his over-exaggerated adventures.

"I was in the main chamber and—"

"So it isn't just one room then?" Lorrie, a pretty blonde with freckles from Dr. Kendell's team, interrupted. She was the one who’d recommended Lisa her new position with Singh. She was built like a dancer yet her gestures were not graceful as she reached over for an eggroll on his side of the table while still talking. "How the bloody hell did he get the outside around the inside?" She sat there, her chopsticks halfway to her mouth with her food, her hand impatiently tattooing a beat on the table as she waited for an answer.

"Did you take pictures at least?" Lorrie asked, exasperated.

"Lore, he just said he was only there a minute before the director came in," Lisa cut in, flashing an apologetic look to Ianto. Under the table, she squeezed his knee.

Lorrie reminded him of a pitbull. "Did you see the other rooms?" she insisted. "How big was the main chamber? What was its function?"

"Her," Ianto muttered. "He referred to it as a 'her'."

"He?" That was from Frederick, a prat on Dr. Carter's team and who, in his own opinion, warranted his own team because of his PhD in nuclear sciences. "You mean the Doctor?"

Ianto snapped his mouth shut and chose the moment to sip his wonton soup. 

"I think he meant Captain Hotness—oops, I mean Harkness." Elisa from Alien Cryptography giggled behind her chopsticks. The petite Pakistani jabbed the air with a piece of steamed vegetable with her cheap wooden utensils.

Frederick groaned, rolling his gray eyes that reminded Ianto of a professor he once had. "There she goes again. Blimey, she hasn't quit harping about 'Captain Hotness' since she saw him yesterday!"

Elisa leaned forward, dropping her voice to a whisper. "Mark told me he saw the Doctor practically drag the captain into engineering lab six yesterday." She fanned herself. "They were gone for a long time, if you know what I mean."

"What do you—Oh." Ianto felt his ears burned when Lorrie and Elisa exchanged a smirk before they broke out into giggles. He became very aware of the photo he kept in his suit pocket. Ianto meant to put it back in the Harkness folder. It was just that he was interrupted each time, Ianto reasoned as his hand wandered into his right pocket to check it was still there. 

"Of course he's gay," Lisa mourned half-heartedly. She grinned at Ianto. "Thank God not all the good ones are."

Good Lord, it felt like he was being set on fire when the others laughed. Ianto waggled a finger at her before finishing his soup.

"Too bad," Elisa sighed. She propped her chin with her hand, her other drumming the table idly. "Always the good ones. Even the bloody aliens are gay now."

"It might not be that." For some reason, Ianto was compelled to speak up. "He didn't look… _gay_." And most certainly not alien. 

Frederick grunted. "I was talking to Harper over at Cardiff and he agrees with me. Period military is not the dress code of a straight man."

" _Cardiff_?" Lorrie snorted indelicately. "That ruddy lot with Alex, Mr. Spooky Do?"

"Is he still claiming he saw the future?" Elisa snickered as she popped a candied walnut in his mouth.

"The twenty first century is when it all changes," Frederick echoed.

Ianto chuckled weakly with the others. Their laughter made his stomach churn and once again, he checked either end of the archives. "I haven't seen the Doctor touring the tower lately," Ianto tried to change the subject. 

"I'd seen him down in the rift chambers yesterday! The Captain, too," Lisa piped up.

"Hm." Lorrie's fingers went up and down on the table in a rhythm that was beginning to annoy Ianto. "I saw the Doctor and the director in a meeting with the physicists." 

"She won't let us talk to the Doctor or let us take a bloody reading!" Frederick complained. "She's been hanging on his every word!"

Elisa sighed. "I heard they were in the MX-CR chambers today as well. No one ever visits Alien Cryptography."

Ianto frowned to himself. Why was the captain in there? It was a new room, whose purpose was targeting the spatial breach high above Canary Wharf. It had lain neglected, shut down while the director tried to convince the PM of its value.

"I heard the project is going to reopen," Frederick remarked, smug at having the bit of gossip.

The table erupted in "You're taking the piss!" and "God, really?" all around. Ianto glanced down the rest of the archives nervously. They seemed to echo a little louder today. Sometimes, he wished they would stay upstairs for lunch.

"There's no way Whitehall would approve that much kilowatts for us to do this!" Lisa exclaimed. "It's why they shut it down in the first place!" She reached over and plucked a mushroom off Ianto's stir-fry. He retaliated with a nip off her chow mein. Lisa crossed her eyes at him. 

Frederick rubbed his bristly chin and cleared his throat. Lisa rolled her eyes to Ianto.

"I heard the Doctor had some ideas in regards to the breach." Frederick smirked. "Sod Whitehall."

The group fell into stunned silence.

"So we might actually get that breach open," Lisa murmured. She looked over to Ianto. "They'll probably need more people then."

Ianto took an eggroll and broke it in half, not looking at Lisa as he drowned it in plum sauce. He refused to have a row about it in front of her friends.

Lorrie nodded as she chewed thoughtfully. "Gary said he saw one of the engineering team dismantling something from the Doctor's time machine and rebuilding it in MX-CR."

"It still looks like a police box not a time machine," muttered Ianto. Frederick snorted, agreeing.

"Ruddy thing doesn't even look like a spaceship," Frederick griped. He sat back on his chair, his fingers drumming on the table, mimicking Lorrie. "And he doesn't look like an alien either."

"Oh if he's an alien, they're more than welcome to invade us," Elisa said dreamily.

Lisa coughed on her noodles. Lorrie snickered. 

"I think you just want Captain Hotness to invade _you_ ," Frederick guffawed, hands waving when Elisa shrieked. Fortune cookies flew back and forth. 

Ianto winced at the mess, looked back down at his stir fry and silently agreed.

Captain Hotness most certainly did _not_ look like an alien. 

Lisa pinched another mushroom and winked at him.

Captain Harkness. He meant Captain _Harkness_ , damn it.


	10. Same distant, longing eyes. Same sad smile.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Warning For This Chapter:** mentions past non-con/dubious consent, minor (very minor) het, verbal and mental abuse.

**London, Canary Wharf**  
 **2006**  
 **Three days later…**

Fortunately or unfortunately—depending on who you asked—things in Torchwood became too frantic, too time sensitive for everyone to gather around for lunch again. Good, because Ianto was perfectly content to be left alone to contemplate. Bad because of the exact same reason.

 _'…found outside Berlin making inquires about 'the Doctor'. When asked for further detail, Agent Harkness was very rude'_ That was crossed out. _'Impolite'_ That was crossed out as well. _'…brief.'_ There was a slight tear on the paper where the then leader of Torchwood Cardiff had scribbled out recommendations to have their freelancer more closely watched. 

Ianto stopped chewing on his thumbnail and straightened in his seat. He smirked to himself at Harkness' recount of twin acrobats Torchwood had suspected being alien due to their "astounding flexibility." Captain Jack Harkness was succinct in his report, ending it with a personal guarantee that he examined the twins with _'explicit attention'_ and concluded that the pair was not extraterrestrials. Just extraordinary. 

"Well said, Captain," Ianto murmured. He could practically hear the captain's amused baritone in his head. 

Ianto's smile faded. What was he doing? 

With a push, Ianto nudged the file away from him. That was 1917 and the photo of a dapper dressed emcee was the exact same of the one in Lahore, eight years before. It was the same deceptively unassuming pose; loose limbed and athletic. 

Same distant, longing eyes. Same sad smile.

Ianto pulled out the photo still tucked in his right jacket pocket. Lord, he was acting like Elisa. Ianto tapped the corner of the photo against his lips, deep in thought.

The intercom rang and he picked up. Ianto half-listened, sitting higher when he recognized it was the second-in-command's aide, requesting…requesting a what?

"Temporal co-duplicator?" Ianto repeated, frowning. "Yes, I know where that is located. It's in the south vault because we couldn't figure how it worked—Pardon? Um…I believe so. I'll bring it up directly."

There was a hurried farewell on the phone to end the call, more for the sake of propriety than sincerity. 

Ianto tapped the photo against his mouth again. What on earth would they want those items? He recalled categorizing them—Lisa teased him for remembering everything that passed his hands—after three engineering teams had thrown up their hands in disgust. They had washed up in the Rift by Cardiff and other than having something to do with time, what they did was a mystery.

"Your job is not to question," Ianto muttered. "Even if they're all prats." He pulled the photo away and blinked at the photo. He realized he had been fanning it over his mouth, his lips just brushing across the captain's face.

Ianto turned beet-red. 

That didn't count as a kiss. That didn't. This was a _man_ for God's sake. A very male man. And Ianto was not a giggly Cryptologist from Pakistan. He was not pining for the mysterious and very male Captain Jack Hotn—Harkness! It was Harkness, confound it all!

He glanced left and right but no one was around to see him banging his head on his desk. He grumbled under his breath, rummaging around for the keycards for the necessary vaults, and hurried on his way.

It wasn't until he reached for his keycard that Ianto realized he'd tucked Harkness' photo back in his pocket.

 

He was greeted in the top offices like he was delivering lunch; impatient because they were waiting, grateful because no one else would do it, and dismissive because "Yes, yes, glad you were here now please sod off, we're busy."

It was only because the temporal co-duplicator required a trolley (despite it size, it was surprisingly heavy and his forehead was dripping with sweat by the time he pushed it into the lift) that Ianto was let into the meeting room. To his surprise or disgust—surprise to see him, disgusted because Director Hartman sat there looking thoroughly debauched—the Doctor stood over their director, his arms waving in grand gestures. 

"Ianto Jones, how good to see you again." The Doctor clapped once as if Ianto had shot up the table and did a jig. Then, abruptly, his jovial face turned to something more…Ianto wasn't sure. But it made the hair on the back of his hands rise.

"Thank you, Mr. Jones." The Director was not as happy to see him. She sat up in her chair, patting her disheveled hair self-consciously and straightening her suit jacket as she swiveled in her seat to study the newly arrived item. "Is that it?" she asked skeptically.

The Doctor was turning one item around in his hands; how he could lift it up so easily Ianto wasn't sure. It reminded Ianto of a toaster stripped of its cover. He examined it like a perspective buyer, mouth pursed, eyes squinting as he checked for dings. "These are exactly it, Madam Director." The Doctor held it up for Ianto to see. "What do you think, Ianto Jones?"

It irked him the way the Doctor said his name—certainly nothing like the way he says it—like he deserved a patronizing pat on the head or—from what the others had been gossiping about—his bum. Ianto certainly didn't want either. He took a step back and gave him a polite smile.

"I'm not quite sure what it does, Doctor." Actually, no one did.

The Doctor flapped a hand towards him. "Of course, of course, you don't. What do you call it? You people always love giving things names."

"Temporal co-duplicator."

The Doctor barked a chuckle and spun around to the director. "Close! Oh, you were very, very close! It allows temporal fluctuations from two different times to co-exist."

Hartman looked at the oddity in his hand with renewed fascination. "Co-exist? Like today and—"

"Tomorrow! Or Yesterday and today or—"

"Wouldn't that create a paradox?" Bollocks, he hadn't meant to speak up and Director Hartman looked very crossed. 

The Doctor, however, smiled broadly at him. "Very good, Ianto Jones. It would indeed create a paradox, but this will only sustain such an event for a short, short period of time. No harm and perfectly harmless to you."

"So why would _you_ want it?" 

"Mr. Jones!" Director Hartman looked about ready to explode.

Ah bugger, where was Lisa to step on his foot?

"It's alright, it's quite alright," the Doctor gestured with a placating hand towards the director. "It's a perfectly legitimate question." He cleared his throat, looking more ready to address an audience of hundreds than two. "It's harmless for you _now_ , but I would rather have custody of this before anything…bad happens." The Doctor sat down and set the temporal device in front of him. He set both his hands on the table edge and stared at it intently.

His voice dropped to a hum as his fingers tapped out a beat to his words. "It's harmless unless you instilled dark matter from say, the Malcassairo regions and crystals from Arcateen or Bengoria, then you would have something very, oh, very powerful. A wonderful, horrible machine."

The room fell into a pregnant silence. 

The Doctor looked up, blinked and his face broke out into a cheerful smile.

"Well, I say it's a good thing you won't reach any of these places for a very, very long time now, isn't it?"

It was like there was a visible "pop" in the air and Ianto found it easy to breathe again. A quick look at the director confirmed she felt the same.

"Yes," the director sounded shaken. "A good thing you came along." She gave Ianto a curt nod. "Thank you, Mr. Jones."

Seeing it as a clear dismissal, Ianto started to turn when the Doctor called out to him. 

"You said you were a researcher?"

Ianto tensed as he turned back to face them by the end of the table. "Yes," he replied slowly.

The Doctor considered him between steepled fingers. "Ever considered a more active field? Say perhaps your Rift Research Department?"

" _Him_?" The director sounded so incredulous. Ianto shook his head.

"No." Ianto wondered why the Doctor was making employment suggestions. "I haven't considered it." _Lisa_ had, but Ianto had no desire to wear a lab coat all day.

Hartman scrutinized him from where she sat. "Did you study physics?" she abruptly demanded.

Taken aback, Ianto could only stammered, "N-no."

"Temporal sciences? Nuclear mechanics? Astronomy? Stellar Cartography?"

"N-no, to all," Ianto blustered.

The Doctor grinned at her. "See? Perfect." He leaned forward and whispered something in her ear, his fingertips dancing over her knuckles. Ianto looked away.

"Yes, well." Hartman cleared her throat. "Have your application forward to your supervisor and Abigail. I'll review it myself."

"But, I wasn't inter—"

"That will be all, Jones, thank you."

Ianto turned around again, wondering sourly if Lisa had slipped the Doctor a few quid to box him into applying.

"Actually, Ianto Jones, wait."

Oh, what now? Ianto started when he saw the Doctor darted in front of him and pressed a key in his hand.

"Before you retreat to your nice, quiet dungeon, I was wondering if you would fetch my companion from my ship? Here's the key. You may have to jam it in there; I'm always having trouble with the old thing. The Captain may be sleeping in." The skin crawling feeling returned when the Doctor's mouth curved slightly. "I'm afraid we may have worn him out yesterday."

Behind him, Ianto could have sworn he heard the director snicker. The smile he gave the Doctor, however, was sincere.

"I would be happy to," Ianto told him. 

As he left the meeting room, Ianto told himself he was walking so quickly because he was glad to escape there. 

 

The guards, as soon as they saw the temporary badge from the director, let Ianto in the cargo bay room, without protest. They sat back down in their stations, their feet going up and down noisily on the floor. Ianto could hear their rhythmic tapping following him in.

The police box was exactly where he remembered it, sitting among the crates from Torchwood Cardiff. Even the loop where Ianto's foot had snagged on the Caution tape (not his finest moment) was still limp on the floor.

Ianto paused by the police box. He straightened his tie, ran a hand through his hair, then realized what he was doing, blushed, raised his fist and knocked.

Then, he waited.

And waited.

Ianto frowned and looked down at the key in his hand. Taking a deep breath, Ianto inserted the key, surprised it slipped in easily, contrary to the Doctor's complaint.

Even though it wasn't his first time in here, the girth that opened up and welcomed him was still enough to make him pause one foot into the chamber. 

"Hello?" It felt odd to be walking in like this. There was a phone outside the police box. Should he have called first? 

"Captain Harkness? Uh…it's Ianto Jones calling?" Good Lord, what was the proper etiquette for visiting a spaceship? "Pardon the intrusion. Sir? Captain?"

The main chamber was silent; discomfortingly so. It felt unnatural that the place was this silent. The lighting was dim, but still bright enough to reveal there was absolutely no one inside.

Ianto stared at the door he spied open to his right. It was open and he was to fetch—Ianto hated the word—Captain Harkness. And he _was_ an employee of Torchwood. He should properly investigate this…this…police box?

Ianto headed for the door. He paused briefly at the cool-feeling pink-golden coral winding down the corridors. Another deep breath for nerves, Ianto pushed forward.

 

Lorrie would have a fit if she knew he was in here again, Ianto mused, wishing he’d thought to get a camera mobile like Lisa had. Although Lisa had the tendency to pop up out of nowhere and take the most embarrassing pictures of him. 

He stood in front of an odd room, almost as large as the central chamber, the core a towering circular cage that glowed red. It didn't look finished but its pulse made Ianto uneasy. He backed away and went deeper down the lengthy hallway.

There was one door left, partially open, and quietly, Ianto knocked, offering a hesitant, "Captain?" before slipping through the door to a dim area.

The open door gave some light, the crack serving a thin beam of light that shone on the lump on a bed, facing away from Ianto. The lump didn't move, huddled under a duvet; the mop of dark hair peeking out on top was the only clue Ianto had.

Ianto swallowed, approaching closer even as common sense told him it was rather impolite to wake someone you hardly knew—human or alien. 

"Captain?" Ianto whispered, edging closer and closer until he stood by the bed. Ianto stretched out a hand, retracted it, then reached out again, giving the covered shoulder a hasty tap before he took a few steps back.

The answering stir was followed with a sleepy "D-doctor?" The lump moved and Jack Harkness groaned a little. "…don't…"

"Uh, sorry, Captain…I…it's Ianto Jones, sir. The Doctor asked if I could come fe—escort you to the meeting room upstairs."

The lump was rigid the moment Ianto spoke but relaxed moments later. Half-mast eyes looked over his shoulder, squinting at the sliver of light on his face.

"Who?" Harkness still sounded confused.

Ianto shifted from foot to foot. "Ianto Jones, sir. We uh, met a few days befo—" His voice died into a squeak when Harkness sat up groggily, the blanket sliding off his _nude_ shoulders and spilling onto his equally _nude_ lap.

"I-I-I'll wait outside while you dress, sir," Ianto stammered, dismayed he sounded like he was twelve again.

Harkness tilted his head and twisted around to frown at Ianto. There was open concern for whatever he saw on Ianto's face and Harkness braced his hands on his knees.

"Oh, no, no, no!" Ianto balked. "Don't get up!" The last thing he needed was a six foot naked alien emblazed into his mind. Harkness' photo still burned a hole in his pocket. "I'll…I'll…" Ianto pointed to the door with his thumb, reversing until his back struck the door.

Harkness finally understood, looked down—good Lord, the blanket slipped further and exposed a broad, flawless muscled back—and Harkness said "Ah."

"I forgot you people are still…shy." Harkness chuckled throatily and oh, the humiliation, he made a point to turn back around and pulled the covers higher on himself. "Sorry." His voice was heavy with fatigue but the amusement was still there. "I'll get changed now. Thanks."

"I'll…" Ianto gulped when Harkness moved to gather the covers around him and revealed a glimpse of pale buttocks, curved just so that made him wonder if they would fit within the palms of his hands like L—Outside! Now! Out, out, out!

"Outside!" Ianto blurted out, just shy of shouting and despite Harkness' perplexed look, Ianto squeezed out of the partially opened door.

Ianto wheezed, one hand to his forehead and he leaned heavily next to the door. He tugged at his tie with the other hand, panting, his mouth dry. 

Good Lord, that was…completely unexpected, utterly, absolutely—

There was a dull thud inside and Ianto jerked. He straightened and darted back inside before he realized he was doing it.

"Captain?" he asked anxiously, already going around the bed just as Harkness weakly grabbed at the bed to pull himself up.

"'m okay," Harkness muttered, his blue eyes were cloudy when he looked at Ianto. The blanket pooled around his ankles but Ianto didn't notice now as he slipped his hands around Harkness' arms. Ianto's frown deepened. Harkness' skin was too cool to his liking.

"No, let me help you," Ianto insisted as he pulled the captain back up to the bed. He could feel the captain trembling minutely and Ianto didn't mind when he felt Harkness sag against him for a brief second. Ianto grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around the captain. He peered up at Harkness' face, dismayed to find that those vivid blue eyes he recalled were glazed and unfocused. "We have a medic on the vicinity. I can—"

"No," Harkness groaned. He braced his forehead with his hand. He swallowed convulsively and offered Ianto a shaky and unconvincing smile. 

"It'll pass. It always does." Harkness inhaled sharply. He wrapped the covers around himself and looked a little lost. "I just stood up too quickly. Let me go change and—"

"Where are your clothes?" Ianto said abruptly, getting to his feet.

"What?" Startled, Harkness stared at him as Ianto felt around, bumping into what felt like a wardrobe. "What are you doing?"

Ianto opened the closet and squinted at the contents. "Clothes," he declared as he sorted through the hung articles with a finger. He leaned past the open door and looked at the huddled figure on the bed. Harkness looked at him, bewildered. Ianto's stomach did an odd flip and he ducked his head back into the closet. Quickly, he grabbed a blue shirt. "Like you said, we're still shy and really not prepared for you to parade around…uh…unclothed." He was unprepared. Ianto walked over, making a point to look past Harkness' shoulder because the blanket wasn't covering…everything. 

Silently, Ianto raised the shirt and white tee up for Harkness' inspection. The captain nodded wearily and grabbed it off the hanger. Like an old man, the captain slipped on the white t-shirt over his head, then shrugged into the button shirt.

After watching Harkness' fingers miss the button for the third time, Ianto tsked, dropped to his knees and pushed Harkness' fingers away.

"You're getting them all wrong," Ianto muttered and he slipped the buttons through their holes one by one. 

"I don't need a butler." Good humor crept in but the exhaustion was still audible. The captain fumbled for the next button with little success.

"Apparently," Ianto remarked. "There's a shirt in there in dire need of ironing."

"There hasn't been much time to do chores," Harkness joked faintly. "With all that traveling through time and space."

"Hm…regardless, surely even aliens have some sense of decorum." Ianto noted the buttons were not the plastic kind, high quality, well detailed. His father, a master tailor, had taught him to recognize the handcraft of the crisp cotton. 

"Hate to tell you," Harkness rasped. "I'm human…sort of."

Ianto blinked up at the captain and met a very intense stare. He lowered his eyes. "Oh."

"Disappointed?" Harkness quipped.

Ianto looked up at the sad twist of the captain's mouth. He was glad it was too dark for him to see Ianto blush.

"No," Ianto said evenly. "Not really." He placed his hands on strong shoulders when Harkness slumped.

"Are you unwell, Captain?" Ianto asked softly. Harkness felt solid, warm even under layers of cotton and Ianto was surprised how hard it was to pull away.

There were fathoms in Jack Harkness' eyes when he replied emotionlessly, "You could say that."

"Truly, I can get a medic here—"

"There's nothing anyone can do," Harkness interrupted, his voice harsh. "Nothing! I can't be helped!"

Ianto found himself reaching out to the crack in Harkness' voice. He dropped his hands on top of the covers, over Harkness' knees.

"I'm sorry," Ianto said quietly. His chest tightened when Harkness raised his dull gaze at him.

"Shouldn't I be saying that?" The Captain straightened and he sighed as he reached down for his shirt.

"I'll finish that," Ianto pulled the captain's hands away. "Just catch your breath. I'll do it."

Ianto's fingers could feel the stitching of his shirt and he looped each button all the way until his finger brushed across under Harkness' Adam's apple. 

Ianto cleared his throat. He pulled his hands away from the top button and the temptation to smooth his hand across Harkness' throat. He sat back on his heels. "All done."

Harkness looked at him strangely, as if puzzled when Ianto didn't do what he expected Ianto might do.

Ianto cleared his throat again, slipped a finger behind his tie knot to tug it loose and went back to the wardrobe. "Trousers," he managed to keep his voice steady. He didn't want to think about how warm his fingers felt as they brushed against Harkness as he did up the buttons or how his chest bumped against the captain's bare knees as he knelt there. Ianto pulled out one and paused. 

"Um…do you…er…" Ianto passed the trousers without looking at Harkness. "Underpants?"

"Why?" There was a bitter note in Harkness' voice, almost resigned. "He'll just—" Harkness' voice firmed. "I can take it from here."

"Are you sure?" Ianto stared at the slouched back, unsure why he couldn't bring himself to leave. He should. He should walk out the door and wait for him outside. It was the proper thing to do.

"I'll see you outside."

Ianto had a feeling Harkness meant the police box, not the room. Ianto lingered, hesitant but when the captain didn't turn around, Ianto nodded and quietly slipped out.

 

He still looked cold.

Ianto studied the captain surreptitiously from his corner of the elevator. Harkness leaned against the opposite corner, staring at the doors and the numbers that gradually climbed to where the director and Doctor waited. 

The photo sitting heavy in his pocket reminded Ianto of the image he studied so often. It held a more vibrant Captain Jack Harkness than the one standing next to him.

"Are you sure you wouldn't prefer to go somewhere else?" Ianto asked quietly. He raised his gaze and stared at the profile before him. 

Harkness gave a strained laugh. "Believe me, I do." Harkness turned his head, resting it on the elevator wall as he considered Ianto.

"Don't you owe me a tour of this place?" The captain smiled wanly at Ianto.

Keeping his eyes on the lit button, Ianto rolled his eyes. "Very well. How about a tour of our lovely infirmary?"

Harkness laughed and Ianto was heartened to hear it was stronger than before. Perhaps the captain was feeling better. He leaned over, crossing into Ianto's space. Ianto closed his eyes and thought he could smell something; heady, musky, definitely masculine yet equally alluring. His eyes flew open when he realized he was leaning a little towards the captain. Ianto snapped back up, yelping when the back of his head struck the elevator wall loud enough to have it thud hollowly.

Blue eyes slid over to him. "Are you okay?"

Ianto grimaced, his hand to the back of his head. "Yes, I—What are you doing?"

"How about a tour?" Harkness gave him a bright smile over his shoulder before he stared at the buttons. "Which floor's more interesting? This one? How about this one?" With a sudden impish glee of a tot, the captain pressed one button then another. 

"Stop-stop that!" Ianto groaned as he tried to shoulder past the captain, but too late, almost every floor was lit. "You can't do that!"

"I gave you a tour," the captain pointed out, his eyes sparkled like a clear sky. It was impossible to be angry with him.

"You showed me _one_ room," Ianto laughed. He swatted the captain's hand when he tried to press the last remaining unlit floor. "One room, captain. That's hardly fair."

"Ah, but it was one _great_ room and how do I know you didn't give yourself a tour before?"

"I did," Ianto admitted, still smiling. "But I had no idea what I was looking at." Except for the last room. 

"Still, I think this warrants a tour of each room."

"We have 637 rooms."

Harkness stared at him. "I'm not going to ask how you even know that. That many, hm? Well, we better get started then." The doors opened and Harkness made to exit, but Ianto snagged the back of his greatcoat.

"Oh no, you don't," Ianto chuckled. "I'm under orders to fetch you to the Doctor and my director, not to go gallivanting around Canary Wharf."

Ianto realized his mistake when Harkness froze, then back away from the doors. He leaned heavily on the wall next to Ianto.

"Well, if that's the case," Harkness said, subdued. "I guess we better go see the Doctor."

Ianto's hand dropped from his coat. "I…" Somehow, saying sorry felt too insincere. "Perhaps another time?"

There was no anger in Harkness' expression when he turned towards him. "Sure. Next time." He looked resigned and when the captain faced back the elevator doors, he said nothing more.

Damn, damn, damn. Ianto didn't know what to say to recapture that warm bubble he felt between them. Opening his ruddy mouth dispelled the casual air in the elevator. Ianto stared, miserable at Harkness' blank expression, the captain's shoulders growing stiffer as they went higher and higher. Harkness now flinched when the doors opened, then shut with a hiss.

It was five floors before their destination when Harkness tried to hide a shudder. It made up Ianto's mind.

"Sod it," Ianto muttered and at the next floor, he didn't think about it; he grabbed the edge of the captain's right sleeve and dragged him out of the elevator.

"Uh…" The captain sounded bewildered but he followed nevertheless. "This is not our floor."

"No," Ianto said, his eyes fixed on the new elevator. He tugged Harkness' sleeve, practically dragging him into the new one when it opened.

"So where are we going?"

Ianto stabbed at the button and kept his eyes on it. "We're going downstairs," Ianto half pleaded as he let go of the greatcoat's sleeve. "Now shut up before I change my mind."

Captain Jack Harkness shut up.


	11. "This has to be the slowest lift I had ever encountered in my life."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning For This Chapter:** mentions past non-con/dubious consent, minor (very minor) het, verbal and mental abuse.

Ianto Jones refused to say anything more as the elevator descended. Each time Jack tried even to open his mouth, Jones just lifted a finger in a "one moment, one moment" fashion as he fidgeted in place. The young man stared at the decreasing numbers, biting his lower lip. He looked like he couldn’t believe he was doing this.

He looked adorable.

Jack blinked, momentarily disconcerted at the thought and in the back of his mind, he waited for a response from the Doctor, who of course wasn't here. He’d asked young Ianto Jones to fetch him.

He was lucky, Jack supposed, that the Doctor used kinder words. They were guests of Torchwood after all.

"Won’t they be wait—" Jack began, but again, another finger from Ianto, whose eyes stared straight ahead.

Jack ruefully leaned back again the elevator wall, his hands braced on the cool surface. If he was being honest to himself, Jack didn't mind the detour. Especially since he knew what was waiting for him upstairs.

His body rippled with goose bumps and Jack suddenly felt ill, disgusting, and simply unfit to be sharing an elevator with a striking young man whose eyes reflected all the good the universe has to offer. He flushed, remembering Ianto's inquiry cutting through darkness and his fevered, drowsy sleep. Jack averted his gaze. He swallowed as he lowered his eyes to the floor. God knew what Jones thought of the musky smell of sex in the room. The young man stared at him with a mix of fascination and…Jack wasn't sure what else. He was afraid to know. He'd almost wished it was simply revulsion; made it easier to know where he stood. 

"Um…mind stopping that?"

Jack glanced over. "What?"

Jones lifted a hand and wiggled his fingers. "That. You were…ah…tapping a little." More than a little according to the strained smile Jones sported.

Jack pulled his hands away from the wall, surprised. "'Sorry," he offered as he tucked his hands into his pockets. "I wasn't aware I…well…you know."

A quick smile told him all was forgiven and it was back to the mechanical countdown on the elevator.

This was the slowest elevator he'd encountered. Jack fidgeted again.

"So, where are we—"

Ianto shushed him.

Jack raised an eyebrow, at a loss on how to react. The Doctor had shushed him before. Jack was used to being shushed. He used to ignore it until Rose had laughed and teased the Doctor to give up and tell them whatever was brewing in the Gallifryan's mind. 

There was no Rose this time so each shush muted Jack because otherwise…

Ianto looked up and slid his gaze over to Jack, his ears pink. Jack found it strangely charming.

"Sorry, I uh…" Ianto gestured towards himself. "I didn't mean to be rude, just…"

"Just shut up, right?" Jack joked, unsure how to respond to the apology.

Ianto gave him a sheepish smile. "Yes, shut up." He paused before adding, "Please?"

Jack gave him a lazy salute then turned back towards the doors. He wondered why he couldn't stop smiling and thought he looked silly on the blurry reflection on the double doors.

"This has to be the slowest lift I had ever encountered in my life."

Jack burst out laughing. "I was thinking just that." His face felt strange, stretched out in a grin when the doors finally opened and Ianto leaned out the doors to check both directions. 

Unease settled in his gut as Ianto gave Jack a speculative look before he snagged Jack's sleeve again.

Jack half-expected to be dragged into yet another strange room and was surprised/relieved to find himself being guided through narrow hallways littered with tall, wooden file cabinets shoved up one side. Occasionally, small pockets of office space with dim lit desks interrupted the rows.

It was one of these pockets, barely wide enough to fit two people, Ianto stopped at. Jack noted the cabinets behind him. Folders sat on top with a stray PDA, and the black phones that littered the walls had buttons instead of the rotary Jack was accustomed to seeing in the turn of the 20th century. 

"Okay," Ianto whispered. He looked at either ends of the hallway. "This is the 'g' to 'i' section. I think you'll be safe here."

Jack's eyebrow rose. He copied Ianto and peered down both ends of the hallways. His eyes crinkled as he lowered his voice as well. "Okay."

Ianto rolled his eyes and his hands waved in the air between them. "There's usually thirty of us managing the archives but most of them are out to lunch. Trust me. Better this way or they'll eat you alive."

Jack looked at Ianto's anxious expression. He frowned mildly. "I thought you people don't revert to cannibalism until—never mind. Long story," Jack quickly said at Ianto's half-shocked, half-curious expression. "Okay," Jack kept his voice low. "I trust you." Jack blinked.

Actually, he _did_. Weird.

Ianto flushed with pleasure and indicated Jack to sit down. "Wait here," Ianto whispered. He glanced over Jack's head. "I'll be right back."

There was a quick cut of panic which Jack squelched before it showed. "I'll be here," he managed to keep his voice even.

Ianto didn't really go far; he ducked into the next office pocket, with the grace and movements of a thief at night. 

A weird grinding then chortling sound filled the hallway. Jack pursed his lips, wondering if he should find a weapon. He wished they hadn't confiscated his Webley.

Jack just arrived to the decision to grab the roller chair he was on and rush to the young man's aid when Ianto emerged balancing a tray of mismatched mugs, a pot, and some sort of cookie on a paper napkin. Jones stopped short in front of Jack.

"Is everything alright?" Jones set the tray down on the desk. He eyed warily at Jack. "Seat not comfortable?" 

Sheepishly, Jack lowered the furniture and sat back down. "It's fine." He blinked when a chipped mug with the oddest looking graphic of a white dog painted on the ceramic floated in front of him. Jack accepted it cautiously and took a small whiff. His face broke out in delight. Coffee!

"You looked cold," Ianto Jones explained as Jack took a long drink. "Thought it might help to have a hot drink. Biscuit?" 

Jack sighed deeply and sank back in his chair. Chocolate and cinnamon lingered on his tongue even after that one drink. He could feel it warming his insides as it went down and the bitter brew felt liquid and satin smooth on his tongue. 

He licked his lips and pulled back the mug in amazement. "Wow." Jack tilted up to Ianto, who was observing his reaction over his own mug with a pleased little smile, perched on the edge of the desk next to him. 

"You brought me all the way down to the archives," Jack drawled as he reached for a golden biscuit and dipped it in his brew. "To get me coffee?" Jack offered Ianto an arched eyebrow. "This can't be the only place that has coffee."

Ianto snorted, flushed when he realized what he did, and waved a hand in the air. "There's coffee everywhere," Ianto retorted. "But here is where you can get good coffee." 

Jack hid a smile behind his mug because he refused to let Ianto see he agreed. He closed his eyes and felt, for the first time in a long time, the lingering chill lift from his bones.

"Better?" Ianto's quiet voice drew him from his reverie.

Nodding, Jack wrapped both his hands on the cup and let the heat bleed under his skin. He peered up at Ianto and smiled faintly. 

The quiet they shared was a surprising comfort. Jack missed the hum the TARDIS made. Her absence was sorely felt every night when he tried to sleep. But here, even with no hum, Jack felt no shadows, knew no chill.

"So this is where you work, Ianto Jones," Jack observed. He poked at the piles of folders and papers stacked in neat piles like pillars on the desk. "So sneaking into time machines is not in your job description?"

"Only police boxes," Ianto said primly but he smirked behind his drink. "And besides, you invited me in."

Jack chuckled as he took a bite of the buttery cookie. "Well, I guess it's only fair since we materialized uninvited."

"Quite." Jones took a sip of his brew with a satisfied sigh. "Why is it a police box anyway?"

Jack grimaced at the age old question and decided the simplest answer was the best. "Camouflage." 

"Camouflage?" Ianto repeated doubtfully.

"Yup."

"Well, Captain, I don't think it's doing a very good job."

Jack laughed, sputtered around his coffee. "The Doctor said it's a circuit that makes it blend in." He smiled, remembering how Rose had embraced a corner and declared she loved it regardless. "But it got stuck."

Without so much a blink, Ianto took a bite from his cookie, crunching as he reasoned, "So unstick it."

Jack raised his hands towards Ianto. "I told him that _many_ times. He won't listen to me."

"Yet you'll travel the universe with him," Ianto said, sobering.

Jack couldn't bring up the energy to argue. His shoulders slumped. "The Doctor's not…well…he's not always like…you know."

Ianto Jones had pressed his mouth thin, unconvinced.

"He wasn't like this before," Jack insisted, wondering why it was so important for the young man to understand. "The Doctor has saved you people so many times and you don't know it." Jack looked down at his mug. "He's changed now." And that's my fault.

"How is it your fault?"

Damn, Jack didn't realize he had spoken out loud. He looked up, but Jones only looked…concerned? 

Jack blinked a few times, his mind blank. Because I'm wrong, he wanted to say but he didn't want to see the gentle concern cast before him warp to something familiar and ugly. 

"Good coffee," Jack murmured. He looked up at Ianto, still seated at the edge of his desk. Jack rolled his seat until he was between Ianto's knees. 

The young man's eyes were dark upon him, his pink mouth parted slightly as he studied Jack like a painting, eyes tracing every line of his face. Jack relaxed a little. This look he knew, recognized and could respond to—whether he wanted to or not.

Jack slipped his hands up the trousers in front of him, his hands curled lightly on top of muscular thighs. Hm, Ianto was deceptively fit; lean muscle that bunched and tensed under his palms, hot and throbbing with life. Jack tilted his head up and watched Jones' pupils shrink to pinpricks, his lashes a hood over eyes clouded with lust, his mouth parted in surprise.

This, this Jack could deal with. He recognized it more than the flip flop his stomach made whenever Jones smiled or the alien stirring in his groin that he hadn't felt in a long time. 

Jack opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Ianto swooped in and kissed him.

 

Ianto had never kissed a man before and naturally, he supposed, there would be differences.

He was kissing Harkness before he knew he was even contemplating it. He ducked his head, curled over the captain and sealed his mouth over his.

The captain, jerked, startled, and the roller chair squeaked when it wheeled back in response. Ianto cradled the captain's head and shoulders to prevent him from hitting the cabinets. It must have been the proper response because Harkness melted into his loose embrace and began to kiss him back in earnest, his arms tentatively around Ianto's middle.

The faint stubble Ianto could feel scratching lightly on the insides of his wrists was odd, alien to the youthful softness of Lisa's cheeks. Yet the rough texture felt fairly exotic and not at all unpleasant and his fingers tingled as he carded Harkness' surprisingly soft dark hair.

The captain's lips were firm, lush; a man's mouth yet soft when he nibbled the lower lip. The inside was warm and just as welcoming when Ianto's tongue slipped in. The moan he swallowed from Harkness sent the same shiver down to his groin like when he kissed Lisa. 

The large hands around his torso were a little disconcerting but Harkness had a gentle grip, more like massaging as his fingers shyly kneaded his stomach muscles. When the hands drew up to the back of his shoulders, it only felt natural to Ianto to pull Harkness—Jack—closer until he was settled between his legs, Jack's chest firmly pressed to his lower body and his groin stirred and Ianto groaned into that wonderful mouth before he—

"Oi! Is anyone working here?" An annoyed voice from one end of the hallway echoed to the other end. "I need something pulled! Where the bloody hell are you wankers?"

A squeak—from whom Ianto couldn't tell—and they parted, the captain rattling against the cabinets with his head, Ianto slamming back into the stack of folders and coffee mugs, sending papers plopping over the sides.

"Damn!" Ianto yelped, sliding off the desk in a semi-controlled fall. Another voice was already answering the visitor. He dropped to his knees, frantically rescuing what he could.

"Here," Harkness offered, breathlessly as he joined him. "Let me help you."

"What?" Ianto looked up and knocked under Harkness' chin. "Ouch! No, no, I got it! Wait…"

After a few moments of what went where and who got what, they were back in their respective spots, Ianto panting, rescued folders close to his chest as he sat up on the desk, looking ready to topple over again.

What was he doing? Ianto felt his heart hammering in his ear and he was frightfully hot. Bloody hell, bloody hell. Would people understand an alien had made him do it? No, wait, Harkness had said he wasn't an alien. Just a human, a very human man—Christ Almighty!

"I'm not gay!" Ianto blurted out when he saw Harkness tentatively touched his lips in surprise.

Harkness blinked and said slowly, "No, you don't look particularly happy right now…"

"What? I—no, I mean I'm not…" Ianto helplessly gestured his hand in the air. 

The captain frowned, his brow furrowed and Ianto forced himself to look away because _Christ_ , he wanted to kiss the little furrow and bury his fingers in his hair again!

Understanding dawned. "Oh," Harkness exhaled. He gave a little eye roll. "You people and your little labels." He glanced over to Ianto, his face shuttered. "So what was that? Curiosity? A form of Torchwood investigation?"

Ianto stared at him, aghast. "I would never…I don't know why I—" Ianto's eyes darted to the end of the corridor. He dropped his voice. "I don't know why I kissed you!" Ianto huffed, dropped the folders on his desk and heaved a sigh. 

"Was it that terrible?" Harkness' joke was weak.

Ianto knew he should have said yes. After all, he was dating Lisa, yes was the proper answer wasn't it? But he looked at the brittle smile Harkness wore, the eyes that dulled in preparation of rejection and Ianto found he couldn't do it.

"No," Ianto said quietly and very seriously. "No. Not terrible at all." Ianto caught the surprise before the captain could hide it and suddenly Ianto was very glad he hadn’t lied.

 

Jack could still taste the coffee that Jones had drunk before, deep with a little sweetness from the milk and sugar. He smiled faintly at Ianto's candidness. Jack only wished he knew how to respond. So he just took his mug and took a sip.

"Before…"

Jack raised his eyes again. Jones looked uncomfortable. He took a deep breath.

"I asked if you were unwell, you said...well, you didn't."

Jack smiled wanly but his mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton.

"Are you sick?" There wasn't fear in Jones' voice but open concern. Jack responded to it but couldn't look at him. 

"I…there's something… _wrong_ with me." Jack blinked at the word "wrong". He tried to wash it down with a long drink of coffee. The brew was lukewarm, but still soothed his throat like honey. "I needed the right kind of doctor." Jack grimaced to himself.

"Ah." Jones settled a hand on Jack's wrist, lowering the cup so he could refill it. "You mean The Doctor." The coffee pot settled by his hip and the young man pulled away, leaving Jack's wrist cold and exposed.

"Is it working? What he's doing?"

Jack lowered his gaze, shrugged, and placed down his cup. The taste in his mouth soured. Jack could still feel the cold needles sliding in, the sharp heated sting that coursed through his veins. He remembered how his throat hurt screaming. He remembered dying, only to wake up, and feeling like it would never end.

"Are you dying?"

It was a whisper, but in the muted halls of the archives, Jack flinched.

It wasn't funny. It wasn't, but Jack laughed. The sound hurt coming out, like knives dragging cuts in his throat on their way out. Ianto Jones looked alarmed, but he didn't pull away. Rather, he curled a hand around the back of Jack's head and pulled him until Jack's cheek rested on his thigh.

"Alright. Alright." 

It was a low murmur accompanied by gentle fingers that carded through his hair. They didn't snatch, they didn't pull; they just held his head like it was made of glass.

Jack didn't know when his laughter twisted to the odd choking sound clawing out of his throat. There were no tears, nothing blinding his eyes with moisture, yet his eyes blurred, his throat choked and it took too much effort to lift his head away from the pressed wool trousers and light fingers in his hair. Jack tried to muffle the horrible sound. It couldn't be from him. It couldn't. Jack Harkness didn't huddle against beautiful souls in shadowed halls and wish for everything to go away. It wasn't him. 

"Shh. It's all right."

It was clear Ianto Jones knew nothing about what lurked in Jack's soul, knew nothing about the insidious, foul, _wrongness_ brewing inside him, and knew nothing about what needed to be done to fix it. Because it needed to be fixed. Jack wanted his life back. He wanted his Doctor back. He wanted…there was so much he wanted.

Beautifully oblivious, Ianto Jones just sat there, Jack's head on his lap, murmuring first in English, then in accented vowels that washed over Jack like a cool breeze. His fingers tapped a different beat against his hair that sounded faintly like a heartbeat. And Jack listened to it, his misery finally muted. He shut his eyes, imagined this was everything else and he was just Jack Harkness and the hands were just Ianto Jones and this place was just an anonymous hallway that wasn't cold, wasn't empty and the promise of forever wouldn't be one-sided.

Jack pressed his face to the inseam under his jaw. He heard Ianto talking to him in hushed, soothing sounds, his fingers gingerly making circles in the back of his hair. 

Jack closed his eyes tighter and pretended. 

 

The lift was once again the slowest one in the Tower.

Ianto glanced over to his left at Harkness. The captain stood there, solitary by choice, his arms folded in front of him, his head bowed, deep in thought. 

Down in the archives, something had happened. Something Ianto wasn't sure he was supposed to witness. Harkness, after a moment, had pulled away, straightened his clothing and asked to be taken upstairs. It felt like the darkness from the ship had caught up to the captain down in the archives.

"Next time…" Ianto began. He winced. His voice sounded loud in the lift. Ianto smiled to the captain, heartened to see Harkness returned it. 

"We have a nice greenhouse of alien flora," Ianto hedged. "Fluorescent plants and well, the lab technicians have nurtured them with classical music. I uh…maybe I could show you the science labs. A proper tour."

Harkness stared at Ianto, long enough that Ianto grew nervous. 

"I'm a little rusty on my 20th century culture," Harkness said slowly. He peered up through hooded eyes. "But, did you just ask me out on a date?"

Oh bugger, it did sound like it, didn't it? Ianto chuckled nervously as Harkness walked over to him, his hands behind his back, and a lazy curve on his lips. 

The captain was close enough for Ianto to realize he stood just a little taller. Just a little. Enough so that Harkness wouldn't need to bend his head too far down to kiss him.

Oh, not a good thought to have right now. 

The lift dinged behind him, each floor counting up to the one where they'll part. 

Just when the lift dinged the last floor left, Harkness placed his hands on either side of Ianto's head. 

Ianto stared at the blue eyes that reflected his own, murky and filled with things he couldn't possibly understand, yet he felt like he could try to decipher the mysteries behind Harkness' eyes. 

He stood there, thinking he wouldn't mind staying here forever when Harkness suddenly brought his hands to cup his face and kissed him.

Lord…

Ianto's knees wobbled and he felt like the elevator wall was holding him up. It felt like he was being _savored_ ; Harkness' mouth, tongue, _hands_ discovering every fiber of his being. Ianto had never felt so thoroughly explored, embraced like Harkness was trying to memorize every bit, every aspect of him. 

The doors opened and Harkness pulled away. His eyes were dark, his smile small and sad.

"Jones?" Someone yelped from beyond the lift, but Ianto was too speechless, too riveted to Harkness' face to respond.

"Thank you for the coffee, Ianto Jones," Harkness rasped as he backed away from the elevator. He kept smiling, that sad parody that made Ianto's chest clench, as the doors closed. Behind him, the Doctor and the director were exiting the meeting room.

The doors completely shut and Ianto's hand shook as he pressed for his floor, down below in the archives. 

They’d never felt so far away.


	12. The police box was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning For This Chapter:** mentions past non-con/dubious consent, minor (very minor) het, verbal and mental abuse.

**Two days later…**

Ianto didn't lift his head off the table. He knew by the snickers and the approaching smell of salty fish and chips that Lisa's co-workers from upstairs had invaded his arcadia again. He had hoped by making himself scarce, he could avoid the potential torment Lisa's friends were fond of. It was bad enough he was getting bombarded with emails in his interoffice account.

"Over here!" Bugger, he and Lisa had been spotted. 

"Snogged any new aliens lately?" Wonderful, Lorrie was here. Ianto could hear his girlfriend get up, greet Lorrie with a peck on the cheek and the table he was so desperately hiding his red face on was moved out a bit more to accommodate the latest arrival.

"Is he here? Is he here? I want details!" Oh no, Elisa, too. 

The table creaked as it was moved some more.

He wasn't looking. No, he would rather starve and permanently glue his forehead to the table. It was a rather nice table.

Lisa kissed the back of his head. Abigail from upstairs had told Craig from Optics who in turn told Singh, who promptly told Lisa to get her bloke to Medical and have samples taken. Lisa was not only _not_ mad, but _thrilled_ Ianto was getting bold enough to…well…do things. 

Heat rose up Ianto's face, thinking about the things he did and _almost_ did.

"Is he _ever_ going to look up?" 

Brilliant, good ole Frederick was here, too. 

"Oi! Keptain!" Frederick tossed a plastic spoon to his head.

Ianto made a phone gesture with his hand, thumb and pinky out; he held it over his right ear.

"Hullo," Ianto said wearily, not looking up. "Ianto Jones is not here right now. He is currently being humiliated into a puddle under his desk. He will get back to you when he can find what's left of his dignity. Or you can leave a message with his wonderfully understanding yet fairly psychotic girlfriend Lisa Hallett." 

Lisa's chuckle teased his right ear. "Oh, get up, love. Your lunch's here."

Heaving a sigh, Ianto raised his head and begrudgingly accepted the paper sack with his lunch while Lisa poured the coffee for everyone. He gave them all, who were much too focused on passing around the malt vinegar and splitting the chips, a wary eye before he relaxed.

Frederick popped a chip in his mouth before looking up. He furrowed his bushy brows, leaned forward and lowered his voice.

"So seriously, what was snogging Captain Hotness like?"

The others snickered and Lisa, giggling helplessly, looped an arm around his before he could escape.

"Frederick's just winding you up." Lisa pulled until he sat back down. "You have to admit, it's a bit outrageous."

"I thought we were being under attack when Abigail called me and Patty," Lorrie confided as she reached over to dip her chip in some dressing. "She thought the director was going to have a stroke!"

Ianto stared at Lorrie in dismay. " _Patty_ knows? Wonderful, that means _all_ of Xenobiology knows!"

Lisa giggled behind her hand. "Don't forget Medical. Or Rift Research."

" _What_?"

Frederick snorted. "Who knew Dr. Singh was such a gossip?" he mused, turning the fried cod in his hand before taking a generous bite.

Ianto lost all interest in his food and dropped his head in his hands. If all of Medical knew, that was practically half of Torchwood, already.

"Does anyone _not_ know?"

"Archives," Elisa piped up, shrugging. "Nothing ever happens down here. No gossip to share."

Ianto stared down at the table, his fists in his hair. It was the same table he’d sat on, Harkness close and solid against him, his face tilted up when Ianto had kissed him, his groin rubbing against Harkness and he knew in another minute, he would have been hum—

"Blimey," Frederick sounded awed. "I didn't think he got out in the sun enough to be able to turn that color!"

Ianto groaned. "I am never ever leaving this floor again! I am sleeping in the vaults!"

"It's not that bad," Lisa patted his arm. 

Ianto turned his head a little to look at her, incredulous. "They are calling me _Captain Kirk_ in the cafeteria!" And Harkness wasn't even an alien. "I didn't go into that elevator to kiss him. He kissed _me_!" Argh, Ianto flushed again. He couldn't stop thinking about it.

"Well, obviously," Elisa retorted. "You were just standing there!"

"Exactly! I—wait, how did you know I was just standing there?"

Elisa gave him a cheeky grin before lifting up her iPod.

Lorrie perked up. "Oh, share!" She leaned closer to Elisa and peered over her shoulder. She whistled, looked up and rated Ianto with a thumbs up.

"There's _video_?" Where was a thermal carbon disintegrator when you needed one?

Elisa gave him a _duh_ look. "Huh, yeah? CCTV in the elevator?"

Ianto looked up fearfully towards the ceiling. The cameras weren't pointed near the spaces. He dropped his gaze and jerked when he realized someone else was looking over Elisa's shoulder, her eyes wide, her hand over her red mouth shaped in a little "O".

" _Lisa_?"

His girlfriend gave him a guilty look before pulling back. She grinned, full teeth as she wiggled behind Frederick and Lorrie's seats to sit back down next to Ianto.

Ianto scowled at her, softening when she dipped a chip in the malt and gave it to him.

"What was he saying to you?" Lorrie sat back down and munched on a pickle.

"What?" Ianto sputtered when Elisa flipped the iPod around to show him a blue hued video of…well… _that_.

"Oh, you," Lisa scolded, swatting towards Elisa.

"He was saying something to you," Lorrie persisted, her fingers rapping the table impatiently. "Weren't you paying attention?"

"I wouldn't," Elisa snickered.

Ianto groaned. His shoulders slumped.

"He was thanking me for the coffee," Ianto mumbled. He colored, remembering how Harkness' hands felt on his face.

"Ey? Your coffee?" Frederick looked down at his cup with a frown. He took a long sip, closing his eyes, tasting it like a fine wine. Frederick's eyes flew open.

"That _is_ bloody good coffee." Frederick spread his arms wide and grinned broadly. "Come here, Jones!"

The girls laughed. Ianto tossed a mayo packet at him.

The lights flickered before Frederick could retaliate. Ianto blinked up in surprise. 

" _Your_ department, Hallett. This happened this morning, too," Frederick growled. He gestured with a piece of fish. "Your Dr. Singh has been wrecking Nuclear with all those new experiments!"

Lisa shrugged, glancing over to Ianto. "Not us. Maybe the MX-CR?" She tapped the table, thinking. "They've been more active lately."

"Keep this up and Whitehall will shut _Torchwood_ down, not just MX-CR." Lorrie scowled. "I thought they didn't want us tapping the grid again for MX-CR? They're harping about the Middle East and oil and then we go sucking up half the seaboard—"

"I don't think we're tapping the grid," Lisa interrupted as she liberally covered her fish with ketchup then grinned at Ianto, because she knew how he felt about it. "I think we're using our own power."

"We build a few windmills no one told me about?" Frederick remarked as he wiped his chip across Lisa's fish. "Cripes, I don’t know how you can eat it like that, Hallett."

"Maybe the Doctor's giving us the juice?" Elisa suggested.

"That ruddy little police box?" Frederick snorted. "Doubtful."

Actually, Ianto thought. It was bigger than it looked. "Where _is_ our guest these days?" Ianto was surprised to hear the edge in his own voice. Everyone seemed smitten, especially the director.

"Saw him give my people a talk yesterday," Frederick said, puffing up at the word "my people". It had gotten so busy they’d finally given him his own team. "He's been going around like a traveling university, that mate."

"Spoke on my floor with the director," Lorrie agreed, her fingers still hammering that annoying pace. Ianto bit back a sharp word. "Had them all gob-smacked in the end. I think they all want to bear his children now."

Lisa frowned. "Isn't your department mostly male, Lore?"

" _Exactly_."

"Good Lord, another gay alien," groaned Frederick.

"I don't think they're gay." Oops, Ianto spoke out before he could think against it.

Elisa nodded thoughtfully, to Ianto's surprise. "I think he's right."

Frederick sputtered. "You joking?" He gestured towards Ianto with a plastic fork. "What about Captain Hotness molesting Kirk here?"

"He wasn't molesting me!" Ianto bristled. Frederick waved him off with a "Yeah, yeah." Actually, if Ianto was to think about it, there had been mutual molesting going on.

But Ianto was trying real hard _not_ to think about it.

Elisa leaned towards the center of the table. Everyone followed suit. "I heard Margaret heard Lydia tell Abigail that she saw the director coming out of her office looking absolutely frazzled!"

Lisa shared a puzzled look with Ianto. "So?" Lisa hushed.

Elisa paused, savoring the expectant looks huddled around her. "Well, guess who came stumbling out of the room ten minutes later just as wrecked?"

Lorrie's eyes rounded. " _No_ ," she exhaled. "Harkness?"

Ianto felt an odd twist in his stomach. "It could be anything," he said weakly. 

Frederick grunted, sitting back. "Mark saw him and the Doctor in the MX-CR chamber. Twice."

"Again," Ianto dropped to his seat, his mouth dry. "Could be anything."

Elisa nibbled on a chip. "True." She brightened. "Patty said she was going to check the CCTV servers! Oh! I bet there's video!"

The lights went out completely only to come back on a minute later.

"Not if this keeps up," Frederick said wryly. 

"Bollocks," Elisa sighed. 

 

**Two days later…**

The lights flickered then steadied. Ianto frowned, getting up on a stool and tapping the fixture but it didn't even blink.

Ianto made a mental note to get flashlights distributed to everyone in the archives. It would not be a good place to be trapped in the dark even if Ianto knew the place by heart; too many things to trip or break an arm over.

The file cabinet "Gu" glided shut with a simple push of his shoulder. Ianto finished cleaning his area, musing as he swept crumbs off the desk, and washed the mugs. Lisa had snuck downstairs before to make up for the lunch date she’d missed yesterday. Whatever was going on in the MX-CR chambers, it was keeping Lisa's floor busy with the overflow. 

Ianto fingered the transfer application his HR coordinator had sent down this morning; a request to move to the science departments, already pre-stamped by the director herself. He didn't know why he hadn't told Lisa yet.

Ianto sat on the edge of the table and stared at the cabinets. Then, with a quick check in both directions, Ianto pulled out the sepia tone photo from his pocket. He'd found a plastic slip for it and now it gleamed glossily under its shield.

Harkness stared back, still in his 1909 period attire, his hair slicked back and looking very much the captain of the Lahore troop train. Ianto rubbed his thumb above Harkness' head and decided that he much preferred the captain without so much product in his hair. The short strands slipped through his fingers nicely, thick and remarkably warm like they held a life of their—

Ianto slammed the photo face down on the desk. 

What was he doing? Ianto grimaced and absently shook his sore hand. 

It was a kiss. Okay, it was a _great_ kiss. No, he was lying to himself, they were both great. 

Ianto pulled at the knot by his collar. 

So it was a kiss by a _man_. Not much different to kissing Lisa, except one was a wonderful, patient girl in London, the other was a time traveler possibly from the future, shagging everyone he met—

His mouth soured. No, Ianto knew what Elisa’d said, but he just couldn't believe it.

He remembered how heavy Harkness' head had been on his lap. He remembered how his shoulders had shaken with silent grief, misery, or something else entirely. This wasn't a man who did those things. Not happily at least. 

Ianto wished he could talk to him. The cargo bay was once again sealed off and only the Doctor had been sighted these days. He turned back the photo. Idly, Ianto's finger brushed across the captain's face. 

Harkness was, as many had repeated, the Doctor's companion. 

Ianto's hand withdrew. And he was with Lisa. There was no problem there, then. Right?

"Absolutely none," Ianto muttered, tucking the picture back into his pocket. He ignored the application on his desk. Later.

 

It was dinner this time and outside the labs upstairs. Ianto nodded as he was greeted with enthusiasm for the pizza boxes he was balancing carefully. Lisa greeted him with the more sincere enthusiasm of a girlfriend. 

The public area outside the labs was far airier than the archives with a view of night-time London sparkling beyond the glass windows. But it felt too open, too wide for Ianto's taste. 

"Which one is the plain cheese?" Frederick's voice echoed too loudly in the vast sitting area. He batted at a drooping potted fern as he sat back in the faux black leather armchair with a steaming slice. He blew at it, his pale face flushed from the heat, before he took a bite.

"Hot," Frederick fanned his mouth.

"Serves you right," Elisa retorted. She opted to sit on the marble floor to be closer to the pizza on the low reception table. She sat on the pile of outdated literature that was stacked there. "Hurry up, I've got fifteen minutes. Where's the pineapple?"

Slices were swapped and passed around hurriedly as everyone tried to eat dinner so they could dash back to work. Ianto, feeling a little displaced, merely sorted out the drinks and utensils for everyone.

"I'm getting so sick of pizza," Lisa complained as she plucked a pepperoni slice off and dropped it on Ianto's slice. She didn't like the pepperoni; only how the cheese tasted baked with it. "I want to go home and eat there."

"What would you have made?" Lorrie mumbled as she tried to catch the stringy melted cheese with her mouth. She missed.

"Pizza," Ianto deadpanned. "She doesn't cook." 

Everyone laughed. Ianto ducked a playful swat from Lisa.

"I would love to have a beer right now at least," Frederick sighed. "I think they're afraid I might wander into that bloody breach if I'm piss drunk!"

"As if you'll fit!" Lisa retorted. "That thing is barely large enough to fit a quid much less a bear like you!"

"Well if MX-CR would crank out more power instead of these power spits, it _would_ be bigger!"

"At least we have power now!"

Ianto fidgeted uncomfortably, not quite following the conversations as they spun around him. That was the problem with the archives; any news or tidbits they did receive would be old news to Lisa and her friends.

Lisa, noticing his unease like she usually did, dropped an arm around his shoulders, still arguing good-naturedly with Frederick on who had priority over the power MX-CR was generating. Spatial breaches, void ships, shifts; the terms were volleyed back and forth.

"Can we talk about something else?" Elisa complained as she pinched a pepperoni off a slice. She waved the greasy circle at the others. "I'm sick of work! I feel like I should have brought an overnight here!"

"Why is Cryptology busy?" Ianto asked, curious. He grimaced; maybe not a polite thing to ask.

Elisa, though, forgave everyone and everything and today was no exception. "Oh you wouldn't believe the stuff coming through that spatial breach! I can't even decipher the basics yet!"

"So there is something on the other side?" Ianto felt a stir of excitement when Elisa nodded fervently. He could see why Lisa loved her department. In the back of his mind, he could also see why the captain might have been lured to travel the stars with this Doctor.

His excitement waned, thinking about Harkness. The rumors had been circling like mad. Elisa had attached little video clips that were floating around. Ianto’d just deleted them right off. Just knowing they were around gave him a leaden feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Yup. Aliens crawling out of the walls," Frederick guffawed. He picked an olive off Lorrie's slice and tossed it in his mouth like popcorn. "You may get to snog your next alien yet, Kirk."

Ianto glowered at the nuclear physicist while the others laughed. "I didn't snog anyone."

"Nope, the little green man lip-shagged you."

Elisa sputtered, coughing, as Ianto just…sputtered. 

Harkness was mostly certainly not green and judging the swell he’d felt pressed hot against his hip through their trousers in the elevator, not _little_ either. Oh hell, he had to think about that.

Lorrie shrieked happily, waving a greased stained paper napkin towards Ianto. "Lisa, I adore Ianto. He bloody blushes at _everything_!"

Lisa giggled, draping her arms around his neck from behind and gave him a brief squeeze. She pulled away, leaving him a lingering scent of jasmine from her shampoo and chili flakes from her dinner. "That's because he's a decent person, Lore. Not like us decrepit lot."

"Oi!" Frederick snickered as he finished his slice. "Are you being rude about me?"

"You're not as upset about this as I thought you would be," Ianto commented warily, not sure if he was frightened or disappointed.

Lisa swatted the arm closest to her. "Posh! It was clear he kissed you. Now, if it was _Jaclyn_ Harkness who kissed you…"

Lorrie made a hissing cat sound that would have been impressive if her mouth wasn't dripping with stringy cheese. Lisa rolled her eyes but laughed.

"Precisely! Besides…" Lisa pressed up against Ianto and lowered her eyes. "I think it's quite hot to think of you as Kirk," Lisa purred. Frederick pretended to gag.

Ianto flushed but smiled in spite of himself. "Then who might you be?"

"Well, certainly not Lieutenant Uhura." Lisa made a face before she brightened. "Maybe Commander Spock?"

Frederick nearly spit out his soda. " _Mister_ Spock?" 

"Oh yes." Elisa exchanged a smirk with Lorrie. "The Vulcan and the captain? Oh, I think that's hot!"

"That show was before any of you girls!"

Lorrie pointed at Lisa. "DVD parties, Frederick. She has the whole set!"

Ianto gave Lisa a doubtful frown. "You? Spock?" He broke out into a bemused smile. "I can't see it."

"Oh please?" Elisa was plucking out all the pineapples for her and Lorrie. "Those pointy ears? Blimey, I think my heart's going into palpitations just thinking about them together!"

Frederick gawped at the cryptologist. "How could a tiny woman like you be that bloody horny?"

While Elisa got her revenge by tossing a bit of olive at him—there were always edible projectiles involved with these two—Ianto felt Lisa hug his arm.

"We don't mean anything by it," Lisa murmured, kissing the side of his mouth; it was spicy from her dinner, warm from her breath. Her eyes were warm with concern. "You know it's just harmless fun, right?"

Ianto patted her hand on his bicep and tried not to think how Harkness' mouth had tasted like coffee both times.

"Of course…you do know…" Lisa went on wickedly. "That elevator video was very hot… _Captain Kirk_."

Lisa burst out laughing when Ianto unexpectedly threw a pepperoni in her hair.

 

Ianto paused before pressing the button for the floor for the cargo bay. He shifted his weight from foot to foot and wondered if it was appropriate to offer cold pizza to a time traveler. It was never mentioned as a recommended 'don't' in Lisa's Torchwood manual on Interspecies Diplomacy. He was being hospitable, that was all. 

The lights had dimmed and stayed dim for far too long. It had ended dinner abruptly and everyone had dashed off to check their readings, saying their goodbyes hurriedly over their shoulders, Lisa had slowed enough for a kiss and a regret she wouldn’t be home until late. Ianto was left to clean up; consolidate the leftover slices to one box. When he was done, the lights returned to full strength, but the labs' double doors remained firmly shut. It was back to work for everyone but him. And suddenly, Ianto didn't want to go home; not just yet. 

When the doors opened, Ianto was surprised to see the entrance to cargo was left unguarded. He stood there, box in his hand, unsure.

After a few calls, Ianto tentatively opened the door with a swipe of his badge on the reader. Still, no one stopped him and braver now, Ianto strode through and tried to look like he was supposed to be there.

The cargo bay was enormous; crates left still unopened—all personnel was shuffled to the renewed MX-CR project—and cast gloomy shadows across the vast wall-less space.

Ianto passed broken spaceships, something that looked like a twisted lamppost, and crates with postmarks from all corners of the world. He knew his way, identifying the stacked pyramid of boxes from Cardiff as a landmark. 

His step stuttered as he drew near. What guided him before now hesitated him. What was he going to say? I was in the neighborhood? 

Ianto turned on his heels to head back to the lift but stopped again. He could still feel Harkness against him, his dry face pressed against him like he was bracing against a rock in a storm. Ianto remembered his hands; on either side of him, as if he was afraid to touch, to confirm it was real, that it might all be a lie.

Harkness' hands had been cool when Ianto had pulled them in. The captain had stiffened and he'd pulled away almost immediately, his eyes wary and shuttered. It had reminded Ianto of a cornered animal backed up, caught licking a wound.

He went back the other way. Just to see if he was feeling better, Ianto told himself as he turned the corner of the manmade landmark. Ianto took a deep, steadying breath as he rounded the corner, into the taped off clearing. He stopped.

The police box was gone.


	13. The universe splintered again when the captain pulled away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning For This Chapter:** mentions past non-con/dubious consent, minor (very minor) het, verbal and mental abuse.

**Two weeks later…**

The police box never returned.

"…nearly shat my pants. The bloody shop keeper just laughs and goes 'Oh no, sir. That's me mum's ghost! She always comes around this time' and he waves it goodbye and it swans off without even a poof!"

The director had told everybody that the Doctor had finished conducting his business and left with the temporal co-duplicator, and a vague promise to return. St. Nicholas was probably more reliable. Everyone mourned—to Ianto's disgust—at the loss then went back to work, their desks crammed with new technologies and ideas courtesy of the Doctor. Ianto wondered why no one questioned the generosity of the Doctor's knowledge. Wasn't he tampering with time by interfering? 

"I saw one walking into Pat's _right through the wall_. I thought I had a brain fart—"

"Only you would call it a brain fart—"

"Twit. Anyway, no one even blinked!"

Plus, no one knew where he had gone; or his…companion. 

"I really think it has something to do with that sphere! The Doctor called it a void ship—"

"Void? That's impossible."

"I know! I think Dr. Singh wants to propose to it. When we give it power the readings are absolutely fantastic!"

"Sod the ship. What about these ghosts showing up everywhere?"

Ianto can't stop thinking about him. Harkness. _Jack_. He didn't even know when he had begun to think of him as _Jack_. Ianto never called him that. He hoped Harkness was well.

"…even Westminster bridge! Saw a clip on CNW…walking just like you and I!"

He had only known him for a few weeks, a few days really if you only counted the actual face-to-face or, er, lip-to-lip interactions they had shared. Lord, why can't he stop thinking about that kiss? _Both_ of them!

"…Gareth says the breach is growing wider by the day…"

"The skyscraper should cover it nicely…if MX-CR can keep up with its wattage."

"…do in two months what they couldn't do in decades!"

And the video clips in his office email were passed around like spam, like those cheap email jokes, forwarded and then forwarded again from his co-workers, even from people he didn't know. He just kept deleting them. He didn't want to know. They started calling them DC clips. The Doctor's _companion_. Ianto wasn't sure if the annoyance he felt each time he heard it was for himself or Harkness. He was beginning to wonder if he had been mistaken about the captain and that angered him.

"…can't wait until Singh finishes the final stage…thinks he can figure out what's inside."

The cargo bay was sealed off again. This time, it was for construction to expand Torchwood; to reach a breach they had been experimenting and pouring energies into for the past five weeks. It was mind-boggling how much had happened since then. The world felt like it was changing too fast for him.

Lisa's hand slipped around his middle drawing him from his thoughts. Ianto blinked, chagrined when he realized everyone had stopped talking.

"We're boring you," Lorrie announced, never shy about her opinion. She reached over and plucked half of Lisa's sausage butty and switched it with her half of a bacon butty. Lorrie took a bite of it and made a face. "Cripes, Lisa, what's with all the ketchup?"

Ianto grinned sheepishly. "You're not boring me," he told them. "Archives is not really a necessary tool during all this…activity." Ianto pointed to the ceiling. 

"Sod activity. If the banging and hammering would just stop," Frederick grumbled as he cleaned his hands on a napkin. "I'll be happy."

"You're never happy," Elisa shot back as she wiped her mouth and rose to her feet.

"Okay…happy-like," Frederick returned. He stretched. "If you're bored, Kirk, then why don't you join us science types? Everyone upstairs needs aid and the half-wits they send us don't help."

Despite the gruff offhand remark, Ianto could hear the sincerity. Ianto smiled and shook his head. He was acutely aware of the application slipped between the files sitting on the "Ha" cabinet. 

"Aw, come on. We're not so bad…and the lab coats hang just below the knee. Useful when you're bored." Frederick yelped when Elisa slapped the back of his head. "Oi!"

"That's disgusting! I don't wear my lab coat because of that!"

"Well, maybe you should! Then you wouldn't be drooling over everything with two legs and a—stop hitting me, woman! I could beat you with just my finger you little—Oi!"

"Bye, guys!" Lorrie waved, not looking back. She smirked at Ianto and Lisa. They could hear Frederick and Elisa still going at it all the way to the lifts. "They should just find a utility closet and get on with it."

"Lore!" Lisa burst out laughing. 

"I'm just saying!" Lorrie gave her a quick peck on the cheek, doing the same to Ianto. "Have to dash. Be good." She grabbed the last remaining sandwich, winked at them both, and headed down the hallway, chewing contently.

Ianto smiled to himself as he watched her break into a trot, sighting the lift.

"You're awfully quiet today."

Ianto glanced sideways at her. "You say I'm quiet _every_ day."

"Hm," Lisa just commented before she helped Ianto clear the desk of the wax papers and empty mugs. She gave Ianto a look then appeared to change her mind about something. 

"What?"

Lisa hesitated. She chewed on her lower lip thoughtfully, shook her head, and then stretched out the garbage bag towards Ianto. She held it open as he filled it with their refuse.

"I saw Abigail at the cafeteria this morning," Lisa said all of the sudden.

Ianto grimaced but smiled. "Lorrie gossips too much. Are they still calling you Spock?"

"No." Lisa giggled. "I think you need to establish more diplomatic relations with another alien to be the talk of the Tower again."

Ianto tossed a straw wrapper at her. It bounced off her nose. "Good. I’d rather be old news. Which is fitting considering where I work."

"Funny you should say that…"

Ianto looked up. Lisa's gaze was lowered to the bag she held.

"What's the matter?"

"Abigail just mentioned…" Lisa shrugged. "Well…she was wondering why she hadn't heard back about your application?"

Ah. Now it was Ianto's turn to look away. "Oh."

"When did you get an application?" There was no reproach in Lisa's voice and somehow that made it worse. Ianto sat on the edge of his desk. Lisa sat down on his chair and rolled up in front of him.

The eyes were wrong and the hands on his lap felt like they didn't belong. Ianto felt horrible for thinking that, so he answered Lisa as honestly as he could.

"Last month, more or less." Then, Ianto shrugged. "It was the Doctor's recommendation." And he still didn't know why. 

"That's good." Lisa smiled up at him, but it wavered on his face. "It's…not good?" When Ianto didn't answer, Lisa sighed. "You can't stay down here forever."

"Of course not. Torchwood's mandatory retirement is at age 65."

Lisa gave him a look under her lashes that told him she wasn't impressed. "You know what I mean." 

Ianto exhaled slowly. He placed his hands on Lisa's shoulders and tried not to think how it didn't feel as right as his hands over larger, cool ones and how the eyes were still wrong. "I know. I'm sorry." 

"Don't apologize." Lisa misunderstood. "I just don't want you to be down here forever."

Ianto smiled faintly. "Forever's an exaggeration."

"Well, you're certainly trying for it." Lisa rubbed her palms up and down his legs. She hesitated.

"Look, I know this stuff with your family has been hard, but…" Lisa caught the pained look on his face and like many times before, she backed off. "I just want to help you."

It had been the other way around all his life so this was something Ianto was trying hard to understand. He fumbled. "I know. I just need time—"

"It's just, you’ve been down here so long that sometimes I feel like I need to check your _pulse_ to see if you're still alive." Lisa's mouth curved ruefully. "Okay, that was a slight exaggeration there." She wheeled her seat closer and tilted her head up towards him. "It's a first-rate chance. There are good people up there. You know Elisa and Lorrie and Frederick's a prat but he's a good old bastard."

Ianto met Lisa's lips halfway. He slipped his fingers up her short hair, momentarily disconcerted when he realized it felt different than what he was expecting. 

"You'll think about it?" Lisa murmured against his mouth, her tone hopeful.

Ianto kissed her and hoped it was answer enough. It was the only one he could give right now. 

 

_"…confirmed to be of the Malgruw planets, a refugee from their civil wars. Freelance agent Harkness recommends detainment until its ship can be recovered. He advises agents to avoid close proximity…"_

This time, he was in the dark, dapper suit of a police officer for New York in the 1920's. Harkness stared back in a black and white picture, again, hat under his arm, standing at attention. He was no longer loose-limbed, however, and no longer relaxed in stance.

But he looked exactly the same. Sort of.

There was a bit of a glazed look in the eyes now, a remainder from having been assigned to infiltrate enemy ranks during the Great War. He had been there for three years. He was only meant to be in Austria for five months.

Ianto compared the photo to the 1909 one he couldn't bring himself to return to the original folder. And after a month of wandering aimlessly past the cargo bay area, deleting more 'DC' video clips from his email, Ianto had finally opened the first Harkness folder he had found long ago. He didn't know why, but it felt like the answer would be there. He just didn't know the question.

He had been surprised to see the captain's own handwriting; straight as if written alongside a ruler, bold as if his ink pen was pressing too hard.

_"…part of a Chula warship. It feels like someone up there is having a joke at my expense. It was pretty much half-buried in no man's land. It was blown up (See above for joke reference) during a trench fight that lasted too long but was too short to justify the amount of loss in the end. The name no man's land was well earned..."_

The photo was taken before he was sent off. Ianto looked at the 1909 and the other in his hand. He frowned. Impossibly, Harkness hadn't aged. Did he jump from time to time? How did he still come to work for Torchwood? What about his Doctor? Where was he?

The loose limb, deceptively care-free pose was in all the photos, but after staring at all three photo versions he'd uncovered so far, Ianto knew the pose was deliberate. 

_I don't care_ , it seemed to say.

"Liar," Ianto murmured. He felt vaguely perturbed that he was compelled to answer. 

Sighing, Ianto replaced the photos back in their respective folders save the 1909 one. 

He looked at it as he sat perched on the edge of his desk again, cloaked in the shadows and calm of the archives that he'd relied on to give him peace.

Except Harkness had changed that.

There was a stirring in his belly as he sat there. His palms sweated as he thought about how strange it was that stubble could felt so erotic under his hands. Shoulders broader than a woman's, muscles that bunched as Harkness flexed and moved; they shouldn't have felt that good. 

"I never should have brought you down here," Ianto murmured. "What am I supposed to do now?"

The Harkness of 1909 didn't answer. 

The lights, however, flickered.

Annoyed, Ianto looked up and frowned. It didn't happen often but it was irritating. MX-CR was apparently powering the Rift program Lisa and her friends were in. The drain their project required, however, sometimes tapped Torchwood's main power as well. 

Ianto was about to reach for the flashlight he had set aside when he paused. The application taunted him from the stack of files. Ianto reluctantly pulled it out and stared at the still blank form. 

It would mean more pay and the salary would be useful. 

It would mean out of the quiet and solitude of the archives, though.

Ianto thought he could hear himself, murmuring meaningless words, harsh, rasping sounds that quieted, as if Ianto's words actually soothed. What Ianto said, what he did, he couldn't remember, but he felt a moment of fitting back into the universe when Harkness quieted. The universe splintered again when the captain pulled away.

"Nonsense," Ianto murmured. Considering the scattered reports before him, Harkness didn't need a "beautiful boy" who barely came out from the basement to piece him together. Harkness had seen enough wars and time, apparently, to harden his spirit. Harkness looked like a man who could soldier on.

Ianto, on the other hand, was still trying to find reason to. 

Lisa, in her own delicate way, was right. The archives were his crutch, buried in desolate quiet that had, at one point, felt safe and predictable. No surprises, nothing that would be pulled out from under him and skew a world he knew all his life to be an uncertain one. There was no one down here to disappoint him; no one he could disappoint.

But then he tasted coffee in Harkness' mouth. And the archives felt so…deficient now.

The photo flapped up in front of him. "But you're not here to right it again, are you, Captain?" Ianto murmured with the first real hint of anger in a long time.

Ianto looked around him and wondered when the walls had started standing so close together. He sighed deeply and reached forward for the folder he knew by heart.

The pin by the mission report was rusty, the head eroded off. Ianto pulled the needle out slowly, a sardonic smile on his face at the metaphor. He positioned Harkness' photo over the report, matched the corners perfectly, and then he positioned the stapler over the two pieces.

His eyes oddly burned at the sharp click the stapler made, pinning the photo to the handwritten missive. It felt like a betrayal slipping it back into the folder.

"Good night, Captain," Ianto murmured as he dropped it gently—strange as it was only a folder and not Harkness itself—into the drawer. He slid the drawer shut and rested his forehead on the door. 

It took a few moments; to feel like it was alright to walk away. Ianto brushed two fingers against the label affixed on the cabinet. The cool surface of the typed paper felt wrong. But it needed to be done.

Ianto took a deep breath and pulled his fingers away. He tucked his hand in his pocket. The emptiness made him pull his hand out again to leave it hanging against his side. He walked away.

It was time to get back to work.

 

**Three weeks later…**

Torchwood was swimming with enough activity that even Archives was recruited into helping out. Ianto, while annoyed they had become glorified lackeys for upstairs, was also glad for a legitimate excuse to shuttle in and out of his humble section of the archives.

Today, Dr. Singh needed artifacts 1357 and 4389 and…well, they were enough for a trolley, which meant enough room to sneak in a thermos of coffee for Lisa.

Lisa sighed happily as she drained her cup. She leaned against Ianto, propped up outside the door to her lab. "Lord, if I could feed this to the people, they would vote me PM!" 

Ianto chuckled as he refilled her drink. He nodded at a few faces he came to know during his trips up to the labs.

"You've become popular," Lisa mused as another whistled a greeting before ducking into one of the labs.

"You science types have been very demanding." Ianto made a long suffering face to which Lisa elbowed him.

"It's the only chance we can get to see each other."

"How romantic," Ianto said dryly. "I didn't know 'Get me the ionic cycle modifier' was really code for 'I miss you'."

"I said please."

"Yes," Ianto conceded as he capped the thermos. "You did. I do appreciate it." He raised an eyebrow as doors slammed down the sterile looking white hallways. 

"Are we on fire?" Ianto commented as yet another lab coat hurried to another door. The only door that hadn't opened repeatedly was the one at the end, an entrance with double doors whose glass was fogged out, unlike the others where he could see people scurrying about.

Lisa laughed. "No, but—"

The doors Ianto was just musing about before opened a crack. A harried man, in the ubiquitous lab coat, pulled down his surgical mask to reveal an unshaven jaw and a frowning mouth. He looked like Graham Norton, his head all frenzied as he looked around him, hands waving and gesturing as soon as he sighted Ianto and Lisa.

"You! You there!"

"Oh lord, it's Batty Matty," Lisa murmured, already edging for her door. 

"Batty Matty?" Ianto echoed.

"Matt Granger. Lorrie can't stand him. He's in charge of MX-CR and mad as a bat. Listen, I should get back to work. Kisses." Lisa gave him a quick peck on the lips and she hurriedly swiped her badge and ducked inside before 'Batty Matty' reached them.

Ianto harrumphed. "Like a sinking ship," he muttered.

"Where did she go?" The scientist squinted up at Ianto, his brown, almost orange hair made it look like someone had lit his head on fire. The scientist certainly acted like it.

"Oh uh, she needed to get back to work," Ianto mumbled.

It was disconcerting how those green eyes zeroed in on him even though they were only inches apart.

"And you? Do you have to go back to work?" Granger demanded. 

"Well, I—"

"I need you to go to Medical and get me IV kit six. They keep breaking off and I'm here all by myself. Every ruddy aide must have run off for the damn breach." Granger scribbled something on what looked like a prescription pad and tore a page off, slapping it on Ianto's chest.

"Just give them that. Hurry up. It doesn't stay under long and I need to charge up another cell."

Ianto was getting dizzy. Was Granger even talking English? He stared blankly at the small page and what looked like a…smiley face?

"I think you're mistaken. I don't work here—"

Granger scowled at him then he nodded. "Yes, yes, of course you don't." He shrugged out of his coat, his badge still clipped to his collar. "Wear this. You’ll look like my esquire."

Aghast, Ianto numbly took the coat. "Wait. I can't—" He yelped when Granger all but shoved him out the double doors, pointing at him to the guard and barking, "Let him back in later!", then spun Ianto around so the guard could have a better look at him from all sides.

Ianto sputtered. "Now wait—"

"Hurry up, haven't all day. And someone pick that trolley up, it's a fire hazard! Not you! Medical! Shoo!" And Granger was gone, already heading back to MX-CR, gesturing wildly to himself.

Ianto stared after him through the lab floor's main doors.

"Shoo?" he echoed, looking over to the guard.

The guard merely shrugged.

Ianto sighed as he slipped on the too short coat. It fell to his hip. The sleeves were three inches shy to his wrist and the coat smelled like greasy pork. 

"This is exactly why I didn't want to work on this floor."

"See you later," the guard called after him before he went back to his paper, his foot tapping against the stool he was sitting on.

 

Medical, thankfully, was far more sedate. Ianto poked his head inside Torchwood's medical facility that doubled as their infirmary. He didn't see anyone; just rows of empty gurneys and equipment. 

"Hello?" 

A nurse rolled out from a tiny room. He actually looked like he would have better served as a guard. He was built like a rugby player.

"You need a kit?" The smile greeted him was pleasant enough if not a little distracted. The nurse kept looking back into the tiny room off to Ianto's right that served as an office. Ianto could see the blue flicker of a modest television set. "Back cabinet. Just sign out what you take." And the nurse rolled his chair back in.

Ianto blinked, still holding up the paper that apparently was pointless. "Uh…thank you," Ianto said as he steered for the wired glass double door cabinet that took up the entire back wall. It wasn't even locked.

"Welcome," the nurse murmured distractedly. "Blimey!" The nurse poked his head back out just as Ianto poked his inside the medical kit cabinet. 

"They got ghosts wandering around Beijing, too! Ghosts!" The rollers on the nurse's chair groaned. "Real, sodding ghosts! First London, then New York, now Beijing!"

Ianto spotted the IV kits. He groaned mentally. Not even in order, stuffed in a cardboard box by the depressors. 

"My brother said he saw one in Notting. But he's just a mailman. He thinks our neighbor is an alien."

Maybe Torchwood should investigate, Ianto thought sourly as he checked another one. Five, no, that one's three, where was six?

"You think we got something to do with it?"

"I wouldn't be surprised," Ianto muttered.

"Eh?"

"I said I couldn't find six," Ianto said louder, holding up a fistful of bagged kits.

The nurse looked at him stupidly. "Which one?"

"Six."

The cheery chubby face changed dramatically. The nurse stood up from his chair. "From MX-CR, are you?"

Ianto blinked, taken back. "Uh, yes."

A beefy hand opened towards him. "I'll need to see your paper," the nurse requested in a crisp voice utterly different from before.

Ianto inwardly cringed as he handed over the hastily drawn note. "All I have is…"

The nurse, so serious Ianto wondered if perhaps there were two nurses here, studied the note intently. He glanced up, his somber expression easing a fraction.

"Granger, huh?" The nurse shook his head as he entered the small room, snapped on some gloves, and came out with a key. He crouched down to a locked safe in the cabinet. "He's not a real doctor. Not medical at least," the nurse commented as he inserted the key. "But he has the handwriting of one."

Carefully as if it was made of glass, the nurse pulled out what looked like a cooler the size of the television set still buzzing in the tiny office. Over the nurse's shoulder, Ianto could see several more stacked inside the safe that filled with icy vapors.

The nurse handed him gloves to wear. Then he made Ianto sign one form, then another, before he handed over the case. He handled it so gingerly, Ianto was almost afraid to accept it.

"Watch it," the nurse cautioned. "Doctor says you must avoid breaking the seal. Temperature will remain constant for only twenty minutes so don't dawdle." The nurse helped open the door and followed Ianto to open the lift. "It can't handle temporal or vortex ions if it gets too warm so don't br—"

"Break the seal. Got it," Ianto said, almost afraid to breathe. He ducked into the lift, both hands gripping the handle and keeping the case away from his body.

"Good luck!" the nurse shouted as the doors closed.

Ianto swallowed. 

 

The guard had looked up casually, but the moment he sighted the case, he jumped off his stool and opened the pneumonic doors with an overriding swipe of his card.

"Excuse me, pardon me," Ianto muttered even though there was no one in the hallways. He was beginning to sweat, his palms sticky. The lights had flickered once more while he was in the lift and Ianto worried he would get trapped. Now he was worried his perspiration would compromise the strange kit he was holding. Of course it wouldn't, but God, you never know, yes?

"Excuse me, pardon me," Ianto muttered again, relieved the MX-CR door was ajar. He didn't spare a hand for the door, merely kicking it wider to enter.

Granger was nowhere in sight, but Ianto could hear his voice from somewhere.

"That you? Take it down to the last chamber and don't break anything!"

The chamber was actually a rotunda cluttered with odd glass tubes lit up with blue light and narrowing out into metal pipes that snaked up to the ceiling. There was a doorway, a dark corridor lit only by a glowing outline of another door at the far end.

Ianto wanted to walk carefully. It was only a small incline but pitch dark. He could feel the walls with his elbows. At first they felt smooth, gradually feeling sandy and oddly warm.

As soon as he reached the door, he could hear a rhythmic hiss that reminded him of a respirator—a childhood memory still too fresh in his mind—and a hum like the old icebox from his university dorm. 

The door opened with an easy nudge of his foot and Ianto entered, again with a wary "Hello?" No one answered.

Ianto stopped. The walls were damningly familiar: coral and pinkish in color with sparkles of gold. They clung to the exposed dry wall like old ivy, twisting and winding, meeting up at the center like an arch. An odd jagged glass panel hung like a light fixture over…

"Oh God," Ianto whispered, his feet bringing him closer on their own accord.

In the center of the room was an oval platform, curved up around the edges and elevated above the floor to level of his hip. It looked to be made of the same coral, shackled into shape with brackets that also held leather straps as thick as his calf.

The case which Ianto had carried so carefully before, dropped to the floor. But Ianto could care less as he was riveted to what lay on the middle of the platform.

Like alabaster, still and white, tubing like worms squirming out of his veins, skin cool and dry to his touch, lay Captain Jack Harkness.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning For This Chapter:** Ianto/Lisa moments, non-sexual, some imagery may be disturbing (illness-related)
> 
>  **Notes For This Chapter:** it's not necessary, but please note there are parallels to DW's "Doomsday", "Army of Ghosts", and TW's "Fragments". No spoilers, but history and ages are based and parallel the episodes. Again, not required viewing but you may want to go to a Wiki and consider reading. :)

**Next day…**

He wanted to knock it off the table.

It was a plastic model of Torchwood One, after their modifications and construction. Someone, in a fit of arrogance or patriotism, had placed a tiny Union Jack on its apex. It flew over where the spatial breach Lisa had described was located. Domed under a Plexiglas display case, it stood for everything it had, has, and will do for the Empire.

And he wanted to take a chair to it; preferably the one he was sitting on by the one end of the meeting table, waiting for Director Hartman to finish her call with the Cardiff branch.

"What's done is done, Alex! Nothing you predicted has ever happened. And I'll be damned if I keep standing back while you conspire with Whitehall to interfere with me!" Hartman snapped, forgetting she had a visitor waiting in front of her. "What we have set forth was for the Empire and it would be good of you to remember that when you accuse your fellow man!"

The phone was slammed down hard enough to have doubts for its housing's safety. Ianto hastily averted his gaze when Hartman cleared her throat.

"Ah." It finally occurred to her she wasn't alone. Hartman took a steadying breath and patted down her hair. "Jones, was it?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Director Hartman's fingers alternated going up and down on the table as she considered him.

"I wasn't expecting to hear from you again, Mr. Jones." A thin, blonde eyebrow rose as she picked up a form in front of her. She pulled out reading glasses and rested them on the tip of her nose. "You seemed quite adamant last time that you weren't interested."

Ianto forced himself to smile. "I gave it some thought."

"Quite some thought," Hartman remarked wryly. "It's been weeks now and…" She checked the application. The eyebrow rose higher. "Very specific too. MX-CR?" Her brow knitted together and looked at him over the rim of her spectacles. "The Doctor recommended you for the Rift program."

"I thought it would be awkward," Ianto replied. "I am currently…seeing someone. In Dr. Singh's team in the Rift Program." Under the desk, Ianto wiped his palms on his trousers. It was early morning. Ianto hadn't sleep all night. He had left Lisa in their bed and come straight up to the top offices as soon as Abigail opened them. He waited for the director to come in, his form filled out with a shaky hand and stared straight at Hartman's doors, ignoring Abigail's curious study. 

The deep taps on the wood grated his nerves. "Hm," Hartman said. "I see." She peered at him over her reading glasses.

Ianto fought the urge to look away. His body thrummed with the effort to sit still; his stomach churned the longer he sat here and he thought of Harkness down there with Granger and his team. 

"I take it you'd seen the Doctor's companion then?" There was a slight smirk on her face. "You seem quite attached to it. The Doctor's right. Very friendly sort, I suppose."

The smile was beginning to hurt to keep on his face. His hands curled under the table. "I was surprised we were able to obtain Captain Harkness'… assistance for the MX-CR." He wanted to throw up.

Hartman scanned Ianto's file as she murmured, distracted. "It was voluntary actually."

Ianto started. "I'm sorry, I didn't quite hear you, did you say…?"

The director shrugged and took off her glasses. "The Doctor's companion has an illness and was undergoing a treatment to leech vortex energy from the cellular level. Except it needed to be done constantly and the Doctor said he didn't have the resources. He was needed elsewhere." The smile she offered was sickening. 

"We needed a viable energy source to continue MX-CR and the Doctor volunteered. It was an ideal arrangement."

"You mean the _captain_ volunteered." Ianto's blood ran cold when the director just stared blankly at him. His fingers itched, remembering how cool and ashy dry the captain's skin was when he touched the only unmarred skin he could find. The tubing had left dark clots under Harkness' skin. When Ianto realized he had only brought more of the same tubing to Granger, Ianto felt lightheaded. He had mumbled an excuse and fled after Granger detached the old ones. The thin tubing was tipped with blood and droplets had fallen onto the white hospital gown Harkness wore when pulled. 

Ianto had huddled over a toilet deep in the archives and he didn't leave until his face dried and his stomach calmed.

"The Doctor may very well have propelled England into the glory days of the Empire again. An unfounded benefactor for Torchwood." Hartman looked far away; her fingers tapped continuously. Ianto almost begged her to stop. "His contributions will help us open the breach and we'll be able to harness its power. It could power this nation, Jones. It is good you wish to be on the cusp of history here."

He wasn't sure how to respond and chose to say nothing. 

"You're sure you would not rather be in Reger's team, though? The Doctor had expressed hope you would be involved with the breach. There's not much to do in Granger's; more likely just upkeep of the converter chamber."

Ianto fought the urge to curl back his lip. "No, thank you, Director. I think I would better serve the MX-CR group." With the captain. He wanted to scream at her to stop delaying. It felt like the minutes stretched to the point of pain. Deep down, Ianto knew he must be behaving irrationally. What could he possibly do in there? 

"Very well." Hartman sighed as if she had granted Ianto an exorbitant favor. "I'll send the paperwork down to Granger. Ask Abigail to get you the materials you would need."

Ianto would have sagged in his seat. But he wanted to leave when the director started to rap her fingers again on the table; the beat was excessive and followed him out of the boardroom. It was enough to give Ianto a headache.

 

Harkness looked cold. He _felt_ cold.

Ianto shivered in his new lab coat. It still smelled musty from being fresh out of its wrapper, the creases from its folds stuck out, giving Ianto a boxy shape that only made him feel more awkward in it. 

The person he was keeping company, however, didn’t comment on his appearance. Harkness, garbed in only a white surgical gown, had lain on the platform the whole time. Ianto sat on a stool, elbows on his knees, the PDA meter that he was supposed to use to record Harkness' vitals was still in the deep wells of his pocket. It was useless for now.

The phones had been ringing constantly with demands for power. Cells the size of propane tanks were being delivered down to the wing currently under construction for the expansion. Granger was too busy shouting at his other two assistants to give Ianto any instruction except to sit here and "not break anything". 

He wanted to break it all.

The chamber reminded him of the inside of the police box. The only differences were the mainframes, what drywall the coral didn't cover, and the awaiting oxygen tanks that lined up along one wall. Computers to monitor everything were moved to the back behind a thick glass wall to make room for the platform and its occupant.

It took Ianto a few minutes before he dared approach the silent figure on the oval surface the first time he entered the room in an official capacity. He stood by the raised dais by the captain's right arm, suddenly at a loss on what to do. A feeling of helplessness and anger warred inside him; a feeling he knew all too well as a young man. Ianto didn't know if it was memory making him react this way or Harkness. Perhaps it didn't matter. 

Tentatively, he fingered Harkness' short hair, spiked and chilled from the cold that had settled on the captain's body. Ianto pulled away, perturbed at how the captain's hair felt limp, no longer warm and charged like before down in a dim hallway. 

Harkness was pale, his lashes dark against his almost gray skin, and his eyes sunken to small shadows on his face. The hospital gown he wore only accentuated the paleness of his exposed limbs. The feeding tube slithering out from under his gown made Ianto ill. The numerous lines of white tubing lit like blue neon lights came out of bloody IV ports in his wrists and ankles. And every so often a blue vapor wafted out of the captain's body, but no one batted an eye as it evaporated into the jagged glass pieces above. 

It _hurt_ to see him like this. 

The machines that lined the wall, Granger had explained in a rare moment of generosity, collected the vortex ions, converted them to kilowatts and distributed them to the other labs.

They were using him like a bloody battery.

Ianto breathed softly on his fingers to warm them before he settled them lightly on Harkness' left wrist, avoiding the swelling, bloody IV port.

"Captain?" Ianto leaned towards Harkness' left ear. Even the captain's scent seemed to be fading.

"Captain?" Ianto tried again. He pressed his fingers to the weak fluttering beat he could feel. Ianto closed his eyes briefly. He mentally counted the beats, willed it to throb stronger. It didn't.

"Can you hear me?" Ianto whispered sadly, his fingers stroking the fragile skin. 

"Can't hear you, mate." Clive Cohn, one of Granger's assistants, waltzed in with his eyes on his PDA. "Don't bother trying." He scratched his thinning hair with the stylus pen he carried.

Ianto frowned. "And why is that?"

Clive made a circuit around to Harkness' head. Eyes still on the PDA, he tapped a finger to Harkness' inner elbows where there were different types of tubing which went up to several IV bags that hung on the pole like yellow balloons. They swayed behind Harkness' head when he poked the bags with a finger.

"Sedative," the aide quipped as he noted the equipment. He tapped one gauge and muttered as he inputted the information in. "The Doctor's special. Calls it PV-35. Keeps his companion quiet. Thank God." Clive made a face. "Made the most god-awful noise the first three days."

Ianto's mouth was dry. "He was awake before?"

"If you could call it that." Clive shrugged. He wiggled past to the computer in the back. "Better this way. Doctor said it was kinder."

"Kinder," Ianto repeated thinly. 

"Brilliant stuff. Heard the Doctor's talk on it. Granger's sending some to Cardiff for their Weevil infestation. See if it helps." Tap, tap, tap, his fingers flew across the keyboard. Clive's foot went up and down to a beat only he could hear. "Makes it more comfortable."

Ianto's eyes grew stormy. "Comfortable?" He slipped his hands under Harkness' shoulders—God, they were so cold and stiff against an even colder, hard surface—and pulled his hands right back out. His hands were lightly stained red.

"Ah." Clive shrugged. "Bed sores. The companion gets them lots. They go away on their own."

Ianto felt the corners of his eyes burn. "Bed sores," he said tightly, "Do _not_ go away on their own." He could still taste the cocktail of bleach, metallic artificial oxygen, and rubbing alcohol in his mouth. It was a nauseating mix he would never forget. It was the taste of illness, of being trapped in a body that didn't match the spirit. 

Clive never noticed Ianto giving him a withering look as he inputted his data into the computer. "These do." He shrugged again before adding, "Eventually." 

A few more taps of the keyboard and Clive yawned, staggering back up on his feet. 

"Anyway, Doctor told us to keep it under, so we did. So no sense trying to start a conversation." Clive clapped Ianto on the back, meant to be a friendly gesture, but Ianto flinched nevertheless. The aide never noticed, never even batted an eye. He just gathered his equipment, took a final scan of Harkness and left. Seconds later, he was heard shouting at Granger he was going out to lunch. Granger shouted back he didn't care.

Ianto sat down heavily on the stool by Harkness' head. He reached out a hand only to pull it back again. 

" _I_ think you can hear me," Ianto said quietly. He reached out again and dropped his hand on Harkness' left shoulder. He rubbed it absently simply because he didn't know what else he could do.

Only the hiss from the converters replied, but it was enough of an answer for him to shudder.

 

"You _knew_?" Ianto gaped at Lisa. "You knew all this time and never said anything?"

Lisa gave Lorrie a guilty look. "We…we weren't suppose to even tell you this much before."

"And _you're_ not suppose to mention what's in MX-CR either," Frederick pointed out, not at all acting guilty. He reached over, flipped open the pizza box and grabbed a slice. "You _did_ read the disclaimer on the background check paperwork, didn't you? Security clearances only, mate. You didn't have it then."

It made sense. It did. As did Lisa and her friends dragging him back down to his old "G" to "I" section for a celebratory slice. It all made sense yet it didn't.

"You knew," Ianto looked at Lisa, too numb to even inject an ounce of accusation in his tone.

Lisa, her eyes downcast, bit her lower lip and nodded. 

"Chin up," Elisa chorused to Lisa's right. "You have clearance now. Besides, before, I didn't know either." 

"That's because we didn't want you to go over there and drool your perverted little heart out." Frederick ducked a straw, then the pepperoni, but failed to dodge the pointy size three shoe to his shin.

"Guys," Lisa shushed them as she turned anxiously back to Ianto. "I didn't think you would be that upset over this, otherwise I would have found some way to tell you."

The curious gazes upon him drew Ianto out of his brooding. He offered a tight smile to them all and gripped Lisa's hand on his knee.

"It was startling," Ianto conceded. "To know we did this to another living thing…" 

"Oi, don't make us sound like that," Frederick protested, wiping his mouth clean of sauce. "The bloke volunteered."

"How could _anyone_ volunteer for something like that?" Ianto forced the words out between his teeth. "He…they tied him up like…like an animal for slaughter! It's inhumane—don't say it's okay because he could be an alien!" Ianto cut off whatever Frederick was going to say. "Doesn't make it right."

Frederick's mouth snapped shut. He exchanged a frown with Lorrie.

"But the equipment was from _their_ ship." Elisa looked around for confirmation. "It's not like we made the machines. It was already done, so they must have been doing this before, am I right?"

A chill went down Ianto's back and settled in his gut. He didn't respond. He was worried he would end up vomiting instead.

"Maybe it's some sort of alien time traveling bondage thing," Frederick added weakly. He cringed, hearing himself and shot Ianto an apologetic look. "Sorry, mate."

Conversation was awkward for the next few minutes. Ianto could feel the looks of concern they shot Lisa before leaving. All he could do was muster a wan smile farewell. He concentrated on picking up the marinara stained napkins and empty pizza boxes.

Arms slipped around from behind. He stopped.

"It's not your desk anymore." Lisa was warm against his back, her voice muffled against his suit jacket.

"You better not get lipstick on my jacket again," Ianto protested half-heartedly. 

"Ianto Jones, my romantic." Lisa released him though and slipped around to sit on the desk. She looked at him, her eyes cloudy with remorse.

"Sorry, love." She toyed with his tie ends, absently smoothing her fingers on the quality fabric.

"Maybe if I had told you, it wouldn't have come as quite a shock," she fretted. "I didn't think they would assign you to the MX-CR project just like that. Even _I_ don't have that kind of clearance." 

Ianto pulled away, his tie slipping out of Lisa's loose grasp. He couldn't look at her, couldn't lie to her, but found he couldn't tell the truth either.

"It's not the same, you know."

Ianto crammed down a pizza box into the bag harder than he intended. "I know," he rasped.

"I mean, back then, it was illness that took your...There was no choice then."

It didn't look like Harkness had a choice either; at least, the captain didn't think so. Ianto could still feel the weight of his head on his lap, how his body fought the tremors that shook with each strangled sound yet no tears. It was as if they ran out long ago. Ianto knew the feeling and how hollow it made you feel afterwards trying to cry dry-eyed. 

"Maybe if you tell them about…" Lisa stopped because she caught Ianto's face; because even now, she knew it still hurt. Lisa frowned at him, her face open with worry. "Are you going to be alright doing this?"

Ianto shrugged and discarded the soda cups.

"Love, stop cleaning for a bit." Lisa framed his face with her hands. "Maybe…maybe this will help." She rested her forehead against his throat. "Maybe you can finally let go."

Ianto lowered the bag and hesitantly placed his hands on her shoulders. He knew Lisa just wanted to help and perhaps in a way, this would. He lowered his head until his chin rested on top of her head and he thought of how strange it was to let someone else worry and fret on his behalf. 

"You'll be okay, right?" Lisa murmured as her arms went around him. 

I don't know, Ianto thought as he pulled away. He swept the desk free of crumbs and pizza crusts. He paused at the cabinets. He turned back to Lisa.

"Of course," Ianto lied. "I'll be fine."

 

**One week later…**

"…mimes, Captain? _Really_."

Ianto was again alone in the chamber. He didn't mind though. He sat on the stool just by his head, browsing through a file he'd taken from archives on impulse. Granger, used to being constantly understaffed, was at a loss on what to do with Ianto but knew he would be a fool to complain. He agreed all too quickly to Ianto's suggestion to assign him to monitor the chamber and its sole resident.

"How can you 'demonstrate an amicable agreement' with alien mimes?" Ianto chuckled, reviewing the report. "Your words, Harkness, not mine."

As usual, no comment.

Ianto's amusement faded. "Yes, well…let's check on your sores, shall we?"

Granger had reacted only with a grumbled warning not to dislodge the V.I.I—short for vortex ionic intravenous but it didn't succeed in softening the harsh, cold description—when Ianto had offered to take care of the bed sores. Despite Cohn's casual estimation, the bed sores did _not_ go away on their own and while some had faded back into flawless skin, there were some that still lingered.

Ianto set the kit he made out of supplies from the infirmary—he wanted to box the nurse when he offered to make it IV kit seven for the future—just right of the pillow he had slipped under the captain's head his third day here. 

Carefully, with the skill of having done this too many times, Ianto eased an arm under the captain's neck and gingerly pulled Harkness against him.

Like kissing, it felt odd to hold a man—a distinctly masculine physique that he couldn't ignore—so close against him. The hospital gown on Harkness was a pitiful barrier. And while it was clear the weeks had melted the weight from his body, Harkness still felt solid, warm, and larger than life. It felt like trying to embrace the sun. 

With one hand cradling the back of Harkness' neck, his head lolling gently in the slope where his left shoulder met his neck, Ianto held him with all the care he learnt caring for another long ago.

"Alright," Ianto murmured to the ear closest to him as he tugged the ties on the gown's back loose. He parted the flaps with a finger and resisted lingering on the smooth healing skin. It was remarkable—not a single scar. He pulled his hand away and let it settle around the captain's left shoulder for a moment. "I'll be quick," he promised.

He remembered he had watched, years ago, as a callous nurse had simply rolled a patient to the side and cleaned the sores and changed the dressings. She had instructed Ianto in a flat voice while the suffering soul tried to sleep with one arm pinned under their own body, painfully aware they lay fully exposed to the nurse and a virtual stranger.

Ianto found holding on, albeit carefully, gave some relief even if at the end, it was pointless. So pointless…all the comfort he could give, only to still die in so much agony. To watch all his efforts, do every possible thing he could imagine only to…to…

Don't think about it, Ianto thought as he carefully cleaned the weeping sores and changed the dressings. The entire time, he held the captain against him, one hand still cupped to the back of his head. Ianto could feel Harkness' shallow breath against his throat.

"Remind me to ask you about the mimes next time," Ianto murmured as he carefully stroked the warm towel against the unmarred spots of the skin. He could see the dimples that usually marked the cleft, the top curve of the buttocks. Man or woman, it was the same and Ianto suddenly felt horrible for putting the captain in the exposed position he was in.

"I guess we are shy," Ianto said in a low voice as he finished changing the dressings. Carefully, he reached around with both hands to tie the gown shut. He swallowed when Harkness slumped against him, his hair tickling Ianto's collarbone.

"You are fortunate I am a virtuous…man…" Ianto gulped when that soft puff of air from Harkness blew moistly on his shirt, through the gaps between his buttoned shirt and tie; like Harkness was ghosting kisses on his chest.

Ianto's fingers shook as he struggled to tie the one around Harkness' lower back. His fingers kept brushing against the knobby ridges of Harkness' tailbone and the satin, hot softness of the curve of one cheek. 

Just like he said: a virtuous man. A _man_ , damn it. Like Harkness. And a man wouldn't…molest another in Harkness' state. 

"All done," Ianto told him shakily, his hands returning to cup the captain around the neck and shoulder. Harkness' hands dangled on his sides. It felt like a loose embrace.

Ianto sat on the edge of the platform, Harkness boneless and warm against him. Impossible. His skin still felt dry and chilled, yet his body felt like Lisa's on a winter night. It felt reassuringly solid, real, and _there_ , reminding him that the loneliness he felt in his throat might have a chance to ebb away. 

"My apologies, captain," Ianto murmured, reluctantly pulling away. He eased Harkness slowly, over the new clean sheet he folded under him, his head carefully on the pillow. Then, even though he hated the sight of them, Ianto made sure none of the V.I.I were tangled and straightened out the slack limbs.

"That wasn't so bad now, was it?" Ianto asked shakily.

One of the machines suddenly wailed, a beep that had faded into background noise now emitted a long, flat resentful sound.

Ianto's eyes rounded. He leaned over the captain anxiously. The ports were secured and the leads were still attached.

The lights above him flickered then vanished completely, sending them into total darkness. Someone in the other room cursed. The emergency lights came on and shone a morbid red hue over everything just as Ianto pressed his ear over Harkness' heart.

Nothing.

"Oh God," Ianto breathed. His hands hovered over the captain's torso in time to hear the captain's breath stuttering then stilling. He knew what to do. He didn't know then—he was a child then—but…blast, he knows this!

Hands over Harkness' chest, elbows straight, just below where the heart was—God, he hoped Harkness' heart was in the same place—Ianto began compressions.

"I…I need help in here!" Ianto gasped as he counted. "Three…four…five…six…someone! I need help!"

Ianto began to sweat. He could hear them in the other room, phones ringing like mad, Granger arguing, Clive clamoring loudly…how could they not _hear_ him?

"Someone!" Ianto screamed as his arms trembled. He climbed up the dais. Come on, come on! Harkness' head lolled to the side as his body jolted under Ianto's efforts. " _Help_!"

He didn't know how long he screamed for help in the dark. The machines, idle from the outrage were silent and all that could be heard was the frantic panting from Ianto Jones as he fought to keep Harkness here.

"What? Why aren't the reserves started up? What's going on here?" Granger and Cohn came stumbling in at last.

"H-help," Ianto half gasped, half sobbed. "His h-heart. I-"

"What are you doing?" Clive exclaimed as he rushed over. To Ianto's shock, instead of helping, the aide grabbed Ianto by the arms and pulled him down off the captain.

"What? No! What are you doing? Let go!"

Clive grunted, his back slamming into the mainframes. "Forget it, Jones—"

"No, there's still time! It's been under five minutes! Do you have a defibrillator? I know how to use—"

Granger added his grip to hold Ianto back against Cohn. "Stop wasting your time."

Ianto gaped at him. "What are you saying?" He tried to surge forward. "I can save this one! Let go!"

"Jones!" Granger hollered. Clive drew Ianto's arms back painfully. The two men faced the stocky scientist, chests heaving. "Calm yourself! It's alright!" he raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Now, just wait. Wait…"

" _Wait_?" Ianto stared at Granger. Had he truly gone mad?

"It's okay," Clive assured breathlessly. He loosened his grip cautiously.

"Okay? He has no heartbeat! And you're doing nothing! That man is—"

Behind Granger, Harkness gave a gasp, his body arching.

The lights came flooding back. The phones stopped ringing. And Clive let go of Ianto completely.

Ianto fell back against the mainframes. He could barely stay upright. He stared at the dais. "Oh my God…"

Clive chuckled, still winded. "Just like the bed sores, eh Jones? Eventually." Clive exhaled. "Longer than last time though, Dr. Granger."

Granger saw Ianto was calmer now, harrumphed as he turned towards the platform. "I told her we need to ease up. There's got be enough time to regenerate completely before we keep at it."

A soft moan interrupted whatever Clive was going to say. Ianto straightened, but Clive and Granger blocked his view.

"Aye, that's enough from you," Granger said in a surprisingly soft voice. There was a weak whimper that gave Ianto strength in his limbs again. Ianto saw the scientist fiddle with something on the I.V by his inner elbow. Granger tsked. "It got a little jammed during your short. This will make it better."

By the time Ianto stumbled over to the dais, he was just in time to see a slit of blue linger on his face before the eyes slowly closed again. 

"See?" Granger patted Harkness' head with an affection usually reserved for a dog. "Better now." He frowned at Ianto. "I need you to be more levelheaded next time. When this happens again, you need to be sure we're switched to our backups, not playing A&E doctor." 

Ianto was still speechless. He could only nod numbly.

Clive snickered and slapped him on the back. "Bet they told you MX-CR would be boring, eh?" Clive gave a sloppy salute to the supine body on the platform and followed after Granger.

"…just a little time…Bloody Hartman like a woman possessed…" Granger grumbled as he left the room.

Ianto, eyes fixed on Harkness, dropped onto the stool by his head. He nearly missed and Ianto had to grab the seat to steady himself.

Harkness' breath stuttered. The lights flickered then solidified.

Ianto choked. He reached out a hand, but he…he couldn't. 

"It's…it's alright now." Ianto murmured, dropping his hand instead on the platform edge.

Harkness' heartbeat, a now steady pulse in the chamber, was the only reply.

The room felt too small, too airless, too hot now. It was the only explanation for the tightness in Ianto's chest.

"My God, what have we done to you?"


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning For This Chapter:** Ianto/Lisa moments, non-sexual, some imagery may be disturbing (illness-related)
> 
>  **Notes For This Chapter:** it's not necessary, but please note there are parallels to DW's "Doomsday", "Army of Ghosts", and TW's "Fragments". No spoilers, but history and ages are based and parallel the episodes. Again, not required viewing but you may want to go to a Wiki and consider reading. :)

**One week later…**

_Ring._

_Ring._

A hand fumbled out of the folds of a thick duvet. It flailed as it blindly searched for the ringing culprit. A few random slaps to the nightstand eventually reaped success. There was no hurry. It wasn't his mobile, just his telephone.

He'd forgotten how it worked. His mobile was his connection to life outside his loft these days. But after a few muzzy squints at the handset, he finally figured out the Talk function.

"…Owen 'arper," he yawned. His head emerged out of the covers. He scratched his jaw with his other hand.

There was a long pause that made Owen think the connection was lost.

"Hullo?" Owen yawned again, into his duvet, as his other hand crawled under the covers to scratch his stomach idly. "Hullo?" Owen was about to hang up when a solemn, far too polite of a voice for this hour, spoke.

_"Is this Dr. Owen Harper?"_

Blimey, Owen hoped it wasn't a marketer. "I just said I am, didn't I, mate?" He sank back into his pillows. Ah, his nice, plush, thick pillows. He missed his bed. Damn Alex and his crusades; left them one man short during his abrupt trips to Whitehall. "Do you have _any_ idea what time it is?"

_"Twenty three thirty seven."_

Owen rolled his eyes. Of course the bloke knows. 

_"I'm uh…my name's Ianto Jones."_

"Great." Owen yawned so hard, tears sprang to his eyes. "Thrilled for you. Listen, mate. I haven't been home in three days so unless the world is ending and I mean _really_ ending, I'm going to hang—"

 _"I'm from Torchwood London,"_ Jones blurted out.

Oh, better and better. Owen's temper flared. "London? Is that supposed to impress me? You fascist blokes may think London is up there with the Queen but last I checked, you're still in the same _time zone_ as every other working slob! You couldn't call during working hours? And how-how the bloody hell did you get my _home_ number?"

 _"You were listed and…"_ Jones could be heard swallowing. _"I'm an acquaintance of Dr. Gorman."_

The anger eased a fraction. "Freddie?"

_"He prefers Frederick."_

Owen smirked. "I know. Right, so you're a friend of _Freddie_. What is it that you can't wait to call at work?"

_"I wanted to ask you something…off Torchwood's logging systems."_

Okay, now he was awake. "Are you taking the piss? You mean like a conspiracy of sorts?"

Jones sounded extremely uncomfortable. _"More like…a hypothetical question,"_ he hedged.

Owen grinned. He _liked_ hypothetical questions. They're usually more interesting than the official ones. "Go on," he encouraged. "I'm listening…hypothetically speaking, of course."

 _"Of course,"_ Jones said in dry return. _"Let's say…hypothetically…I have someone who has been put under PV-35 for say…in estimation…damn, I'm not sure—"_

"Hours? Days?" Owen offered.

The reply was bleak. _"Weeks."_

Owen exploded. " _Weeks_? Are you blokes there out of your sodding minds? What kit did you prats get your medical degrees from? What makes you think—"

_"Listen!"_

Owen shut up.

 _"They've moved him two days ago. To isolation until he…stabilizes."_ Jones spat out the last part. _"I'd been assigned to watch over him and alert them on any improvements."_

Owen arched an eyebrow. "And have there been any?" he asked with a smirk in his voice.

Jones wasn't fooling anyone when he sighed dramatically. _"Sadly, no."_

"How tragic," Owen drawled.

 _"Indeed."_ Jones paused again. He lowered his voice. Owen had to strain to hear. _"The thing is, he's still hooked up to that PV-35. I want to know if…let's say…he was accidentally disconnected, will he be safe?"_

Owen frowned. He searched his memory about the new substance they were sent. "I've only started experimenting with it. I synthesized an aerosol and tranquilizer for the Weevils, but…" Owen sighed. "Wish you called me at Torchwood, Jones. All my work's there."

_"You know I can't do that."_

"Right. Uh…from what I _can_ remember, the effects build up in the system like plaque to your arteries. If—" Owen paused. "We _are_ talking human, aren't we? I mean, hypothetically."

There was a brief pause before Jones answered slowly. _"Yes, I believe so. He seems to have…no, he's human."_ Jones sounded surer.

"Well, for human physiology, he'll be groggy for about the same amount of time he was under. Maybe longer." Owen stared up to the ceiling. "I found it too strong for the Weevils actually. I had to breakdown the components and dilute it into an aerosol. It suppresses the immune system."

_"Damn."_

"It severely dehydrates as well. Have you got a saline solution set up?"

_"Veins are all collapsed. I can't get an I.V in anywhere. I could probably try one near his ankle."_

"You a nurse or something?"

_"…or something. I…had a relative I cared for."_

Owen winced. He picked up on the past tense. "Sorry, Jones." He scrubbed his face wearily with his hand. "Listen, find a way to hydrate him; might help with weaning him off PV-35. After that…" Owen stopped. "Oi, what _are_ you planning after?"

Jones sounded taken aback. _"I…I don't know really."_

Brilliant. Owen covered his eyes with his hand. "Right. Let's get him weaned off first and then figure the next step."

The sigh on the other side told Owen they were in agreement. Jones, Ianto Jon—wait a second.

"Aye…You're Captain Kirk, aren't you?" Owen grinned when he heard the teeny sputter.

 _"I don't know what you are talking about,"_ Jones said stiffly. _"I'm sorry for calling so late."_

Owen looked at his watch on the end table and groaned. "Yeah. You owe me Jones."

 _"Owe what?"_ Jones replied innocently. _"We were talking hypothetically."_

Now Owen sputtered. "Listen you—"

_"Good night, Dr. Harper."_

Owen pulled the phone off his ear and glowered at the phone. He hung up and began punching another number.

"Cheeky bastard," Owen grumbled as he waited impatiently until a sleepily voice finally replied.

"Tosh? Yes…I know what time it is. Listen, I need a favor. Can you get my number unlisted from the telephone reg—Tosh? Hello?"

 

"Ianto?"

The sleepy inquiry made him jerk and Ianto nearly dropped the phone. He looked over his shoulder, glad the dark hid his expression.

"Sorry," Ianto said as he hung up the phone gingerly. "Did I wake you?"

Lisa padded over to Ianto. She knuckled her eyes and squinted at Ianto.

"Can't sleep?" Lisa guessed.

Ianto flinched. "That obvious?" He smiled a little crooked curve that he knew looked as tired as he felt.

Slender arms wrapped around his middle. 

"It's too much, isn't it?" Lisa's mouth turned down unhappily. "This is bothering you. I can tell."

Ianto rested his chin on her hair. He looked beyond her into the darkness. "It'll be fine."

"Maybe you should request a transfer to my department. Didn't you say the Doctor recommended you to the Rift Program? Someone should have realized and not put you in this horrible position! Maybe—"

"It'll be _fine_ ," Ianto ground out. Lisa tensed against him. He closed his eyes briefly and kissed her temple. "Sorry." He smiled faintly. "I'll admit, being there does bring up some unpleasant…memories, but no one else is doing anything, Lisa. They're just…" Ianto sucked in his breath. "They just say wait and see, wait and see." 

Lisa nodded thoughtfully, sighed and settled her head on his shoulder. Absently, she slipped her cool hands under his shirt and rubbed his back. 

"Always taking care of someone, Ianto Jones."

Ianto smiled sardonically. "I guess I can't help myself."

"Yet you wouldn't let me keep the puppy we found under my car."

"He soiled every shoe he could find and chewed on every single tie." Ianto grimaced. He was never much of a pet person, oddly enough.

Lisa chuckled. "Yes, there was _that_." She tilted her head up, her eyes opened with concern. "Just while you're taking care of Harkness, be sure you take care of yourself as well."

Ianto felt her arms tighten around him. He pressed his face into Lisa's hair and breathed deeply, washing away the scent of ammonia and sterile air from his mind—past and present. 

"It'll be fine," Ianto repeated, wondering for the hundredth time who he was trying to convince.

"Of course, it will be," Lisa murmured. She stood and took his hands. "Come to bed."

Ianto followed. He wondered why, as he entered their bedroom, that it felt a little like betrayal. 

And for whom.

 

**Nine days later…**

"…a martini?" Ianto shook his head as he reread the report. "Poker _and_ a martini? I'm not surprised the Queen did not approve." He looked over with reproach but no rancor in his voice. "Not quite the style of Torchwood, but whatever works, Captain."

Exhaling tiredly, Ianto sat back in the chair he'd been occupying for the past few days. Someone had pulled it off the waiting lounge outside the fifth floor. He ignored the telly. He wasn't interested in the reports on ghosts appearing all over the world. They were beginning to sound repetitive. Ianto spent most of his time reading Harkness' reports from Torchwood out loud as he tried to find out how they've crossed paths so many times. 

"Considering your non-traditional methods," Ianto joked lightly, "they've been highly effective." He considered the figure on the bed before getting up to his feet. Ianto gazed down at Harkness, heartened to note there was some color finally returning to what was once a waxy pallor.

The isolation room they had set up was below the cargo bay floor, behind the infirmary. Portable medical equipment surrounded Harkness like Stonehenge. The bed was borrowed from the infirmary. And a defibrillator was set on the wall by Harkness' head—per his insistence. There were no windows. The walls were gray and pocked with holes where the cables' frayed ends poked out marking where the processors once stood. And a little television, given by Lisa's friends to occupy his time (little did they know how much Ianto did in here) sat on the only other chair in the room, a plastic lounger Ianto thought wasn't even fit to rest his feet on. Aside from Granger or Cohn visiting to check vitals or the nurse replacing the PV-35 bags Ianto kept emptying out into the sink, no one had visited the room. Or Ianto. Or Harkness. There wasn't even a guard by the door. 

What little humor Ianto tried to instill in his smile faded. His shoulders slumped. 

"I'm sorry about this," Ianto quietly told him. "Torchwood's…this is not the same institute I joined. I assure you; not all of us are like this."

Soft steady beeps replaced any response Ianto hoped for. Then again, Dr. Harper warned it would take a while for the PV-35 to completely flush out of Harkness' system. Ianto drained the bag a little each day over the wall mounted utility sink, leaving the I.V. line in for appearance's sake. 

Harkness was placed in isolation after Granger had protested the captain needed to "recharge" before he could be relied on again. Ianto had fought the urge to hit someone while Granger gave a passionate argument to Hartman in front of his staff, referring to the captain as the Doctor's _companion_. 

He hated that word. But he said nothing, only smiling tightly when Granger recommended him for the task of watching over the captain. Clive joked it was because Ianto fancied himself to be an "A&E doctor".

Speaking of which…

Ianto didn't need to check his PDA for a list. He knew by heart what needed to be done. 

Temperature. Check.

Breathing. Check.

Blood pressure. Check. 

Heart rate. _Thank God_. Check.

Ianto took great care in lifting Harkness, one arm under his neck to stabilize his head, another around his shoulders. He didn't feel strange talking to the captain about what he was going to do next. Ianto's voice stayed low, sometimes inaudible, but always by the captain's ear.

He sat on the bed, his shoulder a prop for the captain. And like many times before—he could do this by touch now—Ianto cleaned the diminishing sores. Very few now. He didn't even need dressings. Ianto could splay both hands across the unmarred parts of the warm, smooth back. He tried then realized his palms were tingling against the firm, muscled back, and hastily pulled his hands away. 

Ianto found that resting his head against Harkness' on his shoulder was an odd yet reassuring feeling. Whereas Lisa was warm, soft and rounded in places that fit against him, Harkness was a solid, sturdy weight—even now—that seemed to fit _into_ him. 

Ianto…he had no explanation for it. 

The feeling of being needed again, to be of some good, however, was a familiar one; it was like he was the final puzzle piece that fitted and his place in the universe reaffirmed. Ianto knew what to do next. He could see the next step. There was no mystery, no uncertainty, no strange unidentifiable emotion churning through his gut. Here, Ianto knew the simple emotion coursing through his blood when he cradled Harkness against him and wiped him down as carefully as he could. 

Lisa was right. This…this was too much; to try to make a person as comfortable as humanly possible, only to realize it wasn't enough to keep the ailing here. Human pain was far too powerful to be canceled out with a simple gesture of water and a soothing washcloth to a feverish face. 

Human life was too fragile.

Ianto swallowed hard and clenched his jaw. He dammed up the familiar feeling of despair before it could overwhelm him again. He took slow, deep breaths before he found he could focus once more on the captain. Ianto glanced down at him. 

"For a fellow who hasn't showered in weeks," Ianto remarked softly to the ear turned towards him. He wrung out the flannel in the bowl of saline. "You don't smell entirely horrible."

Ianto had wiped him down, schooling his nerves as he pulled down the thin gown and cleaned Harkness. He was glad the captain wasn't awake to see this. Ianto still remembered the shame in eyes like his, grief for putting him into this situation, grief for their own failings. There was nothing that could have been said or done to make it easier. It didn't matter if you loved the person your whole life; somehow, that made it worse.

Shaving a man was yet another strange experience. Ianto could shave himself, with or without a mirror, but stroking a razor along someone else's strong jaw line, under the cleft chin, under the pale parted lips that had sealed over his so perfectly before his tongue gently probed his mouth, seeking shy entrance—

"Not to brag, but I think I could have been a barber," Ianto said shakily as he withdrew. He dabbed at the captain's face with a refreshed flannel then smoothed his hand over to make sure he hadn't missed any spots. Harkness' face filled his hand with lines and angles, very unlike a woman yet Ianto remembered cupping his face and his fingers tingled like they had been charged when he had stroked Harkness' surprisingly soft skin…

Ianto jerked his hand back. "Sorry," he blurted out, but he wasn't sure if the apology was for Harkness, Lisa, or himself. 

Ianto hesitated, afraid to reach out again but he did, his arm curled under Harkness' neck again. He sat on the bed far enough to cradle Harkness halfway across his lap. Water. Dr. Harper said water could help, but Ianto had found, to his dismay, that all the vessels were too bruised, too discolored to tolerate the invasion of yet another needle. Even if the intentions were far purer than before.

Swallowing usually led to the danger of choking and ice chips would only ensure the same. Ianto had seriously considered trying to find a viable line on Harkness' ankle when he remembered something he'd seen the hospice nurse do.

Ianto had dipped his tie—there was nothing else available at the time—into the glass of water and gently coaxed the soaked fabric between Harkness' lips. There was an odd mix of emotions that had swept over Ianto when Harkness, after an almost discernable fidget, mouthed the material and began to suck the moisture out of his tie like a straw.

"You did almost a glass yesterday. Perhaps a little more today?" Ianto told the sleeping face turned towards him. It was only because of the position he was holding Harkness in, Ianto told himself, that he found himself brushing back the dark fringe from the captain's cool forehead. 

Ianto dipped a thick washcloth he had taken from their flat into the drinking glass, letting the flannel soak up the water.

As before, it took a moment before instinct—or whatever it was that drove Harkness to seek the water—made the cracked lips feebly mouth the sopping corner Ianto pressed to his lips. 

Ianto exhaled the breath he didn't realize he was holding and he blinked rapidly as he held Harkness carefully. He didn't mind that his arm ached or his thighs burned with needles from the weight. Harkness was getting water. It was all Ianto could think about and he found himself grinning weakly as he squeezed the washcloth occasionally so more water could trickle into the captain's lips. Harkness made a small sound—amazing as Ianto didn't think he would be coming out of the PV-35 so quickly—and turned towards Ianto, pressed against his chest.

A well of emotion flooded over him and took his breath away. Ianto curled over the captain and it no longer mattered that maybe he shouldn't be here doing this.

A thin crack of blue surprised him. Ianto stared back transfixed as Harkness opened his eyes a slit, but he doubted the captain could see anything.

"Hello," Ianto choked. "Good morning—no, it would be good afternoon, although perhaps since you're waking now, we could count that as—" Ianto gave a disparaging laugh. "…Hello again."

Harkness' lips parted. He frowned mildly when nothing would come out.

"It's alright," Ianto told the bleary face. "You're safe." He pulled the drying washcloth away and used the remaining moisture to wipe the older man's face. 

The puzzled furrow of Harkness' brow made him pause. Harkness made like he wanted to speak, but all that came out was a painful sounding rasp. The frustration was clear on the captain's face.

"Give it time," Ianto said. He kept his voice low and soft. He couldn't look away. He was riveted by the light blue eyes looking so intensely at him. "You're doing far better than I'd expected, Captain."

Harkness was looking at his mouth as if trying to understand what he was saying. Then, the gaze looked at Ianto's arm, followed it up to Ianto's eyes. An eyebrow lifted, just a little, but the amusement was clear. Cracked lips twitched as if trying to smile.

Ianto couldn't believe it; he blushed. He was suddenly very aware of the fact Harkness was practically _naked_ over his lap. The hospital gown was a poor excuse for a barrier and it was like he could feel Harkness' skin through his suit and lab coat.

"Yes…well…" Ianto eased him back down on the bed and was about to back away when Harkness weakly grabbed at his sleeve. It wasn't strong enough to really stop him, but Ianto stilled, bent over him.

"You're in an isolation room, in Torchwood," Ianto answered the look pinned to him. "You've…you've been unwell. You've been…" Ianto swallowed. He couldn't finish.

Harkness' fingers feebly twisted his jacket cuff.

Ianto leaned closer. "Captain," he whispered urgently. "Do you know what happened to you?"

Blue eyes made the effort to widen. Harkness gave a little nod, barely moving his chin.

Ianto's mouth went dry. He gripped Harkness' shoulders, but was careful not to squeeze too hard. "Did we do this to you?" Ianto glanced around the room, then back down at Harkness. "Does the Doctor know what has happened to you?"

Harkness closed his eyes for a moment before he shook his head, then, he nodded. When he opened his eyes again, they were bleak.

Ianto felt his throat tightened. "The Doctor _knew_?" he choked out. The dullness in Harkness' gaze was the only thing stopping him from doing…something. "And he did _nothing_?"

"On the contrary," Director Hartman interjected all of the sudden. She strode briskly into the room. Ianto jumped back. "The good Doctor _helped_."

"D-director," Ianto tried to recover as he stood by the bed. He could see Harkness, out of the corner of his eye, tensing, his eyes tracking the director until she was at the foot of his bed.

"I must applaud you, Jones," Hartman exchanged a nod with Granger who stood by her. "I was concerned there had been ill progress for quite some time. Doctor Granger was most insistent that a bit of reprieve was in order."

"Still do," Granger grumbled under his breath. He scowled at Ianto as if it was his fault.

Hartman sniffed, "Yes, that's all and good, but we've depleted our reserves and we're too close to completely opening the breach to stop now." Her smile made Ianto inwardly cringe and he shuffled closer to the bed. 

"Thanks to you, Jones, it looks like a remarkable recovery."

"Yes, good show, Jones," Granger said begrudgingly.

Ianto could feel Harkness looking at him. "T-thank you," he replied flatly. "I do feel Captain Harkness needs a few more days, p-perhaps weeks to properly recover—"

"Nonsense," Hartman scoffed. "The Doctor insisted we mustn't allow the vortex energies to fully regenerate. Otherwise, it can't be fixed. Isn't that right, Captain?"

To Ianto's horror, Harkness averted his eyes and gave a small nod.

"…Jack," Ianto whispered. "No…" 

Harkness looked startled, his eyes flying back to Ianto.

The Director seemed pleased with the response, however from the captain.

"Excellent." Her voice dropped an octave. Her mouth curved and she gave a thin pleased smile. 

"Then we shall continue. We're almost there, gentlemen…England's reentry to power."

There was a chill that rippled throughout Ianto's body as she continued with an inky gleam in her eyes.

"It will be a day in history when the breach opens. Torchwood will announce England's triumphant with drums…"


	16. How little Harkness thought of life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning For This Chapter:** Ianto/Lisa moments, non-sexual, some imagery may be disturbing (illness-related)
> 
>  **Notes For This Chapter:** it's not necessary, but please note there are parallels to DW's "Doomsday", "Army of Ghosts", and TW's "Fragments". No spoilers, but history and ages are based and parallel the episodes. Again, not required viewing but you may want to go to a Wiki and consider reading. :)

The last thing he remembered was the Doctor telling him that _this_ was all for him.

_Everything._

To fix what was wrong and to repair something that never should have happened. All this, for him. 

The second time he had told the Doctor he loved him was after the Doctor had enlightened him about what he was doing to fix Jack. It was in the dark, after the agonizing demonstration to Director Hartman, after the Doctor had taken him in front of her, then again in the haven of his room, when Jack Harkness told the Time Lord he loved him. 

The Doctor had…smiled. He brushed his hand over Jack's hair then told him quietly to get cleaned up. Work to do, he had said. Much work to do to take forever away and then everything would be fixed. Jack would be righted and the Doctor would be the Doctor again. Just like before.

Before.

He couldn't remember _before_. But he knew he wanted it.

_Thrum, thrum, tap, tap…_

It stayed with him through everything. The Doctor tapped it to his temple as he bent him over a console. Jack had protested there might be cameras. The Doctor laughed and asked when Jack had become shy.

_Thrum, thrum, tap, tap…_

It remained with him, like a heartbeat when he…little consequence, he had told himself. With everything that needed to be done, it was of little consequence. Because it was to get what he wanted…what _did_ he want? Jack wasn't sure anymore.

_Thrum, thrum, tap, tap…_

But it was within his grasp. He just had to…little consequence, Harkness. No worse than what he did before to try and substitute feelings with pain and nameless sex. 

He said he would die for his Doctor. 

He thought he had. Many times. No matter. Obviously, he was still alive so his death was also of little consequence. It meant it didn't work. 

But soon. He was certain of it.

_Thrum, thrum, tap, tap…_

But the Doctor wasn't here. He left. Again. Left him bound and drained in a time yet again not his own, not of his choosing. 

"…'one?" Jack rasped, his eyes were on Hartman even if he wanted to look away. He had at first thought she was pretty. At first.

It was the smile of a cobra that answered. "The Doctor had other pressing engagements."

Work to do, the Doctor had said.

"And he left you in our care."

On the first day, Jack had climbed up onto the platform with the Doctor's coaxing. He laid there, mouth dry, limbs cold and listened as the Doctor spoke with the MX-CR team in an almost sultry voice. Jack stared at the ceiling, glad that at the very least it looked like the TARDIS. He was aware of the Doctor's hand on his ankle and hoped it was a comforting squeeze he felt on his calf before the Doctor pulled away.

Jack didn't know whose hand was on his head when the treatment began. Someone was talking to him in a gruff voice, telling him to calm down, to quiet, and that it would be over soon. 

It didn't come soon enough.

He blearily watched, through pain ripped tears, as the Doctor had wiped his face with a handkerchief. He had chided Jack for struggling and fighting the treatment. He wasn't, Jack swore to God. He'd tried so hard not to fight it, but he could hear the Doctor and Hartman by his head, arguing it wasn't good enough and knew despite his efforts that he had once again failed the Doctor.

The Doctor found a way to make it bearable. PV-35. It made everything hazy, like a dream, and the Doctor assured him that once he woke up, it would be over.

Please, please, let it work, Jack had pleaded as he felt PV-35 course through his veins with a crackling burn that made his limbs go tight, then numb. Fix this. Let this fix him. Jack remembered the plea caught in his throat as everything had dimmed and dulled as the Doctor instructed them on how to insert the horrible tubes. As he heard the whining start of the machines, he felt himself sinking. The Doctor pressed his lips to Jack's mouth. He told Jack this was the only way. He thanked Jack for trying. 

But he never told Jack goodbye.

_"…ministry of Defense congratulates Torchwood for our upcoming success…"_

He could hear them talk around him, like sirens in the fog.

_"…void ship…Singh thinks…something inside…"_

_"Bloody Alex and Cardiff…had a row with Hartman about stopping the project…"_

_"…ghosts…spatial breach almost fully opened…"_

_"…case of champagne for everyone…compliments of Saxon…for the big day…"_

_"…in a week. With the completion of the tower…"_

There were snatches of conversation that were always about him, but never _to_ him. He felt heavy limbed; bound not by rope but by drugs. 

It was dark, yet not. Cold, yet not. Numb, yet…there _should_ be pain. He didn't know why there should be but he remembered he should be grateful there _isn't_.

Desolate and dark and the vague sensation of diminishing was in the back of his mind. There were points when he felt an abrupt sharp spark of pain then absolutely nothing, and then it was back to the cloudy darkness that wasn't completely dark.

_"…companion would require constant monitoring…too unstable…"_

Jack. His name was…well, it wasn't _really_ Jack, but…

_"…its pulse dropped again, sir. Another…shot?"_

_"No…companion…will come back…eventually…"_

Not companion. Not it. Just Jack. _Please._

_"…hear me?"_

…?

_"…think you can hear me…"_

There was a hand on his hair again. A voice directed towards him. 

_"…mimes…"_

Oh no, not that story again. In what felt like a long time, Jack wanted to laugh.

_"…guess…are shy…"_

Not shy. Just beautifully frail in body and unbelievably strong in heart. Humanity was simply fantastic. 

_"…alright. Safe…"_

He believed him.

Voices became singular and Jack was content just to listen, barely noticing the blurry darkness he'd known for so long was ebbing away into raw clarity.

"…should insist the captain gain a bit more rest first before we start again."

There it was again. His voice from heaven.

"…not a doctor. I think we can see for ourselves when the Doctor's companion is ready again."

"His name is Harkness. _Jack_ Harkness!"

Jack tried to focus and saw Ianto Jones standing by his head, his right hand dangling over him. His fingers twitched as if they wanted to curl into a fist although Jack couldn't fathom why.

The talking was still going, buzzing and fading and soon Jack lost interest in it and kept his focus on Jones instead. There was a myriad of emotions that went across the young face that Ianto schooled quickly to an impassive mask. Jack had wondered if anyone else noticed. Today, Ianto seemed to be having trouble affixing the mask back.

Jones' fingers still twitched above him. Jack lifted a heavy hand up and briefly touched Ianto's fingers. It drained him and his hand flopped back down, off the bed.

Ianto Jones jerked. He looked down at Jack, his eyes wide. Jones stood over him and took his hand and placed it carefully folded over his chest. He went back to talking to Hartman. Jack closed his eyes, because he could feel Hartman watching him with that hungry smirk again. He smiled faintly to himself when he felt Ianto pull the covers up higher, up to his shoulders; Ianto never paused in his conversation—or was it arguing?—with Granger and the director. 

Soon, it was quiet, but Jack kept his eyes closed. It took too much effort to keep them open.

"Jack?"

He opened his eyes.

His view of the room disintegrated then solidified to a closer look of Jones' face. Ianto looked at him with open concern.

"Why?"

Looking into eyes that reflected a warmer emotion than he'd ever faced, Jack realized he no longer knew the answer.

 

Two days.

They were coming for him in two days. 

Harkness never fought. He laid there, quiet, watching Ianto, and never protested about being sent back in.

Ianto wanted to shake Harkness. He wanted to push Hartman and Granger out of the room. He wanted never to have met Harkness and that he was back oblivious in his archives.

As soon as he thought of the last part, Ianto regretted it. 

Harkness kept his eyes closed, but Ianto knew he was still awake. He'd stayed with the captain too long not to be able to distinguish sleep from simple shutting out of the world. The muscles that graced his neck, down to his shoulder were stiff. 

"Captain?" Ianto called quietly. "They've left."

No reaction.

Ianto stooped over, frowning when he realized Harkness' breathing was ragged. "Jack," he said softly, surprised how easy the name slipped out of his lips. 

Jack blinked, looking startled. Slowly, he turned towards Ianto.

There was so much Ianto wanted to ask, so much he wanted to say, but all that would come out was, "Why?"

The bewildered, weary expression hurt to see. Harkness stared at him and Ianto wondered briefly if perhaps the captain didn't comprehend the question.

"Do you understand what they want from you?"

Harkness, if anything, looked puzzled at the question. He opened his mouth, a dry rasp escaping before the syllables could clumsily form. 

"'es." Harkness coughed before he could continue.

Ianto smiled tightly. "Don't strain your voice." He turned around and refilled the glass, well aware Harkness was staring at the pitcher of cool water. 

The captain shook as Ianto helped him sit up. He quirked an eyebrow at the bent straw in the glass but said nothing as Ianto brought the glass to his lips.

"Slowly," Ianto advised, as he watched Harkness sip through the straw. Unbidden, his hand curled around the back of the captain's neck. Ianto felt Harkness press back onto his hand—it didn't look like he realized it—and Ianto shuffled closer.

The edges of Harkness' hair tickled along the ridge on the side of his thumb as the captain drank. Ianto murmured something—even he wasn't sure what—as Harkness paused as if savoring the drink before starting again, his cheek now close enough to rest against Ianto's upper chest. 

There was something strangely gratifying in listening to Harkness drink, feeling him comfortably resting against him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Ianto found himself wanting to caress and dig his fingers in gentle circles into the captain's scalp. The overwhelming feeling of needing to be close, of not being close enough, was frightening. 

When Harkness could drink no more, he sat back with a satisfied sigh and met Ianto's gaze, stilling at whatever he saw.

It felt like time stood still; a cliché right out of Lisa's romance paperbacks he never understood until now. The clutter of beeps and chirps of medical equipment had bled away into a vacuum of silence neither one wanted to dispel by speaking. Harkness looked at Ianto with an unexplainable longing. And Ianto had this equally inexplicable desire to fulfill it. It was unsettling; need, want and a hunger Ianto had never felt before coiled deep in his gut. It was too alien to wrap his mind around so Ianto broke the pattern by looking away and clearing his throat.

"Do you," he offered hoarsely. "Do you want some more water?" It was unbelievable. Harkness could barely swallow before. 

Sighing with a little disappointed exhale, Harkness shook his head.

"Thank you," Harkness whispered. His eyes followed Ianto all the way back to his chair. He frowned mildly.

"You've been here?" The words were scratchy but clearer.

Ianto offered a pinched upturn of the mouth. "Promotion," he joked weakly. 

"Sorry," Harkness rasped.

Ianto frowned and sat up.

One shoulder lifted then dropped. "Could have saved them the trouble," Harkness wheezed. He sat back heavily. "I wasn't going to walk out of here." 

Puzzled, Ianto stared at Harkness. His eyes widened.

"No…no! I'm not a guard."

If anything, the captain looked even more confused. "Then why—"

Ianto cleared his throat and tucked his tie in. He fiddled with his badge clipped on the lab coat. "Just thought you might…er…appreciate the company."

The little furrow wrinkling between Harkness' brows made Ianto look away again. "Not that I don't, but with what I understand, I was put under the whole time."

Ianto's lips pulled back into a snarl. "Yes," he spat out. "PV-35."

Nodding absently, Harkness missed the feral expression. He shuddered. "It helps."

"If it's that unbearable," Ianto asked, looking at him, "why do this?"

"I didn't say it was unbearable."

Practically did, Ianto thought. Out loud, Ianto waved at him. "You never answered my question."

Harkness suddenly looked shifty. "Which one?"

Ianto just looked at him.

The captain deflated. "Look, you don't understand—"

Rising up to his feet, Ianto approached the bed. "Then _make_ me understand."

Harkness gave him an anguished look. "Why?"

"That's my question," Ianto countered with a strained smile.

"Why? Why do you want to know? Why should you even care?"

Ianto reached the bed and sat on the edge so he could level his gaze with the captain's. "I don't know why," Ianto admitted. "But it just didn't make sense to me that you would subject yourself to this."

"It's treatment."

"No, it's _torture_ ," Ianto hissed. When he saw the older man didn't react, he grabbed Harkness by the shoulders. The captain started.

"Treatment for what?" When Harkness averted his gaze, Ianto thought he caught shame clouding his eyes. Desperate, Ianto gave the captain a shake of his shoulders. "Do you know what happened to you during this…treatment?" At the wary, sideways glance, Ianto plowed on. "You _died_ on the table. Your heart stopped I don't know how many times!"

Harkness' mouth twisted. "That's all? That's not real—" His head snapped to the side with the abrupt blow.

Ianto's hand stung vaguely. His chest heaved. His hand was still up. But the moment he caught Harkness' wide eyes and the reddened cheek, his hand lowered.

"Oh God," Ianto stammered. "I'm sorry. I—that was uncalled for. I shouldn't have…" The air seemed to be escaping his lungs. All he could see was that red mark.

"It's okay," the captain just looked at him, his eyes dull, his voice flat. 

"I just…this is your _life_ you're treating so callously," Ianto couldn't stop. It felt like the mild burn in his hand grew. "I can't just stand by and watch you waste it on some _treatment_ that might be just a farce—"

"It'll work!" Harkness snarled. His eyes flashed. "It…it has to."

"Has to what?" Ianto's hands curled tighter around Harkness' shoulders. "Treat what? What is possibly worth carving bits and pieces of your life away when someone wants you to fight and not just escape death. When we're doing everything possible to make it better, to keep you here, and you would just slip away without…"

He raged about gnarled hands that grew slack in his, how every given comfort was pointless if they didn't stay, how pain made life unbearable but retreating to death was still too agonizing of a betrayal. Ianto ranted to Harkness, trying to shake what he was saying into the captain, trying to get him to understand that his life shouldn't be wasted like this. Not like this! Not shrinking smaller and smaller in bed, read to like a child, cared for like a babe, watched over as hope languished and…

Somewhere, sometime, Ianto had stopped shaking Harkness and instead clung to the captain. The older man froze but then his hands slowly went up.

It wasn't until Ianto could feel the other's heart beating steadily against him, that Ianto become aware of warm large hands on his back, a low voice murmuring in his ear. His words petered away and Ianto, whose arms had hung limp against his sides, wrapped them around the solid form breathing, heart beating, _living_ against him. 

Alive, alive, alive, Harkness' heart chanted, flushed against him. Ianto squeezed his eyes shut and felt Harkness pull him in tighter. Ianto did the same, certain he must be leaving bruises across Harkness' exposed back. 

"It's okay," Harkness kept murmuring. Ianto would have laughed at the sudden role reversal but he was too busy feeling Harkness around him. It felt so _right_. 

"Don't do this," Ianto whispered and felt Harkness stiffen. "For God's sake, _don't do this_. Refuse, leave, just…don't let us do this to you."

The silence, Harkness burying his face into the crook of Ianto's neck, made Ianto tighten his arms around the captain. Utter failure slammed into Ianto like a familiar pain and he squeezed his eyes shut and pretended this wasn't goodbye.

 

**Two days later…**   
**0440 am**

He woke to the metallic tang of sterile oxygen in his mouth.

Ianto laid in bed, with Lisa sleeping next to him and the sounds of London starting a new day outside their window.

Today, today, they were moving Harkness back into MX-CR. It was going to be restarted, to sustain the breach expected to be opened completely today. 

It just hurt to think about it. Ianto levered off the bed slowly and padded out to the living area in his pajama bottoms. He sat there, blankly watching the telly on mute, his bare feet growing colder by the second as morning crept through the windows and across his face.

"Ianto."

His name came as a breathless sigh. Lisa sat on the arm of his chair. Ianto didn't look up.

"It kills me to see you like this."

Ianto rested his right hand on her bare thigh. "Sorry," he muttered. 

"For what?"

For many things, Ianto thought. He rubbed the satiny skin with his palm and it just felt so…wrong. This should feel right. Lisa's fingers idly running through the short strands of his hair should have loosened the vise around his chest. He should be tangled in her softly curved body and silken limbs in bed. He should be forgetting past pains, not dwelling in their echoes.

"Ianto." Lisa kneaded his shoulders. "You should leave the MX-CR project. It's killing you."

No, Ianto thought bitterly. It was killing someone else.

Lisa was hesitant to approach the sore subject. "I…I could talk to Dr. Singh. There's an opening. With the breach fully operational this afternoon, he'll need the help. We'll all be there: Frederick, Lorrie, me. Or maybe Elisa's department. It…it's too much, love. I can see it. Everyday. This…this has to stop."

He was throwing his life away. He heard about his deaths with little fear. How little Harkness thought of life. What a fucking waste. A beautiful man with ocean deep eyes, willing to throw away his life.

"Maybe you're right," Ianto said wearily, his eyes glued to CNW's clip on ghosts still showing up; this time inside the White House. 

"Really?" Ianto winced at the hope in Lisa's voice.

Ianto looked up, his fingers lacing with Lisa's. He pulled the hand to him and kissed the caught fingers. 

"Sorry," he murmured again. "I know I've been worrying you. You're right…Perhaps it's time to l-leave…"

"You could talk to Dr. Singh at the ceremony today," Lisa suggested in a hushed voice. Morning light bathed her in an ethereal glow. "Everyone's going to be there to fully open the breach and celebrate the completion of the Torchwood Tower."

Ianto smiled, or tried to. "Sounds like a good idea. A celebration to mark new beginnings."

Lisa tightened her hold on Ianto's fingers. "There's even champagne from the Ministry of Defense. As congratulations."

"Frederick may get drunk and fall into that breach after all," Ianto joked weakly. He hugged the arm around his neck.

"Oh, Ianto. This will be good," Lisa promised. "This will all be for the best."

"Yes," Ianto sighed, his eyes burning. "All for the best." 

 

**1530 pm**

The cargo bay was cleared of all its crates, and only the tarps that sealed off the construction area for the tower remained.

"Aye, there you are, you bloody lot!" Frederick had an arm around Lorrie, grinning stupidly. 

"Oh lord," Elisa rolled her eyes at Lisa, who snickered. "How did he get to the bubbly already?"

Ianto looked around the bay, not truly interested. He nodded absently at familiar faces as he observed Matt Granger, standing with a blank expression on the tiny stage while Hartman talked to her assistants. It seemed like most of Torchwood was here, laughing, passing drinks, jubilant, overjoyed, and waiting for the power to return and complete the breach opening.

It wasn't right, Ianto thought, turning away. He couldn't look at Hartman and her people talking, gesturing as they ate their catered hors d’oeuvres. 

Ianto faced the tarp covered construction area, still noisy with the ear piercing drill but drowned out by everyone talking. Ianto narrowed his eyes, noting one of Hartman's assistants Adeola, was lifting one flap of the tarp, letting in someone.

When Ianto realized it was Clive Cohn, he abruptly turned on his heel.

"Ianto, where are you going?" 

Turning back, Ianto offered Lisa a tight smile. "I need to…there's something I need to do."

" _Now_?" Lorrie asked incredulously.

"Ianto?" Lisa stood there, looking at him with open concern.

Ianto crossed back over to her. He kissed her cheek. "I'll be right back," he promised, not sure if it was a lie.

Lisa relented and kissed him back lightly on the lips. "Hurry. Everything's about to start."

Ianto couldn't respond. He couldn't look at her. He gave her shoulder a brief squeeze and headed for the elevators. Behind him, Hartman's voice boomed and the strains of applause slipped past the closing elevator doors.

 

The bored guard just nodded as Ianto flashed him his MX-CR badge. The hallways were deserted and save Singh's laboratories, the science floor was empty. 

The chamber was dim, but Ianto by now knew his way down the long hallway by heart. He hurried; his heart was hammering as he stumbled into the room.

It was exactly as before, down to even Harkness on the platform, PV-35 beginning its slow drip into the captain's body. The mainframes along the walls were thankfully silent. It looked like Granger was planning to restart the converter after the ceremonies.

Ianto paused once, staring at Harkness before he set his jaw. His fingers shook as he carefully pulled all the I.V.s out, loosened the binds and dressed Jack in the trousers and boots he found locked in the cabinet in the main room. He didn't find a shirt, but the captain's greatcoat would have to do.

Ianto also grabbed a wheelchair which creaked when he set the brakes but there was no time to find another. Ianto pulled Harkness against him, struggling to thread his arms into the coat when Harkness' left arm shot out and grabbed his wrist.

Ianto shouted, nearly jumping back. The captain stared at him with half mast eyes.

"What have you done?" Harkness said, his pale face was ghoulish white with shock.

"No time," Ianto said hurriedly. "Up, up. We have to go. My uncle has a cottage in Dorset. We could hide out there first. Maybe Cotswald or America—"

Harkness jerked away, feebly trying to pull his arms away but he half collapsed against Ianto, who used the opportunity to deposit him in the wheelchair.

The room trembled. Actually, it felt like the _building_ trembled.

"What the devil?" Ianto muttered as he wheeled Harkness down the hallway to the main rotunda. He didn't have time to think. He didn't want to stop and think. 

As they neared the main door, Harkness grabbed the wheels. "No! Wait!" Harkness' strength was unbelievable. 

Ianto spun the chair to face the captain.

Harkness matched the intensity of his stare. "Why are you doing this?" Harkness tried to rise but he was still too weak. "You don't understand. You can't do this! I have to…I have to…This…this will fix—"

Ianto grabbed his face with both hands. "Jack, there is nothing _wrong_ with you! _Nothing_ that could ever justify this!"

The captain stared at him open mouthed, but before he could reply, someone _screamed_.

Both the men's heads shot up. 

Another scream.

"What…what's going on?" Ianto swung the door wide open to smoke and chaos. He jerked, hearing what sounded like explosions.

Smoke began filling the room. 

Ianto's mobile began to ring.

And a shadow out of the smoke approached.

Harkness swore, reached out and grabbed the back of Ianto's lab coat with a fist, then slammed the door.

Ianto yelped, suddenly finding himself falling backwards onto Harkness' lap just as he saw the shadow solidify into a squat, odd shape before the door shut.

"Don't go out there!" Harkness snarled with a ferocity Ianto could see was born out of panic. His heart hammered wildly at the sight. Harkness stumbled out of the wheelchair, Ianto awkwardly in his grasp, and his knees buckled. The two men fell to the floor in an awkward heap. "Damn it! Is there another exit?" he demanded, his fist still grasping Ianto's coat.

It was like a different person. Ianto stared, stammering. "From here? I-I don't know!"

There was another scream, high, shrill, terror warping it to something inhuman. The hair rose on the back of Ianto's neck.

"God," Ianto gasped. "What was that before?"

Fear flashed across Harkness' face before he could hide it.

"Dalek," Harkness hissed.

And the alarms began to wail.


	17. The thought that beautiful Ianto Jones would throw away his life for a thing like Jack was enough to make Jack Harkness weep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning For This Chapter:** Violence, minor character death
> 
>  **Notes For This Chapter:** it's not necessary, but please note there are parallels to DW's "Doomsday", "Army of Ghosts", and TW's "Fragments". No spoilers, but history and ages are based and parallel the episodes. Again, not required viewing but you may want to go to a Wiki and consider reading. :) Dialogue in the beginning of some scenes are taken out of DW's "Army of Ghosts" and "Doomsday". But because I'm not too familiar with DW, they may be out of order. Sorry.

**Act I:** _"…This is the story of war on earth…"_

It felt like the building would collapse around them. It shook with each growing siren. A terminal the size of the door tipped over in the back of the room as if it was made of plastic.

"Dalek?" Ianto cried out, more to be heard above the cacophony of screams and alarms. Something mechanical was shrieking outside. It sounded human. Almost.

"They were all destroyed by the Doctor!" Harkness pressed up against the wall. He grunted as he tried to stand, using the wall as leverage. "They came to Earth to…ugh…eliminate the human race…" Harkness grunted, his knees buckling again.

"What?" Ianto caught the captain but he nearly folded when Harkness practically fell over him abruptly. "No, don't try to stand. Hold on…"

"Have to…" Harkness panted, his hands grabbing feebly at Ianto's shoulders. "Have to get you out of here! D-daleks…they only live to kill!"

"I thought you said the Doctor had destroyed them all?" Ianto pushed his shoulder up against Harkness to prop him up, his other hand reaching behind him blindly. Where was the wheelchair? "Hang on. Sit down. How long were you put under?"

"Don't know," the captain managed to say, grimacing as Ianto eased him into the wheelchair. His face was white. "I went to sleep last…last night. Woke up to you trying to pull everything out." Harkness shook his head. "Give…just give me a second." Harkness' hand shook violently as he raised it to brace his head. "I'll be okay in a few minutes…"

"They were suppose to start this afternoon, give you more time to—" Ianto's mouth pressed to a thin line. Ianto pushed him back down on the wheelchair. "There's no need to try and impress me with your macho—" Ianto yelped as a distant explosion threw him onto Harkness' lap again.

"Okay," Harkness protested half-heartedly. "I won't get up. I'll just—" He looked up then abruptly grabbed Ianto around his middle and threw them both out of the wheelchair just before a sizable chunk of plaster crushed the chair.

Having landed on top of Harkness' legs, Ianto breathlessly stared at the debris. "D-daleks, you say?"

"They should be all gone…" Harkness tried to wiggle out from under Ianto. 

"Perhaps an audit is in order," Ianto gasped. Another explosion rocked from behind the wall. "I think your Doctor may have missed one." A mechanical screech outside made him wince. "Or perhaps two?"

"No," Harkness insisted with a faith Ianto wanted to bodily shake out of him. "They're all gone. I'm sure of it." He threw up his arm as the room flared up in showers of electrical sparks. "Maybe a parallel universe…"

Ianto's laugh was edged with hysteria. It was hard to stay calm when he could hear death literally outside the door. "Parallel universe? Brilliant. As if one problematic universe wasn't enough!"

Harkness gave a breathless laugh. "You would think."

Ianto looked around uneasily, his hand on Harkness' shoulder to keep him still. The buzzing in his mobile kept shivering for his attention. He grabbed the mobile, intending to throw it. He froze.

"Oh God…" How could he have forgotten? How could he have…Ianto swallowed, his throat tight. "I-I have to get out of here." One missed call. One call amidst the chaos. Only one person would have tried. 

"What?" Harkness gaped at him. 

"I-I have to…tenth floor! I need to get up there!"

Harkness grabbed his arm. "Out there? Forget it! Not without a weapon!"

Ianto twisted towards the door again, but the grip on his arm was iron strong. 

"I have to be out there! My friends!"

"You'll be no help to them if you get yourself killed!"

"So what now then?" Ianto looked at him anxiously. 

"Do you happen to have a sub-atomic laser rifle?" 

Ianto stared. "A w-what?"

"Nuclear linear scope? Sonic blaster? A particle graviton?" Harkness grew frustrated at Ianto's blank look. "A _screwdriver_?"

A screwdriver? Ianto patted his pockets. "I have your gun!" He pulled out the antique he had found with Harkness' clothes along the strange wrist strap no one could decipher.

"Great! I can annoy them again! It'll just be like old times!" Harkness grabbed them both anyway and fumbled to put his holster on. 

Outside it had grown quiet; a sound that didn't put them at ease. The smoke was still strong now coupled with an iron rich stench that made Ianto ill.

The alarms abruptly silenced. The speakers that were used for the alerts whined back into life.

_"…This broadcast is for humankind. Cybermen now occupy every land mass on this planet. But you need not fear. Cybermen will remove fear. Cybermen will remove sex and class and color and creed. You will become identical, you will become like us…"_

"Cybermen?" Ianto whipped his head sharply towards the captain. "More auditing problems?"

"No," Harkness snapped. "Never heard of them!" The captain looked up at the speakers. "Although they really have issues about conformity."

"I can't stay here. My friends…"

Harkness' sympathetic expression unnerved him. "Ianto, I'm sorry, but if your friends were out there when those Daleks and Cyber—whatever you call them…"

Ianto brushed away the captain's hands. "No. I have to find her. You'll be safe here. I'll lock the outside security doors. They're double thick…I'll…you'll be safe here."

"If you think I'm letting you walk out into that!" Harkness exploded. He stood up, only to stumble. He slammed into the wall. "No, wait, I'll go with you!"

Ianto pushed Harkness back as he pulled at the door. He could take the fire exit. "You can barely stand! I'll come back for you! You'll be okay!" Ianto pushed through and grabbed the door. The captain threw his body against it, slamming it back shut. "Bloody hell!" Ianto grabbed him by the shoulders, twisting him completely around. Still woozy, Harkness lost his balance and dropped heavily to the floor. 

"Jones, wait!" Ianto scrambled out the door, swiped his card and punched in the codes initiating Level Four Lockdown.

He could hear Harkness pounding on the doors, but the sound proofing blocked what Ianto knew must be an angry voice.

The hallways were scorched, blackening what once were flat, gray surfaces. The air was thick with an acrid smoke that made Ianto's eyes water. He hesitated. Singh's laboratories were completely destroyed; the glass walls were shredded into a gruesome fan pattern of shards on the floor in front of them. Pieces sparkled where they were imbedded in the opposite walls. 

Harkness, trapped behind the door and still trying to get out, rattled it against Ianto’s back. For a brief moment, Ianto wanted to let him out; he had the ridiculous notion it would be better with him by his side. But no, Ianto remembered how the captain had clung to him and how white and translucent his face had been. No, for his own good, it was safer for Harkness in there.

But God, all this… What had happened?

Ianto's knees locked at the horrible smell he could pick out wafting out of Xenobiology. It had the charred, grisly familiar scent of burnt meat. The walls were gone as well, but there were no sparkling walls of glass. They had imploded in, scouring everyone inside. He couldn't see anyone. But the smell. Oh God, the _smell…_

Bile rose up his throat and his legs grew rigid, refusing to move. 

What was he doing? He didn't even have a weapon!

But then he saw the body.

It was the security guard, lying prone. He stared at Ianto, eyes bloodshot yet blank, mouth slack, as if to ask him what had happened. His gun was still holstered and the newspaper he was reading before was pinned under him. There was no blood but it was clear he was dead. 

Ianto never knew his name. 

His hands shook as he dropped down to his knees near the guard. He looked around anxiously but it looked like the ones Harkness called the Daleks were gone. 

But the building still shook like it was being ripped apart. The smoke still billowed. It wasn't over. And everyone was still upstairs.

Ianto steeled himself. He muttered an apology before grabbing the gun out of the holster with two fingers, shaking as his hands brushed against the body, causing it to shift and flop against him. He grimaced at himself then curled his whole hand on the grip. He could barely remember their mandatory two week training. Which was the safety? That one? No, this one.

Just then, the sprinklers came on and now Ianto could taste damp soot gathering in his mouth. Ianto got up shakily, the gun in his fist. He was soaked, shivering, and nearly blinded from water streaming down his face. 

He could also feel his mobile in his pocket. 

She had told him to hurry back.

One last look over his shoulder at the guard, Ianto headed for the fire exits. He took a deep breath and began the climb to the tenth floor.

 

 **Act II:** _"…You are better at dying…"_

His feet felt like rubber but Jack found by grabbing along the walls, he could stay upright. The surroundings still blurred but the sprinklers had revived him a bit and he was getting stronger with each step away from the chamber he had broken out of. It was the one time, Jack thought grimly, that his _condition_ was of some help. A Dalek probably couldn’t hurt him now.

Jones, on the other hand…

The first time he had felt fear for someone other than himself in his darker adult years was for the Doctor. Ironic as considering back then, he had more lives that he and Rose combined. Literally. He had promised to buy the Doctor time in Station Five, but he knew his efforts would be nominal and the Doctor would ultimately be left to fight the last dregs of the Time War. Alone, because he could see in the Time Lord's eyes Rose wasn't going to be there. Jack had approved, kissed oblivious Rose goodbye and then the Doctor and he told him self-deprecatingly that he was better off a coward.

Jack knew what needed to be done to set things…right, but when Ianto Jones had pulled him off the dais, there had been an odd, heady sense of relief so overwhelming, Jack hadn't realized they were moving until he saw the door.

"Tenth floor, tenth floor…" Jack muttered. "When I get my hands on him, I'm going to—" He paused, just as he reached the open door. Do what? Hit him? Yell at him? _Kiss_ him? 

Jack would have rolled his eyes if he didn't fear it'd just drop him to the ground. He _had_ to find Jones. Then, he'd scold him for his foolhardy notion that a feeble lockdown could stop Jack Harkness. Cheap, basic codes. Jones' intentions were commendable though. And Jack felt a begrudging admiration for the young man and his belief that Jack needed protecting from death. Jack would laugh if it weren't for the fear of finding himself choking. The thought that beautiful Ianto Jones would throw away his life for a thing like Jack was enough to make Jack Harkness weep. It would be such a fucking waste.

"Find him," Jack muttered as he clawed the rails to pull himself up each step. Jack was going to find him. And punch him for risking himself like that. Then…

He was going to _kiss_ him.

Jack's feet stuttered, caught off guard by that weird thought. But then he could hear fire above him. He shook his head and kept going. 

 

 **Act III:** _"…Hostile elements will be deleted…"_

"Oh God," Ianto breathed as he staggered into the cargo bay.

Red, angry hues of light and fire had lit the normally dim area into a blinding glare. Parts of the ceiling had collapsed and heavy girders blocked his view. Bodies littered the cargo bay. Shadows flickered in and out of the corner of his eye. People were screaming but he didn't see them. 

The tarp that sealed up the construction area was painted with shadows; like the puppets his parents would take him to see on a Saturday when he was four. Giant shades that writhed in mid-air, dangling off the grip of a very human shape arm around their throats. But they can't be human. They held up the others like nothing.

Fire had stretched the shadows on the tarp until they stretched to thin black, featureless monsters. Screams rent the air before they're abruptly silenced. An awful drilling sound took their places.

Ianto stumbled towards it, towards the bodies and the streaks of blood that washed the floors. 

A groan drew him closer to a man getting up unsteadily.

"Frederick!" Ianto hurried out, staggering as the older man leaned on him. "What happened? Where are the others?"

"They came out of everywhere," Frederick muttered, his eyes blinking away the blood dripping from his forehead.

"Where's Lisa? Lorrie? Elisa?" Ianto craned his neck, searching over Frederick's bowed back. He coughed. The smoke was everywhere. Fire was everywhere. He could barely stay on his feet as explosion after explosion brought more of the tower down over them.

It was the end of the world.

"They…" Frederick coughed, his fist against his mouth. "They took Lisa and Elisa. Lorrie went after Lisa."

"Who took Lisa?" Ianto's hands squeezed, his heart cold.

"…'onsters," Frederick spat out. His gaze was bloodshot and wild. "I'm going after Elisa!" He weakly shoved Ianto in the other direction. "Lorrie…went that way!"

The two men gripped each other's forearm and looked at each other intensely.

"Stay alive, Kirk," Frederick rasped before stumbling away.

"You, too," Ianto whispered as Frederick disappeared into the smoke. Ianto covered his nose with his elbow and went in the other direction. 

The cargo bay was unrecognizable now, riddled with what had collapsed through from the upper floors. He saw faces, faces he had met briefly, but enough to greet in mornings. Dead, crushed, some he couldn't bear to look at. But he needed to, hoping not to see a certain face. 

Occasionally, he kicked past shattered champagne bottles and skidded on spilt blood. He bit back a sob. As he drew closer to the back near the tarp, he found a hand outstretched under rubble. He dropped to his knees, brushed some of the debris away until he saw a burnt badge and saw it was pointless to continue. 

_"You will be deleted!"_

Before Ianto could ponder on what the devil that was supposed to mean, he saw a shadow cross over in front of him. He whirled around, freezing at the strange aluminum sheen figure towering over him. There were streaks of blood on the cap of its skull and it looked like a parody of a human and almost laughable because this couldn't possibly be the _aliens_ destroying Torchwood as much as the squat, rolling spherical drones he saw downstairs before. They couldn't be the ones leaving bodies buried in rubble and shattered champagne bottles.

 _"Identify yourself!"_ It loomed, its voice booming in an oddly lyrical yet mechanical tone. 

Ianto narrowed his eyes and aimed the gun in his hand. "I'm Torchwood, you bastard." He fired. Six times, at the head. Sparks flew and the metal being staggered. 

In the back of his head, Ianto knew it was probably foolish to expend so much ammunition on the first alien he'd encountered. But the blood on its facade was like a target, the cold, crushed hand he still held seemed to warm in his hand in plea.

Ianto stopped, breathing heavily as he watched the sparks clear and the creature straighten back up.

Impossible!

 _"Hostile,"_ it droned. Its eyes, or the empty sockets that served as eyes, glowed blue.

_"You will be deleted."_

 

 **Act IV:** _"I did my duty to queen and country! I did my duty. I did my duty. Oh God. I did my duty."_

By the time Jack reached the tenth floor, his legs no longer shook, his vision cleared, and he was taking the stairs two at a time.

When he got to the door, Jack ducked, opening the door a crack. He peered cautiously through it, but saw nothing. Well, not nothing. But aside from fire and destruction, nothing else. No Daleks hovering around, no Cyber-people tromping around as the arrogant announcement suggested.

Jack slipped through the door, sighting the guard station and hoped there was something he could use as a weapon.

It was worse than Station Five. It was silent there, dead bodies lying around like they had just fallen asleep, some staring at him as he'd wandered the station looking for survivors besides him. There were none.

Here, Jack choked at the noxious soup of flame, metallic ozone, and burning flesh. Sometimes, when his starved lungs made him take a deeper breath, Jack thought he could smell the sour tang of fear.

A small picture tube behind the guard station had fallen over, perhaps knocked over by the guard who previously had occupied the space. The only sign he had ever been there was the blood smears that went from desk, to wall, out to the doors leading to the cargo hold. Ten thin lines of blood; fingers that scraped and clawed the wall as the victim was dragged. Unwillingly. 

"…unknown origins. They've only identified themselves as Cybermen with an announcement that was broadcasted on all channels…"

The picture tube was still going although the image crackled and danced. Jack ducked under the station, frantically wrenching drawers open to find anything. The teeny sounds of screams from the set made him twist around to stare at the screen.

Snapshots from all over the world came on, barely enough time to absorb the unbelievable images of cyborgs destroying and killing before the image switched again. 

Jack stared in disbelief before he shook his head and rose to his feet. He cursed when he realized he wasn't alone.

Three cyborgs or Cybermen stood a few feet away from him, blocking the way to the cargo area.

_"You will be deleted."_

"Well, better than exterminated," Jack muttered, steeling himself to duck. He got ready as he heard a growing whine. Suddenly, there was another whine, a bolt out of his perception to his left soared across to the trio. The three Cybermen jerked as bolts danced around them. Another bolt, then another and they collapsed.

Jack stared at the crumpled bodies before turning to his left. He tensed at the sight of a lone cyborg, holding a weapon, standing by the cargo doors.

"Let me guess?" Jack said wryly as he raised his hands. "Deletion?"

_"Negative."_

Jack arched an eyebrow. He took an experimental step back. It did nothing. "Okay…we just met and despite my reputation, I'm not _that_ good." Jack lowered his arms. "Why?"

It said nothing.

"Who are you? Why are you doing this?"

_"I am Human 2.0. I did my duty for Queen and country."_

A chill went down Jack's back. He could hear a woman's voice underlying the mechanical drone. The same voice that climbed over him as the Doctor watched; so sure and confident that everything she did was for a greater good.

"Hartman?" Jack breathed. He didn't take a step closer. "Director Hartman?"

_"Former human designation is recognized. Identity sighted as Harkness, Jack, companion."_

He didn't flinch at the title. His mouth soured. "Is this what they're doing to everyone?" God, Ianto.

 _"Affirmative. Human conversion for compatibility. Torchwood, forty two percent completed."_ The cyborg's eyes glowed, then dulled. 

_"I did my duty for Queen and country."_

"You stupid, stupid woman," Jack's voice cracked. "What have you done? Was this…was this what you had me do? Did you trick the Doctor into…" Jack swallowed.

 _"The Doctor…the Doctor…"_ The cyborg turned its, or maybe her, head left and right. It turned back towards Jack. 

_"2.0, Harkness. Doctor…2.0. ...Must…must not let them pass."_

Jack furrowed his brow. "What?"

 _"Queen and country. Queen and country."_ The cyborg approached closer. Jack tensed as it stilled inches from him.

 _"You were not supposed to be part of the programming."_ It extended out its arms and handed Jack the weapon it held. _"Must correct."_

Before Jack could say anything, it turned around and entered the cargo bay.

"Wait! What do you mean—" Jack halted as he burst through the doors. The cyborg once known as Yvonne Hartman had vanished and Jack had just entered hell. 

 

 **Act IV:** _(Cont'd) "I did my duty to queen and country! I did my duty. I did my duty. Oh God. I did my duty."_

Ianto struggled and kicked, but it was no good. Just like the gun, his efforts didn't faze the Cyberman. He shouted as it pulled him into the sealed off area. As soon as he passed the tarp, Ianto knew where all the sounds were from.

They looked like the dais Harkness had been bound to, only these were made of metal and all occupied by people. Screaming. Their shadows stretched across walls as fire immortalized their death throes as shades. Their screams sometimes grew louder than the machines. Machines descended from the ceiling; arms tipped with what looked like drills and knives. Flesh gradually disappeared underneath bloodstained metal skin.

"No!" Ianto twisted in the iron grip when he saw it was taking him to an empty platform. He struggled hard enough that there was a sickening pop of his right shoulder. He nearly passed out, dots filling his vision and when they finally cleared, he was latched in. Ianto stared, ice lodging in his throat as he saw the instruments above, idle.

_"Start conversion."_

"No! Stop!" Ianto shook as the metal arms began to move. His back arched in what little room it was afforded. He stared, shaking, as one arm with what looked like a drill drew closer.

_"Start deletion. Start deletion."_

Oh God. Ianto turned his head, trying to move his head away as the drill grew closer. He could feel its breeze just off his left eye, the static charge as it whirred. He cried out in anger, in fear.

And then it stopped.

Ianto opened his eyes, his breathing ragged. He kept his head turned away. He could feel the drill against his hair, its sharp point pricking the top edge of his ear. 

"You're okay. You're okay." A deep voice coupled with the sharp edged sensation disappearing from his ear made Ianto release a shuddering sob. 

"Alright. Alright." 

Hands hastily released the binds and Ianto practically rolled off the platform. He was caught before he fell off completely. Ianto clutched the broad shoulders. He couldn't stop shaking. 

"It's over. You're okay." Harkness held him as tight as Ianto grasped him. The captain pulled him to his feet. "Let's get out of here—"

"No, wait." Ianto untangled himself from Harkness. "I have to find…have to find Lisa…"

"There's nothing left here—Ianto!" Harkness spun him around by the shoulders. "Who? Who do you have to find?"

"My girlfriend!" Ianto blurted out, his mind reeling. "She was up here. God, I left her up here to…to get you!" Ianto grabbed the lapels of Harkness' coat. "Please! This is all my fault! I have to find her! I never should have left her!" Ianto twisted away to look, but Harkness stopped him. 

"We'll…" Harkness sounded gruff. "We'll find her." 

 

The last explosion had taken out part of the floor, exposing the cargo bay to a violent, churning sky. Whatever was going on inside was echoing outside. Ianto stumbled, his shoulder aching where Harkness had reset it. He swung between the urge to vomit to the urge to pass out. 

There was too much to search. Too many faces Ianto thought he might know, too much carnage he couldn't look away from. Too many metal men roaming the area for Harkness to shoot at with the strange weapon he held. It shot blue bolts that matched their eyes. 

When Ianto finally found Lisa, half buried in the rubble, she was… Ianto choked out her name. He wasn't sure if it was a blessing there was a heartbeat.

"…'a'to?" Lisa gasped, her eyes cloudy with pain. "…'hank God, you're 'afe…" Her mutilated body, a mess of metal and flesh, quivered with pain. She cried out.

Ianto's fingers bled as he dug her out. "Shh…it's alright. I'm getting you out of here."

"Did you find her?" Harkness demanded. He skidded to a halt. "Oh God…" He stood over Ianto, hesitant. "I'm sorry, Ianto."

"No," Ianto choked out, still stroking what skin was exposed in the metal cage around her body. Rivers of blood flowed where machine tried to meld with flesh and failed. "It wasn't finished. She's still alive!"

"H-how?"

Lisa sobbed, trying to stay awake in spite of the pain. "…'orrie. S-she…w-where is she?"

"I don't know. I saw Frederick. He went after the ones who took Elisa. Don't talk. We're going to get you out."

Harkness gently nudged him out of the way. "I'll carry her. Your shoulder's b—"

The whine that came was too abrupt, too sudden so that when Harkness' hand was gone from his shoulder, Ianto couldn't connect it to the body flying past him and Lisa.

"Jack!" Ianto twisted around and saw the same type of squat drone approaching. An eye of some sort extended out.

_"Exterminate! Exterminate!"_

Harkness' weapon was too far away. Ianto pressed back, against Lisa's trapped legs. He squeezed his eyes shut.

 _"Extermin—"_ The extended eye exploded followed by the rest of it. Metal rained over Ianto.

"Get up," a hoarse voice demanded. 

Ianto looked up at a war weary man with dark hair streaked with silver. He didn't recognize him. And his face was too stony to be called friendly. "W-what?"

"Torchwood Cardiff," the man grinned humorlessly at him. "Get up. Let's get you somewhere safe."

Ianto's head spun. Too much. Lisa was moaning behind him and Jack…

Suddenly gasped, sitting up. 

"Jack!" Ianto stumbled over everything. "I thought you were dead!"

"Not quite," Harkness whispered. "Hard to kill." He tensed, looking at the newcomer. 

"We meet at last, Captain," the man smiled grimly, his eyes on Jack. 

"Who are you?" Harkness unknowingly repeated Ianto's question.

"Torchwood." The man abruptly bared his teeth in a grin. "But I'm one of the _good_ guys. You can call me Alex." Alex looked around at the cargo bay with a grimace.

"So are we getting out of here or not?" 

 

 **Act V**

The fire stairs were barely intact but between Ianto and the captain, they got Lisa into the MX-CR chamber. It was the only one still working in some fashion.

Alex from Cardiff trailed behind them, the strange weapon—Ianto suspected it was alien technology—gripped firmly in his hands and Harkness' under his arm. He looked around the room and grimaced.

"So this is where they'd been keeping you," Alex commented. He watched as Lisa was carefully placed on the dais.

"…Ia'to," Lisa whimpered. "…'urts…"

Ianto's eyes filled as he stood over her and stroked her cheek. "I know, I'm sorry. G-god, I…I never should have…I'll take care of you…" His head shot up and he grabbed Harkness' wrist. The captain held a needle. "What are you doing?"

"PV-35," Harkness explained, his eyes sad. He pushed Ianto's hand away. "For the pain." He showed the needles he filled. "Just enough to keep her alive until…" He hesitated. "Until help arrives."

Ianto swallowed, looked at Lisa. Her dark eyes didn't even see him anymore, her eyes glazed and unseeing. He bit back a sob, nodded, and kept his hand on her cheek as her eyes drifted shut and her body finally lost the ridged posture of pain. 

"You stay here," Alex ordered. "There are more survivors I think we can get to before…" He paused then shook his head. "I told Hartman what could happen. Damn it."

"I'll go with you," Harkness decided, not looking at Ianto.

Alex stopped him with a hand flat on the captain's chest. "No, I can't let you risk your life like that, Harkness."

The captain gave a deprecating laugh and tried to get past Alex, but the man blocked him.

"Damn it, what is with you people!" Harkness cried out, his eyes flashing. "Listen, we have Daleks out there! Little metal aliens determined to delete everyone! I've dealt with Daleks before!"

"I can't let you out there!" Alex pushed Harkness back with a surprising strength despite his smaller stature. "You _must_ be kept safe! For the future!"

"The future?" Harkness stared at him. He shook his head. "You're crazy!" 

Alex grabbed him by the arms. He tried to smile but it looked more like a grimace. "I've been called that before. Listen, this…this is all wrong! _You're_ all wrong!"

Harkness froze.

Alex shook him, his face raw with desperation. "You don't understand! This…this needs to be fixed. You're not supposed to be here. _I'm_ not supposed to be here! The moment I saw the truth, I waited. I couldn't go until…This…" Alex's gaze grew wild. Harkness took a step back.

"The 21st century is when it all changes, Captain," Alex rasped. "Get my people ready."

Harkness' eyes widened and his mouth opened. But then his body sagged and he slumped against Alex.

"What did you do?" Ianto lunged at him. 

Alex pushed the captain towards him, pulling away long enough to show him the syringe he took from Harkness' pocket.

"Fixing the future." Alex fisted something out of his pocket—an envelope and an odd, delicate pendant. He crammed it down into one of Harkness' pockets. He stepped back, letting Ianto abruptly take all Harkness' weight.

"Stay with him," Alex ordered, his eyes glued to Ianto. Something like relief swept over the weathered features and suddenly, Alex looked decades younger.

"It'll finally be over." Alex abruptly twisted around and ran out of the room.

"Wait!" Ianto shouted. He set down Harkness against the mainframes and bolted after him, but before he could step out of the room, the door to the chamber slammed shut.

"No!" Ianto grabbed at the door. He could hear the spark of Alex's weapon, the sizzle of metal welding shut. "Let us help you!"

But Alex was gone. Ianto never saw him again.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning For This Chapter:** graphic violence
> 
>  **Notes For This Chapter:** it's not necessary, but please note there are parallels to DW's "Doomsday", "Army of Ghosts", and TW's "Fragments". No spoilers, but history and ages are based and parallel the episodes.

_"…there they are!"_

_"Just where the poor bastard said he left them…"_

Somewhere in the long chain of vibrations and sirens, hot and cold, Ianto had slid down and sat against the defunct mainframes and the unconscious captain, his shoulder was pounding, his heart was aching. Propped up against Harkness, Ianto felt the world turn into a haze and there was a moment when he thought he might die in the suffocating smoke, under the shattered reign of Torchwood, with man and machine screaming around him. The arrogance of man was the culprit of its own downfall, he thought dimly as he sat there, staring at Lisa's hand dangling off the raised platform. They were tipped in steel and as he faded, Ianto realized he couldn't remember the last time they had kissed.

At some point, everything simply…stopped.

Heartbeats, breaths later, the noise began again. This time it sounded more purposeful, more controlled, yet Ianto cringed all the same when he felt hands upon him.

_"…found two males…alive and looks like—shit! Back up! Back up! There's one of them in here!"_

_"At ease! She was incomplete, too—Christ, I think she's still—it's another live one! Poor girl…Get a medic in here!"_

He'd left Lisa. He'd left behind the woman he loved; the one he swore to take care of as he held her every night. He…there was no excuse for what he did. Yet, his heart could not find any fault in his action to go back for Harkness. He should have…should have…What should he have done?

"Sir? Sir? Can you hear me?"

A hand tapped his cheek. Ianto raised his head and saw a round, circular glass for an eye.

"Calm down! It's alright! You're safe! I'm with UNIT!"

Hands captured his wrists and the eye piece, which turned out to be part of his goggles, was pulled back, revealing a scarred yet comforting countenance. He looked like someone's favorite old uncle. 

"You with me now?" the man asked as he shed his night goggles, revealing his muddy brown eyes.

"Y-yes," Ianto muttered, his fists lowering as he got up on shaky knees. He turned towards the dais. 

Too many people with red caps, goggles, masks and rifles streamed through in a very precise manner that reminded him of their security force. Ianto swallowed. He had seen many uniformed bodies as he had climbed the stairs to the tenth floor.

"Aye. Aye. I need to know what part of Torchwood are you?"

Ianto replied without thinking, "Archives, junior researcher. Jones, I-Ianto Jones." No, wait, he was part of Sciences now, wasn’t he? Part of this monstrous mess.

"Major Stark," the other returned. He lifted up a penlight and shone it on Harkness and then Lisa. Ianto realized then there were no lights. Oh. It wasn't just him then.

"Was she a researcher, too?"

The past tense burned in his ears. "No," Ianto grated out. "She _isn't_. She wa- _is_ with the science teams, with Dr. Singh. Singh! Is he…is he still a—"

"No," Stark said flatly in a voice that invited no questions, but Ianto asked anyway.

"W-what happened to those Cybermen and those…those Dall—I don't know their names? What happened? Are they gone? How—"

Starks showed his hand. He seemed to be the leader as others reported to him that a medic was on his way. 

"Those Cybermen and Daleks are gone. They got sucked up into Torchwood Tower, Jones."

Ianto stared at him. "Wait… _sucked_ up? All of them?"

"We hope so." Stark frowned over his shoulder at Lisa.

"She's not one of them," Ianto tried to push past him but Stark merely took a step, blocking him. "Lisa's a victim!" 

"Is that the girl's name?" The older man tipped back his red cap and surveyed Harkness still on the ground.

"Is he one of the Doctor's companions? The one the others were talking about?"

It was automatic. Ianto tensed. "This wasn't his fault or…or the Doctor's." He wished he sounded more convincing because the major frowned to himself.

"Didn't say it was, young man. In fact, way I hear it, the Doctor and the other one saved you all."

Ianto stared. "Wha—Wait, he was _here_?"

Stark nodded. He crouched down, tipped the captain's head up and considered him. "From what one of the survivors could tell us, the Doctor created some sort of…black hole that pulled all those bastards into some void. Weren't for him and his companion, we'd all probably still be in a piss pot of trouble."

" _Companion_? No, that can't be him then." Ianto staggered back against the dais. He fumbled behind him and found Lisa's cold, stiff hand. He tried to thread his fingers with hers, but found he couldn't. The steel tipped fingers were too stiff. Ianto's eyes burned.

"It couldn't possibly be him. He…" Ianto gestured towards the unaware captain. " _He's_ …he's the Doctor's…" He couldn't say it without becoming ill. "Captain Harkness travels with him."

"Blue police box?"

Ianto's head was spinning too fast. He squeezed Lisa's fingers, desperate for a response. There was none. "Y-yes…but…"

"He was with a woman."

"A woman?" The director, perhaps?

"Or a girl." Stark shrugged and stood. "People tell us it was an older woman when he showed up this morning."

"He was _here_?" Ianto felt a rush of heat rising up his chest. "He was already here?" Why didn't he stop this?

Stark gave him a funny look, as if agreeing. "Yea, he was, apparently. But we can't be sure. Some say he was on this floor, others reported seeing him in the unfinished Tower, others reported seeing that bloody police box of his hovering just above that rift of yours." Stark looked annoyed. "Then they said he was with a woman, then someone said he was alone, then it wasn't just the woman but an entire group, then just a girl."

"A girl?" Stark had an uncomfortable look on his face when he mentioned the girl. "What sort of girl?"

"Young, pretty, some said. Blonde, I think."

"Rose."

Ianto started at the hoarse voice. Stark tensed, jumping back with his rifle aimed. It started a chain reaction; the rest of his men leapt into attention as well.

"Wait!" Ianto stood in front of the captain. "H-he's no danger to us! Please!"

Harkness didn't seem to notice as he raised his head. Ianto dropped to his knees by him.

"He was talking about Rose," Harkness rasped. He looked pale, unsteady. He made no move to get up. "He…The Doctor went back for Rose after all."

"Rose…you mean the girl?"

The captain nodded. With his hand gripping Ianto's shoulder, he got up, only finally noticing all the guns aimed at him. Pale, shaking, he still managed to pull a questioning eyebrow at Stark.

"Isn't this kind of overkill?" Harkness elbowed Ianto to stand behind him. The captain shot him an exasperated look when Ianto wouldn't budge.

Stark cleared his throat and waved for the others to lower their weapons. 

Harkness leveled a look at him. "The Doctor. Rose. Where are they?"

The UNIT leader appeared uncomfortable at the eagerness in Harkness' tone.

"Sorry, son. He's gone."

The light that was in Harkness' eyes dimmed. "Gone? You mean he left?"

"Right after that void or black hole he created had sucked up…" Stark averted his gaze to Ianto. 

"What is it?" Ianto didn't like the look on Stark's face. 

Stark took a deep breath and matched Harkness' gaze.

"The void took everything in its path, took every beast. Nearly took the Doctor too, I hear. It…took the girl who was with him."

"What?" Harkness staggered towards Stark, his eyes wide. The others tensed until Stark raised a hand.

"I'm sorry, son. It seems she tried to hold on. But couldn't. The Doctor couldn't save her. He left right after that."

Ianto felt a fury in him but when he looked over, it wasn't anger the captain displayed. Harkness sagged back, looking stunned. The color on his face bled out so rapidly, Stark jumped forward to offer a hand.

"She's…" Harkness dropped his head and let out a shuddering breath. "Oh no. Rose… _Rose_ …"

Ianto looked over to Stark. "Are you sure?" he asked quietly, his hand on the captain's elbow.

Stark nodded soberly. He looked a little uncomfortable. "I'm sorry to do this, but we have questions, Captain."

"Now?" Ianto tightened his grip on Harkness' elbow. 

Stark's eyes held regret but his mouth was set. "We need to know what happened here. We're asking all the survivors."

"But we don't know anything. He most of all—"

"It's fine." Harkness shrugged away Ianto's hand. "It's fine," he just repeated. 

"I…" Ianto looked over to Lisa and the newly arrived medic.

Harkness glanced over as well. Something indescribable flitted over his face. "Stay with her," Harkness said, his voice firming, like it was an order. "I don't think they're dissecting me." The captain gave Stark a wary glance.

Stark didn't even blink. "We usually leave that to Torchwood."

Ianto smiled wearily. "I'm too knackered to even be offended." He stayed back, watching Harkness shuffle behind Stark. Then, something occurred to him. "Major?" Ianto called out, stopping the procession. "How did you know where to find us?"

Stark sighed. "Some bloke from your Cardiff branch. Alex Hopkins."

Harkness looked over his shoulder. "Is he…"

Stark shook his head. Harkness closed his eyes and turned his head.

"He drugged me. I said I would help and he drugged me," the captain whispered. 

"It was a slaughter out there. Hopkins reportedly took out six before they finally got him. Lasted long enough to tell us where he hid all the survivors. He may have saved your life."

A bitter laugh escaped past the captain's slumped shoulders. "God damn bastard. He was a fool," Harkness choked out.

Stark gave Ianto a perplexed look before he and Harkness were gone.

Ianto stared at the spot where Harkness had been, suddenly feeling very alone and very, very small amidst the soldiers darting in and out of the room. He wandered back to Lisa, took her hand between both of his. He looked up at the medic to ask him. But when the medic sighed and avoided his eyes, Ianto's question died on his lips.

 

**Three days later…**

Jack had debated bringing flowers. But it was just a wall, for God's sake. It was just a plain white, flat piece of drywall that used to be the border of the portal to send every Cyberman and Dalek into an airless, lifeless void.

UNIT, Jack had discovered, was part of some organization called the United Nations. The Cybermen and Daleks were nothing new to them and they considered the Doctor and his companions in the highest regard.

He wasn't sure if he was glad or not. They didn't even insist on a guard for him. Jack had been free to roam the ruins.

Canary Wharf was a loss. The expansion had disintegrated to a skeletal ghost of what it used to be. He remembered seeing a model of it, his face reflected off the thick, clear case as the Doctor and Hartman…

Jack sucked in his breath. They never found Hartman. Jack watched as each steel mask was pried off every corpse. Her face was never found. Someone remembered her running to the Doctor's aid, buying the Time Lord just enough time to open the void. He succeeded and it took everything.

It took Rose, too. And then the Doctor left. Again.

The sob he'd been ignoring for he didn't know how long pressed against his throat, building behind his eyes, pushing to leave his mouth.

But as insistently it tried to escape, Jack just as viciously pushed it back down, far down until it was back in his gut to brew and lump. It sat like a stone. Sometimes it was hard to breathe with it, but Jack knew it was better than letting it out. He'd learned it was pointless to; there wasn't anyone who would listen.

"I miss you," Jack murmured, his hand touching the wall. It looked and felt deceptively innocuous. He didn't know who he missed. The more he thought about them, the more he thought about how it was before Station Five, and that just flooded back in the doubts, the fears, the abject, gut tearing _loneliness_ that revived the lump in his gut.

Jack pressed his face to the wall. He was glad, so very glad no one was guarding him, following the Doctor's _companion_ and finding him weeping soundlessly, dry-eyed, on a fucking wall. 

His hands clawed the walls, hard enough he could feel his nails digging into the plaster and bleeding little furrows onto the plaster. The moment he smelled the blood, Jack jerked back, angry at himself. It felt like he was desecrating a grave.

"Idiot," Jack spat out and he tried to dab at the wall with the edge of his coat sleeve, not caring that the blood marred his greatcoat. Rose was behind this wall and here he was, Jack the _wrong_ , the abomination, spilling his filth all over her grave. Their beautiful Rose, who had sailed on a barrage balloon among bursts of death from the Germans. Their Rose, who couldn't pronounce Raxacoricofallapatorius and giggled each time she tried. Her eyes had sparkled when she finally succeeded and she had practically thrown herself at the Doctor in such glee that left them all smiling for days.

No more. She was gone. She should have been safe. The Doctor had sent her back. Why? Why did the Doctor go back for her? Had he always wanted to go back for her? Jack felt an odd quiver of anger towards the Time Lord for doing this to Rose.

"She was safe," Jack whispered. He stopped trying to wipe the reddish streaks off the wall. It was doomed to fail anyway.

" _She was safe, damn it!_ "

The first punch burned. The second, Jack felt a bone crack. The third, the fourth…Jack knew they _should_ hurt. They just didn't.

Each blow felt like something gave and for one ludicrous moment, Jack thought maybe, just maybe, he could reach Rose behind this wall. Maybe take her place? No great loss, right? The Doctor would stop avoiding looking at him and Rose would be safe. And maybe Jack would finally get the oblivion he craved. Yes, it would be better if he was on the other side of this wall. Not Rose. Not beautiful, sparkling, _human_ Rose. 

Each punch felt inadequate. Each animalistic cry clawing out of his throat sounded pitiful. And the lump in his gut wouldn't go away. Like bile, it burned a path up his throat, forcing Jack to stop. Otherwise, it'd escape and then Jack knew he would be lost.

Jack leaned his head on the wall. His nostrils flared at the scent of his blood and skin on the walls. He didn't look at his hands. They didn't even hurt. Hell, they'd be fine soon.

"Is it safe to come in now?"

The voice made Jack close his eyes. He could feel Ianto Jones approaching without looking. It was odd. Jack was certain he would always know when Jones came. It was like the very air changed against his skin when Jones entered.

"How long were you standing there?" Jack could barely speak.

Jones' hands took his gingerly by the wrists and carefully pulled them down and towards him. Jack dutifully sat down and peered up at the younger man through hooded eyes. Jones sat in front of him, Indian style, with a case on his lap.

"Long enough to know I needed to head downstairs to get a kit." Jones hissed when he got a better look at the limp hands in his lap.

"God, look at the state of you," Jones murmured, distress clear in his voice. He turned over one hand. "My kit's not going to be enough. Let's get you to a medic—"

"It'll be fine." Jack yanked back his hands before the sensation of Jones' long, graceful fingers proved to be too much. 

"No, they're not," Jones corrected in a firm voice. He retrieved his hold. "Some of these fingers look broke—"

"They're _fine_!" 

Jones' grasp slackened and Jack escaped, leaping to his feet.

"I only want to help," Jones said calmly, staying seated on the ground.

"Why? Why me? Shouldn't you be somewhere else?" Jack stopped at Jones' pained expression. Horror crossed over Jack's face and he deflated. 

"God, that was incredibly insensitive of me. I-I didn't mean it that—"

"I know." Jones gave him a faint smile. "I know." His face fell and he looked at the kit on his lap. 

"They won't let me near her. She's with others they found. Too dangerous, they said." The younger man scoffed. "Lisa would never hurt me. She's not even awake. They've kept her under while everyone tries to figure out how to help them." Jones shrugged. "For two days they interrogated and counter questioned and…" Jones sighed. He fiddled with the medical kit.

"No questions today. And they still wouldn't let me see her." 

Jack stared at him, at the pale hands toying with the leather satchel handle. Jack then looked at his swollen hands. Quietly, Jack walked back over, sat down in front of the younger man, and laid his hands on Jones' waiting ones.

"Thank you," Jack said, subduedly.

The other's mouth curved up just a little before he opened the kit and pulled out the bottle of saline.

The small sounds of saline trickling between fingers, gauze tearing, tape zipping off a spool, filled the room. Jack watched the other man as Jones focused with unusual intensity in cleaning the blood.

"Really," Jack murmured to the bowed head. "They don't even hurt—Ouch!"

Jones considered him with an arched eyebrow, the bottle of saline paused in mid-air. "Yes," he said wryly. "I can see that."

Jack snorted, averting his gaze. He grimaced as he could feel the other's ministrations.

"I'm sorry about Rose," Jones murmured tentatively as if he wasn't certain he should say anything.

Looking away also meant Jack was staring at the blood mottled wall. Rose would have scolded him for such a display. 

"I'm sorry about Lisa," Jack returned. He felt Jones pause. Jack kept his gaze on the wall. It seemed kinder to Jones this way.

"I left her up here alone." The self recrimination was evident in his voice.

Because of me, Jack thought. Out loud, Jack said, "There was nothing you could have done. If you were up there, you—" Jack turned back and found Jones staring at him. 

"You were safer in the chamber," Jones said softly. "Yet you came after me. Thank you."

Jack pulled his hands away. "Don't make me into a hero, Ianto Jones," Jack bit out, his voice rough.

"You can't blame me for that," Jones shrugged. He made no attempt to retake the hands. He calmly gathered up the remaining materials. "I think you made yourself a hero all by yourself."

He couldn't say anything, couldn't tell Jones the truth. He was selfish. Jack knew that. The way Jones looked at him, talked to him, he didn't want to lose that.

Jack stood up. He swayed a little on his feet, still feeling like he was underwater. His hands throbbed dully as he approached the wall.

"Sorry, Rose," Jack murmured, lifting a hand to touch the blemished wall, but the sight of the gauze wrapped around his hands made him pause.

"Who was she?"

She was everything good. Jack stroked one finger on the surface. He wondered if the Doctor had rested his head on the wall to grieve. Did he try to listen for her?

"When I first met the Doctor," Jack said out loud, "She was already traveling with him."

"A companion?"

The way Jones said it, it didn't make Jack flinch but he protested anyway. "You people call it… _that_. But no, I don't think…I mean…" Jack rested all five fingertips on the wall before lowering his hand. "She just traveled with him."

"So it was the three of you?"

Jack closed his eyes. He could still hear her laughing. "Yes," he sighed. "We got…separated. Then, the Doctor came back for me. I thought he sent Rose home to be safe. I don't know how she came back to…" Jack chuckled but there was little humor in it. "She probably insisted. Neither one of us could ever talk her out of anything. The more you tell her no, the more she'll want to do it."

"Sounds like someone I know."

Jack smiled faintly. "She died fighting with him. I think…she wouldn't have minded it that way."

"…Do…Did you love her?"

I can't love anyone, Jack thought. "The Doctor loved her." He rested his forehead on the wall. "God, this must be breaking his hearts. He went back for her, only to…" Ah, Rose, Rose, Rose. Jack placed his swollen hands to the wall. He clung to the surface. "She didn't deserve this." 

"No one did." Jones rose to his feet and walked over. He leaned on the wall, against his left shoulder, and studied Jack.

"You said he came back for you?"

Jack didn't move. He kept his forehead against the wall, his eyes on the floor.

Jones audibly sucked in his breath. "He left you behind." It wasn't a question and Jack knew the word "again" was left out as a mercy. 

"Will he come back?"

"Not to here." Not for me. Jack turned, resting his right shoulder on the wall. He leveled his gaze at Jones. "Not to the place where Rose died."

There must have been something on his face because Jones stiffened. "You're not staying, either," he read correctly.

Jack nodded. He gave himself a mocking laugh. "I got an offer." Jack shrugged. He fumbled out the crumpled first few pages of the letter that was found on him. The acting director of Torchwood had read it with him and even now, Jack couldn't believe it. "Here. The final words of Alex Hopkins."

Jones took the letter curiously. He scanned it. His eyes widened. 

"Good God…"

"All of them." If his laugh came out hysterical, Jack was sure it was because he still felt a little lightheaded. "On New Year's Eve, 1999. Told London it was some alien attack." In a sense, it was. The alien pendant was now being sent back to Cardiff, under security, to be hidden in the vaults. "He was going to follow but then he realized he couldn't yet because he had to wait…"

Jones was still reading the letter, Hopkins' last will and testament. "He," Jones stammered. "He was waiting for _you_?"

"I'm not supposed to be here," Jack's voice cracked. The news, just like when Abigail had read it to him, was just as disbelieving. "Me! Captain Jack Harkness, the _companion_ , was supposed to lead Torchwood Three into the 21st century!" He tried to run a hand through his hair, but damn it, they were bandaged and for some reason, not completely healed yet. 

"I heard them talking. Called him Spooky Do. He was supposed to be crazy. Saw the future, went crazy, _killed_ everyone, lied about it, then went around _fixing_ the future!" Jack felt like punching the wall again. "Then he says on that damn letter he's leaving it to me—can he _do_ that?"

"If you're taking it, I guess he apparently can," Jones was too calm. Jack wanted to smack him. He wanted Jones to yell, shout like him, too. But he didn't. In spite of it, Jack calmed.

"He gave up his life thinking he needed me for Torchwood," Jack whispered. "I can't waste that."

"I can't think of staying in Torchwood," Jones spoke just as low. His eyes, while red-rimmed, were dry. "All we did."

"You didn't do this," Jack said, turning around to lean his back on the wall.

Jones followed. He exhaled, long and slow. "No, perhaps not but I was part of it."

Jack glanced over sideways. "What are you going to do then?"

The shrug Jones gave was slow coming. "I've done many jobs." His mouth quirked. "Perhaps a coffee shop?"

Jack laughed, a short bark that hurt. "You should _own_ one." Jack ran the tip of his tongue over his lower lip, remembering. When he turned back to Jones, he caught him staring. The younger man looked away quickly.

"Whatever would be fine," Jones said quietly. "I need to stay in London."

Jack sobered. "Lisa."

The nod made him look away. He stared down the large room and the debris, equipment pulled from their bolted housing, the center swept clean, stopping short at the wall. God, the force it must have been.

"I love Lisa."

Jack closed his eyes. "You wouldn't be you if you weren't, Ianto Jones," Jack murmured.

"What?"

"Nothing." Jack twisted around a little, resting the side of his head against the wall. He looked at Jones staring at nothing in particular. 

Jones faced Jack, remorse lining his face. He looked worn, tired, and fragile. Jack couldn't help but react to it. He stepped away from the wall, a few steps until he was in front of Jones. The younger man watched him, making no move, no comment, only inhaling sharply when Jack leaned in, his elbows on either side of Jones.

"You love Lisa." It wasn't a question. Jack used it like a shield. 

Jones sighed deeply. "She stayed with me through…difficult times."

"Sounds like a good person."

"She wa- _is. God_ , she doesn't deserve this."

Jack rested his forehead on the wall. He felt Jones rest his on Jack's shoulder. 

"You're right doing this," Jack murmured. "We…I was…curiosity, Ianto Jones. Nothing more."

"Yes," Jones sounded muffled, but there was a lilt of relief in the opening Jack offered. "I was overwhelmed."

Jack smiled sadly against the side of Jones' head. "I was very intimidating. You were worried I was going to blow up your planet."

"Well…You were very frightening coming out of that bloody police box."

The two men chuckled. Jack closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His hands drifted up to Jones' shoulders. The younger man tensed, then relaxed, his arms going around Jack, his hands linking just below his lower back. 

"If I ask," Jack asked haltingly, "Would you consider Cardiff?"

Jones stiffened again. "I don't think I could _ever_ work for Torchwood again." His breath was harsh against Jack's throat. Jones' arms tightened around Jack. "If…"

It was a question Jack didn't wait for him to ask. It would be too much. Especially knowing the answer would always have to be no. "If I was a better man…" 

"I can think of no better man, Jack Harkness." Jones attempted to pull back, but Jack pressed his body closer. Just for a little while longer.

"Even if you _could_ ask," Jack murmured, "I would have to say no anyway." He held tighter, close enough to feel Jones' heart beat against his ribs. It was loud, rapid, like rain hitting a drum. 

Jack swallowed. "A man _died_ believing I was worth something. I…I can't let that go. And the D—Cardiff was built over a rift in space and time. He…"

"You're going to wait for him." Jones sounded resigned. "Even after he left you behind over and over again."

Jack could hear the reproach. He couldn't find the anger in return. "It's like you staying for Lisa."

"It's _not_ the same."

Jack let go and Jones slipped out of his grasp. His arms never felt so empty. Jack forced himself to smile, to twist his mouth into a nonchalant curve he neither felt nor believed.

"I guess our timelines were never meant to cross, Ianto Jones." Jack reached out, thought better of it, and stepped back. "Lisa will be okay," Jack lied.

Jones looked relieved, so relieved, the lump in Jack's gut grew. "Thank you, Captain." Then, he tilted his head with a thought. 

"You're changing Torchwood, aren't you?"

This time, the grin was more sincere. "I heard it's a fun group of kids there. It's time Torchwood got ready for this future Hopkins believed will happen. I think things might get interesting."

"Try not to piss off too many people, Harkness."

Jack waggled his eyebrows. He headed for the exit. As he passed Jones, Jack stopped. He cupped the younger man's cheek, pulling him closer. Jones automatically turned towards his mouth, but Jack neatly avoided his and pressed his lips to Jones' cheek. He lingered a little too long.

"Have a good life, Ianto Jones," Jack whispered, holding Jones' face between his hands. He stared at Jones, memorized all he could, then, with a small pat to both cheeks, Jack pulled away. "Goodbye, Ianto."

As he left Jones standing in the middle of Rose's final resting place, and went out the door and down the small steps, Jack thought he heard one last whisper.

"Goodbye, Jack." 

 

**Two months later…**

Maybe he should have worn the red shirt with the charcoal tie instead.

It was cold on the wharf, but Ianto Jones wasn't shivering because of that. His hands shook despite the warm thermos he carried in one hand, a mug in the other. If his previous observations were correct, he wouldn't be standing here for much longer. How very characteristic of a time traveler to be so…punctual. 

Ianto wanted to bite his lip but he was afraid he might bite too hard and bleed. That wouldn't be too impressive. Maybe he should have brought a resume? Who ever heard of offering—Oh, maybe the blue shirt might have been better?

Like the gong of a clock, the door to the Tourist Center opened and out walked Jack Harkness, his greatcoat flapping around his legs from the wind. He was talking into his earpiece and would have walked right by him until Ianto took a deep breath.

"Morning," he called out as bright as he could.

Harkness skidded to a halt barely a meter away. He gaped. 

Ianto extended out his hand with the mug. He hoped it wasn't shaking too much for him to notice. "Coffee?" 

 

_And now TW begins...eg_


	19. "Everything Changes"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning For This Chapter:** het, graphic violence
> 
> **Notes For This Chapter:** it's not necessary, but please note there are parallels to TW's "Fragments" and "Everything Changes". No spoilers, but history and ages are based and parallel the episodes.

**Cardiff, 2007**   
**Three months later…**   
**Act I**

It was yet another file cabinet, yet another "G" to "I" section no one goes to. 

Ianto waved a hand in the air, making a face at the dust mites that flew when he fought with the cabinet, trying to pull out some manila folders that were stuck on something sticky. He wasn't sure who won, said folders in his hand or the cabinets that vomited dust purely out of spite he suspected.

"Good lord, you still here, Jones?"

Ianto swallowed a sigh, schooled a more pleasant face—dust always put him in an unpleasant mood—and turned to look at Torchwood's second-in-command Suzie Costello peering down the hole which he descended through to get to the archives.

"I thought our captain didn't want you down in the bowels of Torchwood Three alone. Never know what kind of beasties might be lurking down there." When she smiled, Suzie looked quite young. Even pretty.

She didn't smile often.

Ianto coughed behind an elbow and waved his spoils. "Does no one follow the alphabet anymore? It's taken me far longer than I expected to reorganize this," Ianto complained with no rancor. "This should go under 'J' not under 'G'. Is someone going phonetically?"

"Well, Harper believes in the 'within reach' filing system," Costello smirked and stood, stepping back so Ianto could climb up the ladder to the receptionist desk. 

A quick look confirmed she was dressed to leave, her coat tied shut around her waist, her enormous brown leather handbag—it was large enough to carry a Weevil babe—on her shoulder. Ianto looked at the clock. It had just turned twenty two hundred. 

"Early night?" Ianto asked innocently as he started to pry the rescued folders apart.

"Early morning," Costello corrected. "We have that meeting tomorrow early."

Suzie Costello was nice enough to him. She was polite and never left a mess like the doctor. In fact, she was very insistent in cleaning up after herself in her work area. Ianto frowned ruefully at the time himself. Ianto could never understand why her smile grated at him. 

Costello yawned as she pulled out her wristwatch and strapped it over a delicate pale wrist. 

"And I could never sleep down there. All elbows and knees, he is. Thought I might as well have some winks in my own bed. Far nicer. Quality mattress." She looked like a cat that had just devoured the sparrow it stalked.

Oh yes. _That's_ why. 

Ianto gave her a polite smile that faded to a more sincere groan when he glanced at the wall clock. "I should think about getting home myself," he muttered. One more check in the vaults first.

"Night then, Jones." Costello waved lazily over her shoulder as she walked out.

Ianto watched her leave, shook his head, then locked up behind her before climbing down the ladder again.

The vaults were in worse condition than the archives. It was a labyrinth of thick metal green wall vaults; some with bars like old style jail cells, others with impenetrable doors, and some with dials, wheels and cogs for locks. The Bank of England's vaults weren't this secure.

Apparently, most of Torchwood Three before Ianto arrived also believed and followed quite religiously Dr. Harper's dubious filing system. No one dared to come down here. It looked like the chaos started well before the previous leader, Alex Hopkins, started. No one knew where to look for anything and despite Harkness' reluctance, Ianto was more than happy to volunteer taking on reorganizing the tombs below the Hub. 

Good Lord.

First off, he couldn't even _enter_ some of the corridors. Crates transferred from London sat idle at every turn. Other crates were pried open, then left where they lay with rusty crowbars. There was no logic, no reason for…for _anything_.

It was better now, things stored away to be sorted later. And Ianto had set up some of the rooms, prepped the wiring and planned where everything would go. He found everything he needed down in the vaults. There were days he found himself taking a quiet nap in one of the cleaned vaults rather than drive back to his loft. It had many unpacked crates as well, but looking at them merely depressed him and the idea of going through his old life in those boxes kept him awake all night. It wasn't the only reason Ianto found sleep elusive these days, though. 

Ianto was sure he only needed a few more months down here. Everything was in order. Everything that should work did work. All that was left was…

He shook his head as he turned the corner to a coppery wall corridor he'd discovered wasn't even on Torchwood's blueprints. He didn't think about where he was going. He knew the way by heart.

The flashlight in his hand—not all the lights worked yet—flickered as he approached the end of the corridor, but Ianto wasn't too concerned. He could find his way out blindfolded and despite what Costello suggested there were no monsters down here lurking about. Absolutely none.

Ianto inspected the vaults on the copper corridor, flicked a couple of switches, and lingered until the silence proved too much. Then, he walked back down the maze of metal doors and dank corridors, checking every vault. Just in case. 

The vaults towards the front stairs that led up to the central area were emptied and still smelled of fresh paint. He had puzzled over some that were furnished with cots and sinks yet were currently unoccupied. Prisoners? Certainly couldn't have been for the Weevils residing in their newer cells although the vault walls were peppered with what looked like claw marks. He'd even found a fingernail embedded in the concrete while he was patching the uneven spots. God. 

They had smelled of human neglect and despair. Ianto spent weeks trying to get the smell out; bleach and a bucket of warm detergent water proved successful in removing most of the stench. The Captain had protested but begrudgingly allowed Ianto his project. Ianto found it oddly endearing when he showed up once with his sleeves rolled up to help. 

Ianto shone his flashlight back down where he had come before climbing the steps to the central area.

 

The lights were dimmed but not completely dark. Ianto was able to navigate around the often odd layout of the Hub using the squares of light left from everyone's screensavers on their terminals. That plus the light beaming out of the office on the main floor was enough.

Ianto paused from his cleaning by Toshiko's station. He stared at the office. None of his business. He was his employer now. Besides, it was obvious from Costello's insinuations that they were doing…something. 

He is the Doctor's companion, he thought in a rare mean moment. But the second it appeared in his mind, Ianto grimaced to himself. He lowered his garbage bag and steered for the office. He knocked—just in case and he really didn't need the image he might get—and strode in.

"Sir, I'm just finishing up and I would like to _ass_ …" Ianto trailed off into a squeak. Damn it, why was he always finding himself in these situations?

Captain Jack Harkness was not sitting behind his desk as Ianto thought/assumed/hoped. Rather, he was by the side of it, between the desk and the manhole that led to some sort of barrack. Harkness was on his hands and knees, staring intently at the ground, giving Ianto a very nice view of his arse.

Be glad he's clothed this time. Be glad he's clothed this time, Ianto thought and tore his eyes away from the firm curved buttocks wiggling—Good Lord—as Harkness was doing whatever he was doing. Perhaps driving Ianto mad? Yes, that was probably it. He shouldn't—

Stop ogling over a man's arse!

"Sir!" Ianto squawked, more because his mind went screaming, "Stop bloody looking!"

"Hm?" Harkness looked over his shoulder and it turned out he was carrying a stitching needle between his lips.

"What are you doing?" Besides trying to send Ianto into a confused fit? 

The captain spat out the needle into his hand and stretched over to put it on top of his desk. "Button?" he grumbled before his head dipped down again.

"P-pardon?"

"My coat." Harkness waved towards the greatcoat folded over his chair. "I was going to fix it. That last Weevil tore it off. Probably thought it was candy. But it rolled off and now I can't find it." There was a hint of panic in his voice. "I doubt RAF coats from the forties are still in fashion and I don't have any spare buttons and, damn it, where is it?"

It would have been amusing if it weren't for the fact Harkness' search was doing all sorts of interesting things to the captain's firm, pert, clearly muscled, taut—

"I'll help you look!" Ianto volunteered hastily, looking away and going to the _far_ side of the room. He made a point of looking on the ground, on his knees, until he spied a round, wooden circle, with its frayed thread still attached. "Found it!" Ianto declared.

"Really?" 

_Thump!_ In the captain's excitement, he forgot he was under his desk and struck it hard. The folders and thick sheaths of paper on top cascaded to a messy pile on the ground.

Ianto stood there, holding the button, staring at Harkness' boots sticking out from under the desk. 

"You alright?"

"Yes."

Ianto ran his tongue across his lower lip. "Then…why are you still under the desk?"

"Because I don't want to see ten hours of my paperwork on the floor."

Ianto winced. "I uh…found your button, sir."

"Jack."

"What?"

"You've been here three months; I think you can call me Jack by now."

"You're my boss."

"I call you Ianto," Harkness pointed out, not convincingly though as his…other assets were distracting Ianto.

"You're my boss." Ianto repeated and turned his head to consider the legs under the desk. Rather long legs. Lean yet muscul—

"Aren't you going to come out from under your desk?"

"No."

Ianto bit back the smile at the petulant tone. "But I found your button."

"I'm scared."

Now, the grin couldn't be suppressed. "I hardly believe that of a time traveler who came out of a police box."

"See? I'm used to tight places. I'm fine down here."

"It's not that bad. Really."

"You're lying to me." 

Ianto's grin faded. "Not about this," he said more seriously. Then, he forced on a lighter tone. "This is hardly becoming of our captain, sir. It's rather undignified."

Sighing, Harkness shuffled, wiggling backwards until his head popped out. Ianto bit his lower lip, swallowing back a chuckle at the messy locks wildly crowning Harkness. 

The captain peered around the desk and groaned. He glowered up at Ianto.

"I thought you said it wasn't bad."

"It isn’t," Ianto assured. "They fell in a pattern. We can easily retrace where they were." Ianto pocketed the button so they wouldn't lose it and crouched down to the pile.

Harkness groaned, throwing his hands up. "Don't you people have a landfill crisis this century? What's with all this paper?"

Bemused, Ianto just shuffled the stacks in order. "It's just the backlog from when Hopkins was in charge. I could get these sorted out easily."

"You don't have to do that."

"It's alright."

"You…" Harkness sounded embarrassed. "You _really_ shouldn't have to be doing that."

Balancing the stack in his arms, Ianto looked up. "Oh. Sorry. Not within my clearance?"

"No, no. I just…" Harkness waved at the mess helplessly. "Wasn't this just what you were doing…before?"

Ianto shrugged as he straightened and set the stacks on the desk. "I don't mind."

"But I do."

Surprised, Ianto stopped. Harkness looked at him seriously.

"Suzie's been telling me you were down by the vaults again; that you spend most of your time down in the archives."

Ianto frowned. "But that's what I was doing before."

"Exactly." Harkness sat down wearily on his chair. "I didn't hire you to be down in the archives all day."

A sliver of fear coiled in his throat. "Am I being fired then?"

"What? No! I…" Harkness sighed and sat back on his chair.

"I got a call about Lorrie Guevard this morning. Tosh said you got the same call."

Ianto felt very old all of the sudden. He sank into the nearby chair. "Ah."

"She was the last one, wasn't she?" Harkness' voice was soft, too soft with understanding. Ianto couldn't bear it. He could only nod. 

"Sorry. I heard she was a friend of…" Harkness paused and Ianto was utterly grateful he never finished.

"Yes," Ianto rasped. "Best friends. She was the one who got L-her out before so they took her instead and started the conversion." He looked away. His eyes burned. "They did nothing. Just kept them under until their bodies simply couldn't take it anymore."

"Once the conversion started," Harkness said quietly, "their bodies became reliant on the cybertronics built into them. There wasn’t anything else anyone could do."

"They could have tried harder," Ianto said in a hard voice. It was absolutely unforgivable.

Harkness sighed. "You see? I didn't want you hiding down in the basement because of this."

Ianto understood. He smiled faintly. "Thank you, but frankly, you _did_ hire me as a receptionist."

Harkness' blue eyes were glued to him. "I think you could be a lot more, Ianto Jones."

Taken aback, Ianto didn't have a response. He blinked. Looking away, Ianto cleared his throat. 

"Yes, well, let me take a look at that coat of yours."

"You don't have to—"

Ianto waved him off. "I would do a far better job than you can, sir." He went behind the desk, tapping Harkness on the shoulder, signaling him to move. Harkness obliged by leaning forward enough for Ianto to tug the coat free. "You do your files and I'll get this done for you in a few minutes."

"I didn't hire you to be a butler, either."

Ianto arched an eyebrow down towards him and fingered Harkness' collar. "Excuse me, is that dried egg on your shirt?"

Laughing, Harkness looked up. "It was a busy week!" He froze.

Ianto became aware he was standing unbelievably close with one hand feeling the crisp, starched cotton and the other resting against Harkness' jaw. The captain's head brushed against his torso. And his eyes, they were dark, fathomless, blue, so blue, like the electric gleam of a Cyber—

Ianto jerked back. "Yes, well, I'll be right back."

Harkness sounded almost disappointed. "I'll be here."

He always was. Ianto didn't think about it. Clutching the coat harder than he should if he cared to think about it, Ianto escaped the office. He was done with the button in five minutes, roamed the vaults with it for another thirty before he went back to his flat and laid awake on his bed until dawn came. He didn't even realize he had bought the coat home with him.

 

**Act II:** _"Maybe there's no right way of doing it. What do you think?"_

"Do you love me?"

Jack groaned as she tightened around him. Suzie rode him, her hands curled like talons in his sides, her nails drawing blood as she threw her head back.

The heat of her around him, her legs clenched tight against him, forcing his hips up in a thumping pattern on his bed reminded him of the Doctor. Two thumps and two pushes against the thin mattress beneath him. Jack closed his eyes and cradled her by the hips, his thumbs rubbing circles on her pale belly.

"Do you love me?" Suzie panted insistently. "Tell me, my Captain."

"Suzie," Jack moaned. His eyes flew open in surprise as he felt her fingers pressing into him. Okay, _that_ was something new from her! The burn, the familiar burn that forced its way inside, with an intimate manner that made him groan again.

"…my handsome Jack."

He jolted, unable to tell if Suzie said it or _him_. But the burn continued, scissoring until it found that deep spot only _he_ had branded so many times. It was as if she was trying to scratch out his claim for her own.

The release after a sharp jab that arched his back completely off the bunk came so abruptly, so sudden, it hurt when it left him. Suzie moaned, her neck long and graceful, her dark hair tumbling around her shoulders like a dark halo. She fell against his heaving chest, her breasts damp, her lips hot on his throat.

Jack kissed her hair. The curls blew against his face as Suzie eased herself off him and lay over him.

"Thought we would try something different," Suzie said breezily. Jack groaned gutturally as she stroked her fingers in deeper before pulling them out. She studied her fingers, tsked, then wiped them absently on his bare thigh.

Suzie carded her fingers through his hair. She smiled like she knew a secret. "Thought you might like it," she purred, pressing her slim body closer.

"A little lube next time would be nice," Jack griped. He avoided her mouth and kissed her chin. "I was surprised." He ran a hand down her bare back and savored the feeling of a heartbeat against his palm. It was a soothing sound in the dark, like the hum of an engine.

"Oh, it's not like it can kill you," Suzie rolled off him and squinted in the dark for her clothes.

"There's no early meeting tomorrow," Jack said casually as he watched her pale skin disappear under folds of cotton.

"No, but I want to get in early tomorrow and retry those readings we got from that boy…uh…what's his name?"

"John Tucker."

"Right." Suzie stretched out her arms before twisting around. "Besides, this bed is awful. I don't see why we can't go to my flat?"

"You live forty minutes away—"

"Not when _you're_ driving." Suzie tweaked his nose and smiled. It reminded him of Rose. Jack slipped an arm around her middle and rolled to his side, his back to the wall his bed hung off from.

"Someone needs to monitor the Rift," Jack told her.

Suzie scoffed. "Why? All we ever get through it is trash."

Jack frowned at the bitter tone. "Flotsam and jetsam. Even when Alex—"

"Bloody Alex Hopkins was too busy trying to convince Whitehall about Hartman and Doomsday to do anything more than pick up whatever washed through to really try to make these things work!"

His frown deepened. "You people can't control it. These things, you people don't know what they are, what they do, and—"

Suzie twisted around again and leaned over to him, her eyes dark with promise. "That's why we need to test them. And this…this glove…can you imagine what we can do if I can master it?"

The cold lurch in his chest hardened to a vise. "Suzie, the only way we can test it is—"

"More bodies. I know. Well, we're lucky Cardiff is such a dangerous city."

Jack felt her breath on his face, her upper body draped over him, the lapels of her coat scratching his chest. 

"Why don't we just test it on me?" Jack suggested, his fingers sweeping back her hair to behind her ears.

Suzie smiled a pitying smirk. "Oh, but you're all wrong."

It felt like a dagger sliding between his ribs. "I don't hear that often enough," Jack joked weakly.

Suzie chuckled, her fingers slowly tracing his mouth, his jaw. "I saw you come back to life after a Weevil ripped open your jugular. You can't die. Reviving you would be pointless. There's no empirical evidence on whether it was you or the glove."

Jack fingered the ends of her hair. "That makes sense." And it did. He just wished it weren't so hard to hear. "I don’t like it. You've been working on this thing for months. Maybe you should take a break from it."

Suzie looked so disappointed. She pulled away from him and went back to dressing.

Jack studied her rigid back. "You know it's for the best."

"Sod the best!" Suzie pulled her bag over her shoulder. "Don't you want forever?"

Jack froze. "What?"

Suzie spun back around, her eyes desperate now. "Don't you want us to be together?" She leaned over again. "Forever, my Captain. Think about it. With me. If I can get this to work…"

That dagger was twisting in, digging in so painfully that it made it hard to speak. "You don't want forever," he whispered.

"Easy for you to say from where you are." Suzie drew closer to his mouth. Jack stared at her, trapped between his bed and her warmth on top of him. 

Jack frowned, his voice hardening. "No, Suzie. We shelve it, revisit it later."

"But—"

"That's my final word." Jack brushed back the hair from her face. "I know it's hard for you to understand right now, but in time…" Jack smiled tiredly up at her. "Forever's overrated."

"But don't you love me?" Suzie asked again, her voice barely a whisper. She didn't wait for an answer. She dove in, her hands gripping his face and crushed her mouth to his. The kiss was demanding, devouring. It felt like the very air was being stolen from him. 

When Suzie parted, she kissed his eyelids. "All I ask is for you to think about it," she whispered, pulling away. "I'll see you in the morning—"

"My handsome Jack."

He didn't know how long he laid there, how long before the echoes of _thrum-thrum-tap-tap_ faded, or the ghostly sensations of fire tearing inside him had left him alone. _Wrong_ , _forever_ , and _alone_ slammed repeatedly into him like an encounter in the dark. All Jack knew was he was huddled around the toilet for some time, retching violently. 

Hands wrapped around his shoulders and he recoiled. No, not now. God, please, he needed…no, not now…

Jack tensed as he felt the hands grow more insistent, gripping, turning him over to pound _Wrong, Wrong, Wrong_ into him. No more. Please, please, _please_. H-he can't…

"…alright…you're okay."

He's trying, God, he's trying but he _can't_. It hurts. Stop. _Stopstopstopstopstop._

"…won't hurt any more. Sh…you're safe…"

It was a litany murmured into his ear, a tempo as steady as a heartbeat, thrumming past the agony. It was balm where the echoes that were tearing, ripping and branding ebbed away to smoldering embers, dying resentfully to bright sparks and burrowed back into the lump in his stomach.

The first thing he was aware of was the cold tile under his body, his arms wrapped around himself too chilled to provide any heat. Second, Jack could feel the warm towel on the back of his neck. Then, the coarse afghan off his bunk was over his shoulders, over his chilled body. 

"…you're alright…it's safe…" 

Ianto Jones' mouth was close to his right ear, his arm around his shoulders, the other balancing the warm towel.

Mortification rushed throughout his body. Jack stiffened and the endless, barely audible sounds in his ear stopped.

Jack felt Jones' arm tighten around his shoulders. Panic made him fidget.

"It's alright," the young man murmured, but he pulled away. He sat on the tile, in his suit, regardless of the damp, cold floor.

"You," Jack gasped as his head hung over the toilet. He clutched the blanket close to him. His legs folded awkwardly under him. "For a century full of shy people, you have this annoying tendency of walking in on me naked."

"Clothing, Harkness," Ianto returned and for some reason just as breathlessly. "Perhaps you’ve heard of it? Very in for the 21st century."

The laugh hurt and died quickly as Jack thrust his head back over the bowl. Nothing came out—he was going to get dinner when Suzie had walked into his office. 

"I think your entire day of nourishment is out already, sir." Jones gripped his shoulders from behind. "Come on. Easy. Let's get you back on your feet."

Jack swayed. He stared blankly at the tiny room that served as his private bath. The floor felt cold under his feet and even though he shouldn't, Jack let Jones guide him back to his bed. 

It wasn't until he felt the blanket pool around his middle that Jack lifted his heavy head to Jones' concerned eyes.

"I'm just going to get you something to wear, okay?" the other said quietly. He looked straight at Jack, no disgust, no amusement in his gaze. It was warm, limitless and…

Jack felt his head pulled to Ianto's torso. Weakly, he raised his arms to push him away—he was their leader, he shouldn't be this…useless—but his limbs felt leaden and they flopped down to his sides.

Jones just held his head, fingers cradling the back of his head, absently making circles in his hair. Not too hard and if Jack wanted, he could have pulled away. 

He just couldn't.

When Ianto pulled away, it was slowly as if reluctant, and the younger man felt around the space for a closet. He didn't ask to turn on a light. He didn't complain when he bumped into his rolltop desk or his boots. Jack could see his shadow, a reassuring shade of silent and graceful movements that were poetic to witness. He watched as the mute shadow came back with his usual garb. 

"Bad dream?" Ianto asked. Jack was grateful that he waited until Jack's head was muffled under his white undershirt to ask.

"I think so," Jack mumbled. "Can't really remember. I was just there." His head popped through and he took the button down, surprised at the thick cotton he could feel caressing his back. Ianto had chosen a thicker one. He didn't bother buttoning it up. 

"I'll be upstairs," Ianto murmured as he handed him his trousers, braces, boxers, and a jumper Jack had forgotten he had.

Jack watched the younger man climb the ladder up. Jack wondered why he wanted to ask him to stay.

 

"What time is it?" Jack rasped as he emerged out of the hatchway.

"Almost midnight," Jones replied. He stood by his desk, filling his mug from a ceramic kettle. 

Jack sighed as he eased himself into his seat. "The vaults?"

There was an infinitesimal pause, the kettle stopping in mid-air before continuing. "They need a lot of attention." Ianto averted his gaze as he pushed the mug towards Jack. "I was stopping in to see if you needed anything else when…ah…" He filled his own mug and took a drink.

"I'm not paying for overtime," Jack said wearily as he wrapped his hands around the mug and soaked up the heat he could feel through the ceramic. 

"There's overtime?" Jones returned lightly. 

Jack smiled blearily as he took a sip. Oh thank God, he recognized this. Jack sighed and took another sip.

The warm chuckle was just as good as his coffee. "Come off it, it's not _that_ good."

"If it was a woman, I would buy it flowers," Jack mumbled before he drained his mug. He peered down in his mug woefully when he realized it was empty. He needed bigger mugs. 

Ianto took the mug before Jack could contemplate embarrassing himself by licking the lingering droplets. He pushed a plate over to Jack.

"Saltines," the younger man offered quietly. "Helps settle your stomach."

"I rather have another cup of that coffee," Jack grumbled but took a square anyway. "How did you make this anyway? No one can figure that antique out. I think it was leftover from the 19th century."

"Hardly," Jones drawled. "It just needs a little finessing."

Finessing, huh? Even Toshiko pronounced it too complicated for her brilliant mind. Weeks before Ianto had joined them, everyone just took turns dashing outside to buy coffee. 

"I was right," Jack mumbled around a mouthful of crackers. "You _should_ own a coffee shop."

"And miss out on the exciting perils of alphabetization and dust bunnies?" Ianto pretended to sound shocked. "Perish the thought."

Jack grinned. "Their loss, our gain."

"Would now be a good time to talk about a raise then?" Jones' eyes twinkled.

Jack snorted and just ate another saltine. Ianto was right; his stomach settled its queasy lurch. 

"What happened down there?"

The infused glow growing in his chest dissipated at Ianto's sober tone. "Told you. Bad dream."

"I believe _I_ told you and you just agreed with me."

Jack glared up at him. "That's because I don't really remember."

"You…you were asking someone to stop," Jones lowered his eyes. "You were saying they were…hurting yo—"

"I don't need a recap!"

Ianto leveled his gaze at him. "Sorry."

Jack huddled deeper into the thick cabled jumper. "I don't remember," he repeated. Jack looked past Jones' shoulders.

"Sir—"

'You should go home," Jack said abruptly. "Don't make Torchwood your life."

"You're living under your office."

Jack shrugged. "Cheaper rent." He stood from his seat. "Thanks for the coffee. Better go home before it gets too late. I'll see you tom—"

"Jack."

It stopped him by the time he reached the hatchway. "I don't remember," he repeated firmly. He squeezed the side of the ladder. Don't ask. Don't ask anymore. 

The sigh made him flinch. "Alright," Ianto said quietly, rising to his feet. "I'll see you in the morning."

Don't go, Jack wanted to scream, but instead, he just nodded curtly. "Good night." Then, after he took another rung, Jack added, "Thanks."

"Sleep well, Jack." And Ianto was gone, but he left the lights on.

Jack had sat on his bed for nearly an hour when he decided sleep would not happen again. Slowly, he climbed back up the ladder and wandered around the Hub. He found, in the kitchen area, a fresh full pot of coffee, a plate of biscuits and Ianto's neat, fragile handwriting that read "For Jack" tacked on a post-it, taped on a clean, striped mug. 

 

**Act III:** _"Nice knowing you, Gwen Cooper."_

"Sorry," Ianto murmured as he clicked 'Delete' and erased PC Cooper's frantic note to herself. He couldn't help but read the increasingly incoherent message and mused that he couldn't imagine anyone being able to forget Jack Harkness.

Tiredly, he shut the light off by the captain's desk and left the office, tapping on his shoulders with a fist. It was hard being hunched over cabinets all day. The vaults, as dark and morbid as they were, were a welcome chance to walk around freely.

Ianto slowed near Owen's desk. It wasn't too late. He should check the vaults again. He felt around for the ever present penlight in his pocket. 

Everyone after Harkness had left with the stunned Cooper had gone home, still chuckling over the poor girl's attempt to infiltrate Torchwood. It was a pitiful effort since normally Ianto would intercept any food deliveries. But he couldn't refuse when Harkness called up to his desk, advising him to just let Cooper in. The mischievous tone followed by a barely stifled giggle reminded him of Harkness in the Torchwood lift, punching every button he could reach; his eyes were wicked and bright as if he took more delight in the laughter than in the act itself. 

Ianto knew he was smiling and had been hard pressed to sound disapproving and reluctant when he agreed to the ruse. He had felt a wave of pity when Cooper meekly entered. She didn't seem too bad if she could make their captain laugh like that again.

The musing smile he wore faded. That time on the lift was the last time he had seen Harkness and that laugh. The captain had looked at him with melancholy and regret as the lift doors closed. Had he known it would be the last time…

"You know when you frown like that, you’ll get wrinkles."

Ianto rolled his eyes at Harkness sitting on their ratty couch, his legs outstretched, one of the pizza boxes on his lap.

"That's been sitting for hours. It's cold," Ianto pointed out while he watched Harkness grab a slice and nibbled at the point. He watched as the captain's pink tongue darted out to catch a string of cheese.

"Do you want?"

Very. Ianto cleared his throat. "Are they both plain?"

Harkness shook the other box at him. "Veggie." He wiggled over to make room. Ianto hesitated before sitting down. He was surprised there was steam when he opened the lid. 

"You heated it up?"

Harkness shrugged. "You don't like to eat anything gone cold." He was down to the crust now.

Ianto didn't think anyone had noticed. Ianto felt a warm gush of pleasure settling in his toes. "You should have heated yours up as well."

"But I was hungry now." The whine made Ianto smirk rather than frown. It faded when he felt Harkness lean closer, that complicated spicy scent of his wafting over to him again. Ianto tensed, his stomach tightening as he resisted the urge to lean in. 

"Is that eggplant?" Harkness peered into his box hopefully. Ianto just chuckled and leaned back into the couch as Harkness plucked out a slice. He peeled off the slices of broccoli though and looked questioningly at Ianto. At Ianto's nod, Harkness put them on another slice for him.

Ianto chewed his slice with extra broccoli slowly. He watched Harkness out of the corner of his eye. The captain finished that slice, again leaving the crust, and sat back. 

"They had no food in the pub," Harkness explained. He looked over to Ianto, his eyes following as Ianto ate his slice. "Is it done?"

Mouth full, Ianto nodded. "Quite impressive actually. She wrote a very lengthy note before I deleted it."

"You just deleted it?" Harkness sounded disappointed. 

Ianto scowled at him. "Yes, I just _deleted_ it."

"You didn't leave any notes or dirty pictures on her computer?"

Ianto wiped his mouth on a napkin. Torchwood had been a poor influence on the captain. "No. Protocols dictate—"

"Aw, forget protocols! Last time we did!"

"Yes, it was also the last time we allowed _Owen_ to be in charge of cleanup after a Retcon," Ianto scolded, ignoring the pout Harkness gave. Don't look, don't look, just eat your pizza. 

"Poor man had a lot of explaining to do to his mother about all those mail orders from that…that…place!"

Harkness darkened. "Owen saw him hit his date when she said no. Trust me, he got away easy."

This time, Ianto looked. Silently, he agreed. "Still…" he just said and finished his slice.

"Oh wait, don't eat the crust!" Harkness grabbed it from Ianto's hands and winked at him. "Watch." The captain whistled sharply in the air.

Their newest addition, a pterodactyl that had washed out of the Rift, flew out of the nest. Ianto blanched, cringing as it dove right at them. He yelped.

Harkness threw up the crusts, laughing as it caught each one, swallowed, did a loop in the air and then flew back to its lofty home.

"Good God, a warning would have been nice!" Ianto stammered, his heart still beating far too fast to be healthy. Bloody hell, he thought he could see its teeth!

"Uh…she's gone, Ianto."

Eh?

Ianto blinked, then realized with growing dismay that he was hunched and pressed up against the captain's right arm, his face up against the fine wool greatcoat still musty from yesterday's rain.

He looked up and met Harkness' gaze. He swallowed, let go—God, he was clutching with both arms like a school girl—and shuffled away until he found he could breathe again.

"Do not do that again," Ianto said shakily as he glowered half-heartedly at Harkness. "I think it left crumbs," he added as he straightened his suit.

Harkness stared at him. He snorted behind a hand and tried to look apologetic. Tried.

"I think this place has been a terrible influence on you, Harkness," Ianto grumbled. "You weren't like this in London."

Something strange crossed over Harkness' expression and he smiled wanly. "Won't happen again," he promised and looked away.

She was right. He spent far too much time in the archives to have any social sense. Ianto could kick himself. "I meant—"

"Any more eggplant in there?" Harkness craned his head to Ianto's box.

Relieved, Ianto opened the lid and took a slice himself, once more laden with extra broccoli courtesy of Harkness.

To Ianto's relief, Harkness ate it with the crust, although it was with a grin to him as he popped the last morsel in his mouth.

"Want something to drink?" Harkness levered off the couch and wandered to their kitchen area. "Coffee?"

"Tea," Ianto called out, panicking at the thought of Harkness trying to wrestle with the machine again. For days after, it wouldn't even boil water. 

Harkness paused and Ianto wondered if there were no more teabags. He was about to tell the captain something different when Harkness emerged with two steaming mugs.

"No tea for you?" Ianto asked, noting the clear contents.

Something odd twisted across Harkness' face. "Sort of lost my taste for it."

Sipping his mug, Ianto pulled it back in surprise. "Loose tea? You are full of surprises." Ceylon, too. It was a tricky steep even Ianto avoided. It always came out too bitter for him. This one even had all the leaves taken out, one sugar to sweeten it perfectly. 

Harkness laughed in a strained tone. "Plenty of practice," he would only offer before he drank his hot water.

It was comforting for some reason to sit there and just drink tea. No one felt compelled to make conversation. Ianto hadn’t felt this way, since—

"A shame about Cooper," Ianto blurted out, feeling a sudden need to fill the relaxed silence. 

Harkness sighed. He poked idly at the empty pizza boxes from the night before. "She didn't run away screaming. Too bad."

"I didn't realize hysterics were a characteristic you were looking for in employees," Ianto murmured.

Laughing, Harkness heaved a sigh. "There's really no place for her here."

"I'll gladly give up my duties on the surface and just stay in the archives—"

"No."

Ianto was taken aback by the decisive reply. "Okay," he said slowly, not sure how to respond. "She could be in charge of feeding our reptile pizza crusts."

Harkness giggled behind his hand. Ianto found himself utterly charmed and also annoyed at himself. There should be nothing charming about a man giggling for God's sake. 

"No," the captain sighed. "We're fine with what we’ve got. And once Suzie gives me the glove costs, I'm shutting down the research for the time being. It'll be the last Cooper hears of us."

"Ah." Ianto took another drink and gave Harkness a sideways glance. It wasn't his business, Ianto told himself. Completely, none of his—

"So…you and Suzie, hm?" Bollocks.

To his surprise, Harkness looked embarrassed. Faint color dusted his cheeks. "Yeah, me and Suzie."

"I suppose congratulations are in order?" The words stuck in his throat.

Harkness shook his head. "Not really. It's…nothing serious." He looked distant for some reason.

Ianto swallowed. "It could be…if you let it be…"

Harkness smiled tightly at him. "What if I wanted it to be someone else?" His eyes looked dark, searching as if peeling Ianto's layers away, striping him until all his secrets came out.

He should say something. Ianto knew he should say something before he sank further, before he could admit to himself how unfair it was.

To his surprise, Harkness broke the moment by looking away. "Timelines," he said hoarsely and got up. 

"It's getting late," Harkness just said as he headed for his office. "Get some rest. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Night," Ianto called out, unsure why he was feeling faintly disappointed. He stared at the door. When the lights went back on, Ianto shook himself out of his reverie. He picked up the pizza boxes, washed the mugs then wandered around the vaults until he could barely keep his eyes open. It helped when he got back to his empty loft. Ianto usually dropped right off to a dreamless sleep that way. 

 

**Act IV:** _"How can you do any other job after this one?"_

It was a report he knew Suzie never meant for them to find until morning. It was tucked in her papers: the police report and the drawing of what SOCO thought the weapon looked like.

The dagger Suzie had.

It was purely by accident. Jack had checked the safe because he realized he had left out something he shouldn't have and found someone else had been accessing the safe. The glove was missing, the reader, the—God.

As soon as he saw her and Gwen Cooper on the CCTV, he bolted past a startled Ianto. As soon as Jack emerged from the lift, she shot him. Without a blink, without even a flinch for the man whose chest she had bitten a trail of nips across just hours before. She just turned and shot him.

Suzie was babbling when he came to. Head shots were the worst. It took longer to shake out of, took longer to focus and there was a twilight of memory and thought that churned inside him. 

"…love this job. How can you leave a job like this…"

Suzie.

"Don't do this…please don't do this…"

Cooper.

"Suzie, put the weapon down."

God, _Ianto_.

"…don't want to do this. It was the only way…"

Jack felt the strength returning to his legs. He opened his eyes. He could see Suzie's legs in front of him. He could blurrily see Ianto's pressed trousers wrinkled under his knees as he knelt in front of Cooper.

"…out of the way, Jones. There's no other way!"

"I can't let you do this!"

"…please, don't…"

"…sorry. I've got to. I've got to."

He pushed up with his palms, quietly standing behind her as he felt the bullet hole closing.

"Put down the gun." Jack heard the two gasps past Suzie and thought that was worse than the fact Suzie now spun around to point the gun at him. "Suzie, it's over. Now, come with me."

"I forgot," Suzie said shakily, her eyes bright. "We never had a chance to time it. I g-guess now we never will."

The lump in his gut clenched and pushed against his heart. "Suzie," he whispered. "Think of what you're doing." Jack opened his hand. "Give me the gun."

The weapon swiveled to the other two again. "You can't die, Captain, but I'm pretty sure _they_ can."

"Oh God…" Cooper was pressed against Jones' back. Jack didn't know whether to applaud him or throttle him.

"One bullet, just like with you and—"

"Suzie!" Jack saw her flinch. His voice gentled to a plea. 

"When you said forever, Suzie," Jack whispered. "I didn't want it like this. Not at this price."

"It's the only way!" Suzie staggered back a step. Ianto tensed, leaning back a little to put Cooper completely behind him.

"I told you," Jack approached her slowly. "You wouldn't want forever."

Suzie stared at him. "No. Maybe you're right." She turned the gun.

" _Suzie_!"

The gunshot was loud, louder than anything else he had heard. Jack dropped to his knees and stared at Suzie's blank eyes as Ianto rushed over. 

"I remember," Cooper breathed all of the sudden as she stared at the dark pool of blood reaching towards her.

I will, too, Jack thought. 

 

**Act V:** _"Is that what alien life is? Filth?"_

Suzie looked peaceful on the table. Jack wondered if everyone looked that way. He was tempted to use the glove and ask her. Suzie would have probably laughed.

"You didn't retcon her." Or me, Ianto left out. Ianto's voice was finally steady after an hour of cleaning the blood off the pavement and a finger of scotch.

"Oh." Jack's voice was dull as he studied Suzie and wondered if she had forever, what would she look for waking up? "I should have done that."

"What happens now?"

Jack absently brushed back a curl from her face. She hated it when it fell across her eyes. No, wait, _used_ to. 

"I'm going to offer her a job." Jack laughed strangely. "Seeing there's a vacancy and all."

Ianto said nothing. Jack looked up, surprised he was still even there at all. Ianto looked at him, his face expressionless. 

"Only Suzie knew." Jack lowered his gaze. "Weevil. I was caught off guard. She saw."

"Ah." Ianto lowered his eyes as well to the clipboard he was scribbling on.

"I should do that," Jack rasped.

Ianto looked up briefly. "I know." 

"Shouldn't you be in the vaults doing…whatever you do down there?" Jack knew he sounded harsh. He couldn't bring himself to care right now. 

Another quick look up. "Not today."

Jack cursed when he felt his eyes burn. He held his breath, tensing, willing the painful and growing lump inside him to stay where it belonged—a stone baby. His alone to carry. 

"She caught me off guard," Jack repeated. 

"I know, Jack."

Why, why did he have to call him Jack _now_? Why couldn't it be sir? Why couldn't he be standing drawers away from him, not this close where he could see that Ianto's eyes held none of the disgust, morbid fascination and disdain he was used to seeing? 

"Don't do this to yourself, Ja—"

"Do what?" Jack hissed out. "I did _nothing_! I didn't see this! I…Damn it, in her own way, I think she was trying to tell me. Why did she want **_forever_**?" Jack staggered back, his hands held up shakily, warding away Ianto. The young man thankfully backed away. 

"Would it be easier if you retcon us?"

Jack's head shot up, his eyes gritty. Easier? No. But maybe it would be easier to see their eyes change in regards to him; it'd remind him not to…hope.

"There were other things missing in the safe." Jack could hear himself talking, could see himself come back to Suzie, but he felt numb. Blissfully numb. 

"Si—"

"Call the others back. Just tell them…tell them what Suzie did…with the glove. Tell them to bring what they took from the safe back." Jack left his fingers curled on the white body bag. "I'll change the codes after them.” He had shared the codes with Suzie. One of his many mistakes.

"And what are _you_ going to do?"

Jack didn't look at him. "I told you before, it wasn't serious," Jack said dully. "She just wanted to…make sure she could still have access to the glove."

"She didn't need to do that to get it."

Jack gritted his teeth. "It was just sex." He could see Jones flinch out of the corner of his eye. Jack didn't care. It was always just sex. The only one that could have been more—Well, Jack only had himself to blame for that.

"Jack."

"Call the others." Jack met his concerned gaze. He wished Ianto would stop pretending. The kindness was harder to swallow. 

"Please."

Ianto made as if to say something again. His shoulders slumped and slowly, he nodded. Ianto hesitated, but Jack didn't look at him, didn't look up as Ianto walked away like he should.

Jack closed his eyes briefly, then ducked his head to hers. "In answer to your question," Jack whispered against her lips. "Yes. I did." Her face blurred as he dipped and pressed his lips against hers. She already felt cold.

Jack pulled up and slowly zipped the bag shut. Slowly, carefully, Jack pushed her drawer in.

The lock snapped shut on door six. Jack set his hands on the drawer and rested his forehead on the painted surface.

"But I guess that wasn't enough," Jack rasped. 

Jack stepped back and very deliberately, turned on his heel. It was time to see someone about a job.


	20. "Day One"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning For This Chapter:** SAPPY...least I think so. :)
> 
>  **Notes For This Chapter:** Note there are parallels to TW's "Fragments" and "Everything Changes" and "Day One".

**Act I**

The captain had sent everyone home for the weekend after Suzie. Everyone, that is, except for Harkness himself. Ianto was certain the captain remained in the Hub, holding fort. Cheaper rent, indeed.

While he appreciated the day off—he still remembered the gun pointed at his head by someone who should have been on their side—he did nothing more than spend Saturday staring blankly at the crates shipped from London. He'd only opened two. One for his suits, the second…

The whiff of jasmine was faint, but still devastating. He slammed the lid down on the contents and found himself shaking, crouched by the wooden box, with his fists jammed over his eyes. He spent all of Saturday huddled by the crate, still in his suit that smelled like bleach and blood, the taste of the scotch Harkness had pressed on him still sour in his mouth. Everything spun in his head in smells, sounds, and the awful blank look Harkness wore after Suzie shot him. 

Ianto didn't look forward to another day like that. After a steaming shower stinging on his back, Ianto changed into a worn cotton t-shirt, his dark denim jeans and grabbed his keys. He avoided looking at the crates as he went out the door.

 

After checking on things down in the vaults, he had intended just to go home. Each day, it was harder and harder to roam the halls, turning from one corridor to the next and inspecting the vaults. It felt too dark, too oppressive these days and rather than the secure feeling of knowing his place and duty that he used to get once he was done, lately he'd felt only more empty and confused.

As he walked past the shops on the Plass to get to his car, one thing after the other caught his eye and suddenly, he was fumbling to get back into the Tourist office.

Ianto yelped as the bags toppled as soon as he set them on the counter. They tilted like dominoes and knocked the outer bag over. He lunged, trying to catch the liter of milk before—

"Got it!" Harkness made a quick lunge worthy of a rugby player and caught the glass bottle before it could shatter. "Didn't think I could actually catch that…" The captain's voice trailed off as he straightened, his hand gripping the head of the bottle. He blinked.

"Afternoon," Ianto stammered. He wondered what Harkness was looking at.

Another blink. "You're out of uniform, Jones." Blue eyes lingered on him, before he coughed awkwardly into his fist and handed over the milk. 

"Ah yes," Ianto took the milk and opened the fridge. He scowled at the contents. Damn Harper and his Chinese food.

"Anything good in there?" Harkness' deep voice rumbled off his ear.

"What?" Ianto turned, found Harkness _too close_ —he could see the ridiculously long lashes that looked like they could caress his cheek—and panicked. He reared back, knocking Harkness on the nose with the back of his head and found himself tripping, stumbling over someone's feet.

A hand slipped around his right arm before he could fall on his behind. Ianto panted, his hands clutching Harkness' steady arm like a bar. He looked up at the captain, who was holding his nose with his other hand.

"Ouch." It was nasal, but the confusion was clear. Blood was streaming between his fingers. "There wouldn't happen to be any ice in there, too?"

Oh Christ. Ianto hurried the captain up the steps to the couch, ran back to save the rest of his wares, got an ice pack from the kit above the fridge, and a rag. By the time he was done, Ianto was winded. He breathlessly extended the cold compress to the captain.

"Thanks." Harkness gingerly dabbed the bridge of his nose with the compress.

"You need to press down hard," Ianto pointed out.

"But then it'll hurt." Harkness winced, still dabbing, still muttering "Ouch, ouch, ouch" as the compress made contact. 

Ianto rolled his eyes as he reached over. "Here, let me."

The captain balked. "What? No, no, no, I got it!" He leaned away, one hand waving at him. "I'm fine."

"Don't be a child. Just apply pressure on it and…" Ianto's words petered off when he pulled off the compress. Tentatively, he touched the unblemished bridge of Harkness' nose. He couldn't find the dent and it looked like it had stopped bleeding as well.

Harkness watched him warily. Gently, he pushed Ianto away. 

"Like I said," the older man rasped. "It's fine."

Stunned, Ianto sat down next to him with a thump, the cold compress warming in his hands.

"Huh," he just said.

Harkness snorted. "Okay, that was one reaction I didn't expect."

Ianto gave him a sideways glance. There was a wary tint of fear in the captain's eyes, tracking him as if waiting for a blow.

The realization made him ill. Ianto swallowed and thought carefully of what he was going to say. 

"Well," Ianto said slowly, "you will definitely not be needing our company medical insurance then."

Harkness gaped at him and Ianto feared he had chosen wrong. But then, Harkness turned his head away and laughed.

Exhaling, relieved, Ianto sat back on the couch. His relief was short-lived, however, when he realized Harkness' laugh sounded off.

"I'd never been complimented on my wit," Ianto said awkwardly when Harkness finally stopped. 

Ianto noticed Harkness' eyes were red-rimmed. His smile was brittle. 

"Well, you should never do stand up."

Ianto covered his dismay with a loud scoff. "I've been told I can be very entertaining if I wanted to be."

"I believe it," the captain said warmly. He sighed, leaned forward and pinched a spot between his eyes that should have still hurt from being broken.

Ianto sat back and studied Harkness. He noted the ragged air that hung on the captain. He frowned when he realized there was more blood on his shirt and scalp than warranted for a broken nose.

Harkness noticed where his gaze was. His eyes shifted. "There were a couple of alerts yesterday."

A chill traveled down his spine. "Alerts? What sort of alerts? Who did you call in?" Why hadn't he called him?

Harkness rose to his feet, tossing the compress up and down in his fist like a softball. "Was there anything edible in there? I missed dinner."

Ianto stared at him as the captain poked his head into the fridge. "You didn't call anyone in, did you?"

The shrug made his stomach clench. 

"I gave you all the weekend off." Harkness glanced over his shoulder. "Just Weevils." He quickly turned back around towards the appliance. "Hey, how long ago was this curry?"

"Long enough to give you food poisoning if you try to smell it," Ianto muttered.

"Pfft. Food poisoning? Please. I'd have far wor—"

"So we're really not going to talk about this then?" Ianto blurted out. Harkness stilled.

"What's there to talk about?" Harkness sounded bitter. "I can't die."

"And apparently you heal very fast," Ianto added.

"Yes, I'm a frea—" Harkness stopped. 

Ianto frowned. "Sir?" When Harkness didn't answer, Ianto lowered his voice. "Jack?"

"Is…is this going to be a problem now?"

Ianto wondered why the other man sounded resigned. 

"No," Ianto said slowly. "I don't think so." He thought it better not to lie. "Sit down."

"Why?"

It bothered Ianto to hear his captain so wary. It bothered him even more when Harkness approached him like a wounded animal.

I won't hurt you. Ianto blinked at what his gut wanted to say to Harkness. Of course he wouldn't hurt him. Why on Earth did he feel compelled to say so?

He didn't though, staying where he was until Harkness sat down a space away. He jerked away when Ianto leaned towards him, his hands reaching.

"What are you doing?"

"It's alright," Ianto murmured. "I just want to check."

"I'm fine."

"Then it wouldn't hurt for me to see, hm?" Ianto knelt on his knees on the couch as he bowed over Harkness, his fingers parting his hair where the drying blood was. He didn't find anything and Harkness fidgeted like a restless toddler. He poked the captain on the shoulder, silently encouraging him to shed his coat. Ianto almost wished he hadn't. It was a lot of blood.

"You said Weevils?" Ianto nudged the captain to lower his head and checked his back. Even the braces were soaked into a darker red. 

"Yes." Harkness sounded muffled against him. 

"You could have called any of us."

"I've hunted them down alone before."

His eyes stung at the flat response. "You have Owen and Toshiko. You have me. Gwen Cooper's coming in to work tomorrow. You're not alone, sir."

"Uh huh," Harkness muffled skeptically. 

Ianto sat down on the couch and looked at him exasperated. "There's a lot of blood." He gestured towards the general area.

The captain didn't even look. He shrugged. "Hell on my wardrobe but usually it passes."

Ianto tracked the blood on his collar and the red smear over his heart. He swallowed. When he looked up, Harkness was considering him sadly.

"I won't say this doesn't bother me…" Ianto waved a hand towards him. "But no, I don't think this is going to be a problem."

Harkness didn't look reassured. "Okay."

"I do have questions though," Ianto warned, but he smiled. 

The other relaxed minutely. "I can't answer everything."

Ianto smirked. "Fair enough. I'll need a bigger allowance for your dry cleaning as well. Whatever are they going to say?"

Harkness stared at him, speechless. Ianto smiled, got to his feet and went back to the kitchen area. "I think the moo shu pork is still good, if you want, sir. And I replenished our supplies of biscuits if you’d like some. Maybe some sweet tea?" The sugar should be good for blood loss. There was an alarming amount on his shirt.

"So…" Harkness said slowly. "So, that's _it_?" 

Ianto paused, a take away container in his hands. He gave it some thought. "Yup. I believe so for now, sir." He ducked his head under the counter to find some dishes. He popped his head up again.

"I'll warn you if I feel the urge to have hysterics though."

The answering chuckle made him smile as he ducked his head back into the fridge. He did say he had missed dinner. Hm, he remembered seeing some cake in here.

 

Ianto had guessed right and he now sat comfortably cross-legged on the couch facing Harkness, who was having the leftover mocha cake instead of the reheated moo shu pork.

"That," Ianto announced, waving a fork smudged with fudge at him. "Is not dinner. Eat the moo shu first."

"It smelled like feet," Harkness returned as he licked the frosting off his thumb.

"Maybe that's because you took your boots off," Ianto muttered, transfixed on the thumb as it slid into Harkness' lush mouth. Oh good God. Ianto ducked his head, his face flaming.

"Hey," Harkness complained as he stretched out his legs in front of him. Ianto was glad that at least the time traveler could smell normally like every other disgusting, sweaty male on the planet. He wasn't glad by that much though.

"Really," Ianto screwed up his face and made a show of waving his hand in front of him.

"You trying running down smelly sewers all night and let's see if _you_ smell like a rose," Harkness complained.

"Oh, is that what that was?" Ianto said innocently. "I thought Owen left out one of his alien corpses."

Harkness growled. Ianto gestured his fork at the food, lips pressed together disapproving. Grumbling, the captain picked up the plate.

As he watched Harkness eat, Ianto reviewed what the captain had just said. He sobered.

"Was that what you were doing last night?" Ianto said quietly. He dropped his fork onto his plate. "Chasing Weevils through Cardiff's underground by yourself?"

Harkness shrugged. "Couldn't sleep."

Ianto could still taste the bile in his mouth from when he had found Harkness huddled against the toilet. "Nightmares?

There was a pause, only noticeable if anyone was looking for it. And Ianto was. 

"No." The captain went back eating. "Just couldn't sleep."

"Ah." Ianto concentrated on his cake, licking the thick gooey frosting off his fork, and looking up only to find Harkness staring. Ianto ducked his head and focused on the last bit of cake.

"I said I had questions," Ianto murmured, only because he could sense Harkness still staring. "Can I ask one now?"

"Already? But I haven't even had dessert yet."

Ianto pursed his lips and gestured towards the cake. "That's because you ate it first."

The captain laughed. His hands went up in a "you win" gesture. He wiggled around and mimicked Ianto; sitting cross-legged and facing him on the couch. His greatcoat was draped behind him in a spill of wool. Turned, Ianto now had a clear view of his shirt, revealing the angry, blood-covered, macabre tie-dye that wrapped around his torso.

Ianto swallowed. "What happened to you?"

Harkness shrugged. "The rift alarm only showed one Weevil, but turned out there were already two lurking—"

"I wasn't talking about last night."

The captain sighed. "I know." He stared at his lap. After a moment, he took a deep breath.

Ianto was beginning to wish he hadn't asked, but it was a foot already into the devil's door. "Were you born this way?"

"No." Harkness rounded back his shoulders and met Ianto's gaze. "Something happened to me. I died. For real. Then…I came back to life and ever since…" The captain wouldn't look at him anymore. "I can't be killed."

The thought that Harkness had died at one point bothered Ianto more than he expected. Throat suddenly dry, Ianto managed out, "Not ever?"

"Funny, Gwen asked me that same question."

Oh, it's _Gwen_ now. Ianto blinked at himself. Where did _that_ come from? Ianto frowned inwardly and cleared his throat. 

"But how?" 

"I don't know." Harkness looked haunted. There was a brief glimpse of anguish and so many indescribable emotions in his gaze. 

It felt like Ianto was looking into a mirror. 

Ianto felt something in his chest loosening, his body recognizing what his mind could not. He lowered his eyes, caught off guard and confused as to how to respond to the dark myriad of grief Harkness mirrored on his face. 

"When you said treatment," Ianto murmured and saw Harkness stiffen in memory. "Was it for this? For…uh…your…"

"My _condition_?" Harkness spat out. He ran a hand through his hair. "Yes. He thought Torchwood Institute might help." The captain set aside his plate, half-eaten, it was clear on his face that his appetite was lost. "Hartman sounded so sure."

Ianto didn't miss the shudder the other tried to hide. "Well, she always thought London was the world's savior. Not surprising she thought we could handle it." Distaste curled up his lip. "Took the near destruction of the world to cow us. God, we were all fools."

"Don't," Harkness said quietly. 

Ianto blinked.

"Don't lump yourself in with them. You weren't like Hartman or some of the others." Gratitude brightened Harkness' eyes. " _I_ nearly brought on the end of the world because we thought…" He looked away. "Anyway, it didn't fix me."

"I don't see anything that needs to be fixed," Ianto told him seriously. His chest ached when Harkness looked completely startled. 

"Yes, well," Harkness said gruffly. "Luckily, you're not my doctor or we would all be in trouble." He untangled his legs and stretched.

"No," Ianto murmured with a regret that surprised him. "I'm not your doctor."

The two looked at each other just then, each about to say something. But Ianto forgot what he was going to say. He observed Harkness' gaze darkening upon him, intense and mesmerizing. His breath stuttered out, his words died out, and all he could do was look and ache. 

Then, something shuttered across Harkness' face; longing and puzzlement switched off abruptly to the pleasant, jovial smile one would expect from a friend you come across on the street. It was sudden; Ianto found he was able to breathe again, inhaling sharply with a whoosh. Ianto blinked rapidly—it felt like he had held his breath for too long—and eyed Harkness as he gathered up the plates for the trash. As Harkness balanced everything that would be the envy of jugglers, Ianto spied the red splattered shirt once more.

"Take off your shirt," Ianto blurted out.

Dishes crashed to the floor. 

Ianto grimaced. Okay, probably not the most tactful way to approach it. Harkness peered over the counter, warily.

"Those stains," Ianto said hurriedly because Harkness looked too ready to comply and damned if Ianto, for some reason, didn't find the idea intriguing as well. "We need to soak them or they'll never come out."

Harkness' expression was a cross of comical relief and disappointment. Ianto wasn't sure which one he was glad for. "Dry cleaning will get it out."

Ianto snorted. "Yes, it will, but unfortunately it will also mean me being surrounded by a brigade of police because I drop them off everyday." He made a telephone gesture by his ear and narrowed his voice to a funny squeak. "Hello? CID? There's an unassuming man dropping off bloody shirts in our shop. I think he's an axe _murderer_. Oh, yes and I believe his name is Stanley."

Harkness' head dropped below the counter as he began laughing, a good deep down belly laugh that warmed Ianto's insides. Moments later, a tattered blue shirt popped up and waved like a white flag.

"Fine." Harkness giggled in a way Ianto couldn't ever find fault with. He rose to his feet and tossed the shirt over. Ianto caught it with a grimace.

"It smells like the bloody loo—oh sorry." Ianto grinned cheekily at Harkness' glower as he pulled his braces back over an equally blood splattered undershirt. 

"Anything else?" Harkness asked archly. "This shirt?" He bared his teeth and waggled his eyebrows. "My trousers?"

That glimpse of a pale curve in a dark ship still taunted him. Ianto sputtered. "No, keep your pants on, Harkness!"

The captain clasped both hands on his chest. "Words to break my heart by, Ianto Jones." 

Ianto wished he didn't sound so serious when he said that. Ianto huffed as he rose. "Yes, well, I'll go home and soak this. Try not to have any more solo hunts, please, sir? This could really hamper your wardrobe."

"Yes, sir," Harkness saluted sloppily with a grin. His hand lowered. "Ianto?"

Ianto froze midway down the steps.

"Today's Sunday. What were _you_ doing here?"

Closing his eyes, Ianto stood at the cog door. "Nothing really. Thought I would catch up on the archives and the vaults." It was the truth at least.

"Ianto," the captain sighed. Ianto flinched. "How about we make a deal? I do less Weevil hunts by myself and you spend less time alone in the vaults. Deal?"

He was afraid to look at him. Ianto nodded stiffly. "I'll see you tomorrow." He left without waiting for the captain to say goodbye. 

The drive home was a blur, Harkness' bloody shirt a wad of fabric on his lap. He again avoided looking at the crates, heading straight for the bathroom where he dozed lightly by the tub as he let the shirt soak. 

A buzz on his mobile woke Ianto up to a tub full of pinkish tepid water, the captain's shirt sunken to the bottom, and a brisk voicemail about a meteor heading towards Cardiff. 

 

 **Act II :** _"You know, strictly speaking, throttling the staff is my job."_

Jack bounded up the steps back to the meeting room, still chuckling over the anecdote they had just shared over some Chinese. He felt unusually sated despite the fact that there was some sex-crazed alien possessing a human girl in their cells. Oh well, wasn’t anything worse than some of his dates during his younger years. Hell, even back in the early 20th century, he’d met an insatiable man by the name of Oscar W—

"…is not the code of a straight man."

Jack froze by the glass door and ducked behind the blinds that sheltered one window. .

"I think it suits him, sort of classic," Gwen replied to Owen before she crunched a shrimp chip. Someone mumbled an agreement.

"Exactly. I've watched him in action. He'll shag anything if it's gorgeous enough."

That was Toshiko and he knew it wasn't spoken with any malicious intent, but Jack swallowed hard anyway. Companion, someone whispered hotly in his ear. Jack absently rubbed the skin hidden under his wrist strap. 

"Technically, all you've seen was flirting."

Jack blinked at Ianto's defensive return.

"Oh please," Owen snorted. "Everywhere he goes blinking his pretty blue eyes, he's eye shagging."

Jack peered at his reflection behind the blinds. Since when did Owen think his eyes were pretty? Well, well, Dr. Harper…

"Excuse me, _eye shagging_?" Ianto sounded like he was choking. Jack grinned, imagining Ianto, a paper napkin tucked into his collar, sputtering over his tea.

"Eye shagging," Owen repeated in a voice Jack labeled as "Are you stupid?" The beer bottle went klunk on the glass table. "You know, when you're undressing someone with your eyes."

"Well, then don't look at _me_!" Ianto huffed.

"Don't look at me either!" Toshiko squeaked.

"What? I'm not doing it _now_. I'm saying _he_ is!"

"Look this way, Harper, and it won't be a chisel I throw at you this time!" Gwen growled. 

Jack clapped a hand over his mouth while the others snickered over Owen's grumbling. 

"Nevertheless, that doesn't count as shagging," Ianto said primly when everyone calmed down.

Owen grunted.

"We know he's from America, right?" Gwen pointed out.

Jack tilted his head and arched an eyebrow. He didn't think he came off as one.

"We don't even know that for sure."

Toshiko's chair creaked when she lowered her voice but Jack could still hear her. "No US citizen by the name of Jack Harkness born in the last fifty years."

Need to go ahead, no, go forward a few thousand years, no, maybe _back_ eighty years, Jack thought, folding his arms in front of his chest.

"Maybe his identity is classified."

You could say that, Jack mused. Maybe because he was almost a century old, but instead of feeling annoyed, all Jack could feel was amusement. God, they were cute like this. 

"What about you?" Toshiko asked abruptly.

"Me?"

Jack tensed.

"You were from London. So was Jack. All we know is you both worked for London."

"You mean Canary Wharf?" Gwen perked up. Jack could imagine the PC in her listening with interest. 

Jack closed his eyes when he heard Owen clear his throat.

"Eight _hundred_ people, Tosh. You think Jonesy here and our captain would have crossed paths?"

" _Jones_." Jack could see him bristling. He smiled to himself.

"Whatever. Seriously, Tosh."

"No, I suppose you're right."

Jack wasn't sure if it was a good thing Ianto neither denied nor confirmed anything.

"Used to be something big in the CIA to hide a name," Ianto said hesitantly. 

"Oh, like a spy?" Toshiko brightened.

"Ooh," Gwen seemed to like that idea. "Like Pierce Bronson, maybe?"

"Or Craig," Toshiko giggled.

" _Craig_? I can't really see him as Bond, do you?"

" _Christ_ , Cooper. Don't get her started!" Owen growled.

Jack smirked. A spy, huh? He would have to remember to tell them about when the Gestapo had caught him crossing enemy lines. He'd escaped after sharing a cigarette with a very dark and han—

His smile faded. That was over sixty years ago. Not something he could drop in a conversation. 

"Anyway, he must have his reasons for wanting to keep things secret," Gwen reasoned.

You have no idea, Jack thought sadly. He waited for Owen to finish before waltzing in. He bit back a smile when everyone went back to eating like guilty little school children.

Okay, forget cute. Sometimes, they could be downright _adorable_. 

 

 **Act III :** _"Need me to do any attacking, sir?"_

Ianto could feel Gwen and Toshiko zipping past him, but he could care less. He spun around to where Harkness had vaulted over the counter where the mysterious jar had smashed and found the captain cradling the hand—God, it was still moving—and looking quite ill.

"Sir?" Ianto asked. Harkness shuddered, rousing himself.

"I-I need another stasis jar," the captain said, his voice brisk, but there was an edge of panic. It was that which Ianto reacted to more than the order.

"Owen has one in his lab." Ianto barely finished before Harkness bolted for the hidden door, not even checking to see if Ianto was following.

Ianto slammed his palm down on the button to lock the outside door and tapped his earpiece impatiently to tell Owen to have one ready. He barely was in time to duck into the lift before the door shut. 

Harkness said nothing, both hands holding the hand like a baby, and Ianto _knew_ right then and there what it really was.

"It's his, isn't it?" Ianto asked.

His eyes were wild when Harkness glanced over. He just nodded brusquely and leaned back against the lift wall. His arms went tighter around it, his shoulders hunched over it. Ianto couldn't watch anymore and faced front. 

"Owen's getting it ready right now," Ianto said quietly.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Harkness nod again, but the wildness was thankfully receding. By the time the door opened, Owen was already there with a jar, its top open, ready to receive the morbid limb.

 

It would have been funny to see Captain Jack Harkness pace if it weren't so sad.

From the kitchen area, Ianto tracked the captain stalking the outside of the infirmary as Owen adjusted his calibrations.

"Owen!"

Ianto jumped at the sharp tone, nearly spilling the mug's contents.

"Just about," Owen shot back from down in the well of the medical bay, his tone more annoyed than anxious like Harkness'.

"Sit," Ianto said hushed as he set the tray down by the couch.

Harkness gave it a cursive look. "I don't want tea."

"It's coffee—"

" _I don't want coffee either_!"

"Oi!" Owen hollered from his area. "I can't get anything done with you prowling about like an expectant father! This is tricky shit! It'll be ready when it's ready!"

"Owen…"

Ianto's eyes burned at the barely hidden plea. Owen heard as well and when he spoke again, his voice had softened a fraction.

"Just sit, drink Jonesy's coffee and save me a cup."

"Jack." Ianto patted the couch next to him.

The captain stopped, spun around, his eyes darting back and forth until they fell on where Ianto had indicated. Reluctantly, while looking over his shoulder, Harkness sat down next to him. He didn't take the drink immediately. He dropped his head into his hands.

"I should have just shot her," his voice cracked. He blinked blearily at the mug in front of him. Harkness took a deep, steadying breath before taking it.

"Thanks," he rasped before draining it. Harkness gnawed on his thumbnail, looking over to the medical bay.

"You've had that jar since I got here," Ianto remembered. "How—"

"Rift," Harkness just said. "Minute I saw it, I _knew_. I just knew it was his."

There was a little, dark, piece of him that was glad someone had lopped a piece off the mysterious being. It was mortifying to feel this way, especially when Harkness was still staring pensively at the archway that led to the infirmary. 

"What do you think happened?"

"What else? He got himself in trouble again, that's what," Harkness muttered, exasperated. "He would get into the weirdest bits of trouble in the fastest amount of time I’ve ever seen of anyone."

Ianto hid his smile behind his mug. "Sounds familiar." 

Harkness snorted to himself. "He was better at the getting into trouble thing. One time, we were just checking a flower market. Just flowers, for Pete's sake, then we turn around and he was caught up in an anti-government riot simply because he stopped to ask how much."

Chuckling, Ianto could imagine Harkness' expression. "We?"

"Yeah. Me and Ro…" Harkness looked down on his boots and sighed. "Me and Rose," he clarified in a lower voice. 

Ianto sobered. "Oh." He cleared his throat. "Then the jar's…"

"A detector," Harkness answered.

"To let you know when he's coming?" Ianto guessed. His throat tightened when Harkness nodded after a moment's hesitation.

"Can I ask you a question now?" Ianto murmured. 

The captain looked over. Understanding dawned on him at Ianto's look. "Oh, _that_ kind of question. Sure." Despite his consent, Harkness looked apprehensive.

Ianto lowered his voice. He swallowed when Harkness drew closer to hear and that complex odor of his that brewed funny feelings in his belly was back to confuse him. 

"You…I saw a file from 1908…" Ianto paused. "Back in London and another…in 1941."

Harkness said nothing, but he looked at Ianto silently. And it occurred to Ianto his eyes were too limitless for his face.

"You didn't really time travel to those times. You…you _lived_ through them," Ianto murmured. He turned back to his mug and found his hand shaking too much to dare take a drink and turned back. 

Harkness looked sad, sorrowful, and suddenly very weary. 

" _This_ , this is what you think the Doctor needs to fix." Ianto exhaled at his slow nod. "But he'd left…" At the anguish that flashed across Harkness' face, Ianto didn't continue that thought. "How long are you willing to wait?"

"Forever," Harkness rasped. He smiled bitterly at him. "I can afford to, right?"

 

 **Act IV :** _"One more, make me feel alive."_

Jack stood there, fists on his hips and surveyed the cell. Ianto Jones, oblivious, was on his hands and knees, checking the cell they kept the girl in for anything that needed to be sanitized.

It was unfair, Jack mused as the younger man ducked to peer under the bench, how good someone can look in a suit. Trousers stretched appealingly in front of him as Ianto dipped his head and peered and…

Jack couldn't take it any more. "You know, people would pay good money for this."

With a yelp, Ianto jerked up, banged his head on the bottom of the bench. He dropped the rag and clasped both hands on top of his head.

Oops. "Sorry," Jack managed, _trying_ to sound sorry. "You okay?" He ducked into the cell and hunched over Ianto, bracing his hands on his knees. "That looked like it hurt."

Ianto glowered up to him, looking peeved. "It _did_."

Jack winced. "Sorry," he said more sincerely.

"You have a very irritating habit of sneaking up on people." Ianto took Jack's help. He glared at him as soon as he straightened up. "Wear a bell."

"Doesn't go with the outfit. See?" Jack quipped. He opened his arms wide and flapped open his greatcoat. To his surprise, Ianto actually _did_ look, his eyes going up and down before he averted his gaze quickly to the glass wall.

I think that was what Owen called eye shagging, Jack mused. There had been an odd thrill that had trailed his skin along Ianto's downward gaze. It was definitely a feeling he had missed for so long, it felt almost new. It had always been different. Measuring, calculating, dissecting. There was nowhere to go to evade such a gaze. He walked behind the Doctor in London, feeling it everywhere he went. Even now, with Gwen, Jack felt it sometimes. Gwen couldn't help herself though. It was that exact unafraid and inquisitive nature that he had sought out for Torchwood.

It's only natural she would be curious about a freak like me, Jack thought, sinking back into the odd haze of _not there_ that had been lingering since Suzie proved to be like everyone else.

_Thrum-thrum-tap-tap…_

Jack wished it would leave him alone for a moment, just a moment. It came as regular and present as a pulse, predictable and always there. It was like it came out just to chide him, to shake an invisible finger, saying, "see?" because Jack was foolish enough to think maybe this time, maybe this one, he could offer forever, and someone would take it gladly. 

Three people died for his naiveté. No, wait, four. He didn't include Suzie.

Gloom abruptly slammed into him catching him by surprise. Enough so that he stumbled.

Hands gripped his arms, ready to twist and slam him over the console and he wanted this because it was with him, but he didn't want this because it shouldn't be like this with him—

"Jack!"

With a gasp, pain, fear, confusion and the soup of _wrong, freak, abomination_ evaporated and cleared to a close up of Ianto Jones' face.

When he saw Jack was looking back at him, Jones relaxed but he didn't let go. 

"It's alright," Ianto said soothing. It was always the same, always Ianto's low, smooth voice pouring over his raw senses. 

"Sorry," Jack managed and tried to step back, but Ianto's hands just tightened.

"Hold on," Ianto murmured. "Catch your breath. You're white as a sheet."

"Fast healer, remember?" Jack tried again. Ianto was too close, their chests almost touching as the younger man must have lunged forward when he tottered.

"It isn't instantaneous, though." Jones' voice was almost dreamy. Jack blinked towards it. "You can allow yourself the luxury."

But that was the thing, Jack thought desperately. He _can't_. He can't stay here being held by someone that felt more than the universe, more than life itself, with a gaze that looked back at him untainted, unchanging despite knowing what he truly was. But then he didn't really know; he didn't know how _he_ had tried to fix Jack and it just wouldn't work. _Nothing_ worked and he was still here, still fixed, unnatural, alone, _oh God_ , so alone and left behind again because he was just too unbearable to stay with.

Ianto stood closer and his heat seeped into Jack's body like a furnace. Numb limbs loosened and he trembled. Ianto drew him closer and Jack fell against him.

On contact, Jack moaned, feeling a heated swell against his hip. He jerked in surprise when he realized Ianto hadn't pulled away, but had stepped in _closer_. 

Ianto looked up, his lips slightly apart, his hands now gripping Jack's upper arms like he needed the support to stay upright. His eyes were murky, opaque as he gazed up at Jack, his chest breathing hard against him. Jack could feel Ianto's stomach expanding and contracting against him, his heavy suit riffling against his shirt, creating a delicious friction that made Jack bite his lower lip. 

"Ianto," Jack breathed. His head spun and the instinctual fear of falling made his arms move up, resting on Ianto's narrow hips. He stared at the younger man. Ianto’s gaze was fixed on his mouth, his lips parted as if he wanted to whisper something. A glimpse of pink that flicked across his lower lip sent a pool of heat to Jack's groin.

Jack staggered back against the wall, his breathing ragged as he felt Ianto follow. They both grunted as the impact inadvertently slammed them together. Ianto's body was now flushed against him, a wool trouser covered knee pressed between his legs, his exposed throat too tempting to ignore. The swell he could feel even through his own trousers moved, rubbing against his hip, towards the center to his crotch and Jack could barely suppress a whimper as Ianto moved closer.

The hot breath against his collarbone made his knees wobble. Jack leaned back heavily against the wall as he felt Ianto bury his nose under his jaw and take a deep inhale as if trying to soak up Jack's scent. Jack felt the smooth jaw rub against his and felt a tentative nibble to his earlobe. 

It was with a final groan that Jack pressed his face into the crook of Ianto's neck, his hands buried into Ianto's thick, dark hair. His blood sang and another groan caught in his throat as Ianto's lips now traced his Adam's apple like a fine brush. Jack felt Ianto's hands release his arms, lowering as they experimentally squeezed his sides, descending to the curve of his rear and Jack parted his legs because it felt like he would burs—

_"Uh...you blokes do know that that Carys girl's pheromones haven't completely dissipated in there yet?"_

Ianto tensed. His head shot up, his eyes huge in what could only be complete mortification and the younger man let Jack go like he was a burning match. He leapt back in a hop that took him clear to the other side of the cell. Jack glared up at the CCTV.

"Owen, if you're recording this…" Jack threatened. At the strangled sound behind him, Jack spun around. Ianto was fixing his tie, his face flushed.

_"Christ, Kirk. Did you try to kiss the Weevil, too?"_

"Owen!" Ianto snarled. "Pray it's _coffee_ I serve you tomorrow!" He ran a hand through his hair.

_"Come off it, Jonesy. I don't care who you snog. But you did get the girls pretty excited."_

"What?"

Jack winced and stuck a finger in his ear. That was a high note. 

_"I didn't record it even when the girls wanted to,"_ Owen went on to say. 

" _What_?"

Okay, _that_ was a high note.

The PDA in Jack's pocket jittered. Jack pulled it out and groaned. Punching it, a tiny icon of video popped up, along with the caption, "I lied" under it. 

"Uh…" Jack raised his handheld towards Ianto. Ianto stared at it, his jaw visibly tightening and he spun sharply on his heels out of the cell.

"Owen," Jack looked up towards the closed circuit camera.

There were hasty sounds coming from the wall-attached speaker. _"Right. See you in the morning, Jack. Bye."_

Before Owen signed off, Jack could have sworn he heard running. 

He exhaled and looked around him. Jack dropped down onto the bench.

Close call. 

"Good thing you interrupted," Jack muttered, peering up at the CCTV.

"I think." 

 

**Act V**

He should have gotten a flat in a building that had a basement.

Ianto sat by her crate, the scent of jasmine filling his head. It was his penance for…for…

Ianto buried his face in his folded arms. 

" _This_ you would find funny, too," Ianto complained. "Captain Kirk has done it again!"

The crate, like many times before, didn't answer. No matter. They were just things. 

"I miss you," Ianto murmured. He grimaced, guilt twisting his face. "I shouldn't talk to you like this. It isn't right, but _God_ , I wish you were here right now. I really need to talk to you."

Inside the crate were her sweaters, soft shirts and her favorite skirts. He had packed them between sheets of tissue paper and, in a moment of weakness, had slipped in a dried bunch of jasmine tied together with a hair ribbon. It was from when she still had long hair, before she cut it off. 

She had shown up at the university to surprise him. She had cornered him in a dark, quiet, solitary alcove under the Persian history section. It was a spot he had always savored for studying. 

Ianto's face crumbled and he took one steadying breath after another. It wasn't the same. Pheromones, Owen had said. Bloody pheromones from when that trapped girl had been imprisoned there. Gwen Cooper had succumbed so of course it was only logical that it would affect anyone else in the room. He didn't betray her. He _didn't_. Anyone in there would have…

Tried to snog Captain Jack Harkness. 

Ianto rested his head back against the crate, staring blankly at the ceiling and fought desperately to remember her laugh.

"Ianto?"

The deep voice, the last voice he wanted to hear right now, was in his living room. Ianto jumped. The shadow that stood in the center of the room was too familiar to hope it was a burglar.

"I, uh, I knocked." Harkness stammered, so unlike him, that Ianto stared. "I knew you were home and I knocked and knocked…" The shadow fidgeted in the dark. "Are you okay? Because I—"

"You knocked." Ianto rasped, his throat was so dry. How long had he been sitting here? 

"Yeah…many times."

"Sorry." Ianto sniffed loudly as he got to his feet. "Didn't hear you. Sit. Do you want coffee?"

"Uh, Ianto?"

Ianto paused by the steps to the kitchen area.

"Sit where?"

Luckily, it was too dark to see him blush. "God, sorry. I haven't had time to buy furniture yet."

"Well, maybe if you weren't spending so much time down in the vaults," Harkness said lightly.

It wasn't Harkness' fault, but Ianto's temper flared. "Well, someone needs to be down there!"

The stunned silence was painful.

Harkness could be heard running his tongue across his lips. Footsteps made for the door. "Look, this is a bad time. I shouldn't have—"

Ianto heaved a weary sigh and the other stopped. "I'm sorry. I…I didn't mean to yell." He gestured towards the back wall and the only piece of furniture he had put up. "There are a couple of folding chairs against the wall."

Lit, the woeful state of his studio flat was even more obvious. Save for a shelf unit for his books and DVDs and his bed, his flat was stark. The walls had yet to be painted and Ianto couldn't find enough interest to pick out a floor covering. The crates that dotted the space covered enough of its surface to hide its ugly yellowing planks. 

Harkness looked around him with interest. He dwarfed the tiny foldout chair, with his legs drawn up too close and his coat fanned out around him like a cape. Yet he seemed content to sit there while Ianto set a tray of coffee and desserts on another chair. Ianto opted to sit on the floor himself, his back propped up against a crate for fortitude.

One sniff into the offered mug and the captain cocked an eyebrow towards him.

"No time to buy furniture, yet you had time to buy what you need to make coffee?"

Ianto shrugged. "I have my priorities."

"Mm, if I could make coffee the way you do, this would be my priority, too."

Ianto waved away the praise. "Just takes time to brew, is all."

"Anything longer than now, now, now, is too long for me," Harkness quipped.

Ianto laughed. "Which is _exactly_ why you are not going near that coffee maker."

"Hey, _I_ got you that coffee maker!"

"Which I do appreciate, but hands off or I'll use that alien cage Owen keeps sneaking out of the Hub!"

The chuckles sounded nice in the flat, swelling and lingering even when the smiles they shared faded.

"So," Harkness began.

"So," Ianto echoed.

"I'm sorry."

It was too simultaneous to know who went first, but Ianto followed it with a mild frown. 

"Why are you apologizing?" Ianto asked. He fidgeted and avoided Harkness' eyes. "I _snogged_ you."

"I didn't _stop_ you," Harkness pointed out. "And it wasn't snogging, it was casual…wrestling."

Ianto raised a brow at him. "Wrestling?" he repeated dubiously.

Harkness beamed. "Wrestling." He took a sip of his coffee before adding, "And for the record, I could have taken you." The captain cleared his throat. "I mean…you do know it was those pheromones…" 

"Of course," Ianto agreed hastily. " _Alien_ pheromones."

"Because you and I, we're not—"

"No, no, no, of course not!"

"Though you can now honestly say that aliens made you do it," Harkness' grin was contagious.

Ianto snorted. "That makes me feel _so_ much better." Ianto drank his coffee.

"How are you, Ianto?"

Ianto met the worried gaze. Harkness wore a wariness again that didn't sit well in his gut. 

Harkness swirled the contents in his mug. "I mean," he murmured as he stared into the ceramic. "First, you find out I'm a freak, then we—"

"I don't think you're a freak," Ianto interrupted. 

The scoff from Harkness made his heart ache.

"I don't," Ianto repeated.

Blue eyes that looked abnormally bright in the dim lighting considered him. Harkness gazed at him with that eerie intensity that Ianto often thought could see everything inside. _Everything_. But he didn't look away. For some reason, something told him _not_ look away.

"You really don't, do you?" Harkness appeared a little awed, a little unsettled and he broke contact. The room seemed to dim at the loss. 

"Would now be a good time to ask you another question?" Ianto asked softly.

Harkness gave him a sideways glance. "Good a time as any."

"How old are you really?"

There was a pause; a strange look Ianto suddenly realized wasn't discomfort. Harkness really didn't know.

"I think…" Harkness chewed his lower lip as he calculated. "I was thirty two when I died the first time…"

Now there's something that wouldn't be in normal conversations, Ianto mused.

"I arrived 1869…left 1941…" Harkness brightened. "A hundred and four. Give or take."

"Damn." That came out before he could stop himself. His mind reeled.

Harkness' face shuttered.

Ianto swore to himself. Bloody idiot. He thought fast.

"We missed your centennial. We could have had fireworks."

The captain stared at him, mouth opened. Then, he burst out into laughter. 

"What? No jubilee?" Harkness giggled behind his sleeve as he tried to calm down.

"Someone thinks very highly of himself here," Ianto remarked dryly.

"Hey, you were thinking fireworks."

"Well, did you think maybe it was because I'm a closet pyromaniac?" Ianto returned. He smiled smugly as he reached over for a biscuit. He was heartened to see that the shadows had fled.

The two fell into a comfortable silence as they picked clean the plate of sweets Ianto had set down.

"My turn to ask a question."

"I didn't realize we were taking turns," Ianto remarked innocently. 

The captain gave him an exasperated look. 

"Ianto, you've been here a couple of months now," Harkness began. He looked around him. He thumbed towards the crates questioningly.

"There just hasn't been time and no," Ianto interrupted quickly. "It's not just because I spend too much time in the vaults." Ianto leaned back against the crate that supported his back. "Everything's from…well, everything's from London."

The understanding on the captain's face was a bitter thing to see. Sympathy for another's grief was never something Ianto could swallow. And he never wanted to again. Ianto sighed, drew his knees up and rested his head back on the crate.

"Need help?"

Ianto smiled sadly, but kept his gaze upward. "Thank you, but no. I really need to do this by myself."

"Why?"

Lowering his head, Ianto frowned. "What do you mean why?"

Harkness shrugged as he pressed a finger onto the plate, picking up the crumbs to put in his mouth. "Why does it have to be by yourself?"

"Because I couldn't before." Ianto stared past Harkness' shoulder. "I lost someone when I was very young. It…it wasn't a good death." Ianto looked guiltily at Harkness. "I'm not mocking your—"

"I know."

Ianto took a deep breath. He could still smell the stale air. The scent of sickness still clung to his skin and he remembered watching, too young to understand why someone so frail could be in so much pain. He remembered hugging the person, only to have the suffering person cry out because disease made their bones too brittle.

"You could do everything you can," Ianto recalled hoarsely. "Bring them water, made sure they were never cold, always brought them their medicine and it would _still_ not be enough." He glanced over and Harkness was suddenly sitting shoulder to shoulder to him. The proximity this time was nice. 

"You do it for such a long time, living for others that when it's over—"

"You forget how to live for yourself," Harkness finished. 

Ianto blinked in surprise. "Actually, yes, that's exactly it."

The laugh by his ear was strained. "You're learning to live alone and I'm just liv—" Harkness stopped. Abruptly, he rose to his feet. "We should at least move these things up against the wall. It's like our vaults here." He paused. "Unless that's why they're like this."

Ianto shook his head but he did push with Harkness' solid form huddled close to him as they moved the crates against the wall.

"So that's what the bloody floor looks like," Ianto panted as he wiped the back of his hand across his brow. "I'd always—What are you doing?"

Harkness was peeking under the lid of one crate. "These are yours aren't they?" He thrust an arm into the piles. With a little, "Ah ha" he pulled out a pinstriped suit.

"Ooh, I like this one." Harkness poked his head into the crate. "No, wait, this one's better."

"Are you sure you're a hundred and four or just four, Harkness?" Ianto demanded as he caught another shirt flying over the captain's shoulder.

"I knew it!" Harkness pulled something out and tossed it to Ianto. "Wear _that_ tomorrow."

He barely gave it a glance before glaring at Harkness. " _This_ is not business attire."

"Casual Fridays."

"Tomorrow's _Thursday_."

"Semantics," Harkness waved it off.

"I am not wearing denim to work." With a huff, Ianto tossed the whole lot onto his bed.

"But you did last time," Harkness reminded him.

"Doesn't count. It was my day off."

"Yet you came in to work in the vaults," Harkness noted.

Ianto opened his mouth then snapped it shut. Instead, Ianto took the denim and made a show of folding them up and tossing them back in the crate. Harkness had the audacity to pout. It shouldn't be right that a grown man could still look that attractive pouting like a four year old. 

Harkness looked smug. 

"I'll wear them if _you_ wear yours," Ianto challenged.

Harkness' smile faded and Ianto wondered if he had mistakenly struck a nerve.

Like a finger snap, his smile was back albeit forced. "Nope. Don't own any. Not anymore." 

"Then answer a question for me," Ianto bargained.

The captain paused. "Okay," he said slowly.

"What did I just say?"

"Huh?" Puzzled, Harkness made a face.

"Before, when I said you should…what did I say?" Ianto studied the other worriedly.

Harkness shrugged, but Ianto wasn't fooled. "Used to wear them. Left them all back on the ship and when he came back for me, well…they were all gone." Harkness shoved his hands in his pockets.

"I hope Owen has another jar," Ianto muttered, feeling an urge to bring in a bat tomorrow.

"What?"

"Nothing."

After studying him, Harkness looked like he had come across a revelation. "You're really fine with all this." Harkness sounded stunned. 

"I don't know what you mean."

"You're not bothered by the fact you have a boss who can't die and is over a hundred years old?"

Ianto gave it some thought, because the quick lie would have been too cruel to the other man. 

"Honestly, I'm more bothered by the fact that I'm _not_ as bothered as I should be," Ianto confessed.

Harkness tilted his head at him. "Huh." He looked thoughtful. 

Ianto shrugged. "There you go."

"So," Harkness gave it some thought as if the equation was finally sorting itself out. "We're okay then? With the not-dead and the friendly wrestling and everything?"

Ianto nodded, leaning back against a crate. "I think so. Don't you?"

"I…" Harkness appeared a bit stunned. "I guess so." He looked a little amazed. "It's just…it feels nice not to have any secrets with someone for once."

Jasmine beckoned behind him in a partially opened crate. Ianto smiled tightly, his throat threatening to choke. "Yes," he agreed roughly. “Very nice."


	21. "Ghost Machine"

**Act I**   
**One month later…**

He didn't know when it happened; when his vocabulary list that had consisted of Captain, Jack, Harkness, and sir was condensed down to _Jack_ and sir. 

Ianto should have recognized the signs for what they were. He should have realized when his morning and afternoon checks down to the vaults were done without a thought, and his evening visits ended with him sitting on the couch with his employer, sharing a dinner of leftovers. He had told himself it was to occupy Jack's mind; he had caught him standing and staring sadly at the number six drawer in the morgue. The forlorn posture was impossible to ignore. 

Sometimes, he caught Jack staring at that blasted jar on his desk. And it gave Ianto a funny feeling in his throat when he would pass Jack's office and find his blue eyes cloudy, his arms on the table, and his chin resting on his fists. There were times when Ianto wanted to smash it, and other times he just made a deliberate stop by his office after his evening checks and they would be sitting out by the couch minutes later, talking about nothing in particular. 

It wasn't every day, but it was enough times now that it wasn't a surprise to find Jack by the couch, food ready.

When did it become routine? When did it become predictable? When did sitting there, shoulder to shoulder with a _man_ become so…domestic? 

Jack now knew Ianto hated licorice. And he now knew Jack was fascinated with the chocolate M&Ms because he came across them during the second Great War. Jack knew Ianto appreciated a good lager, whereas Ianto knew the other man mostly drank water, but would take a decent glass of brandy or scotch when appropriate. Jack knew Ianto liked old movies because his father used to take him to see them. Ianto now knew Jack favored the forties because that was the first time he met _him_.

How did he let it get this far? This familiarity? It struck him as he was browsing the market after work and Ianto found himself contemplating a large bag of holiday candies. He had one hand buried into his pocket, smiling as he fished his mobile out, about to call Jack to see if he wanted to try the new peanut butter version. He froze before he could dial the second digit and he snapped his mobile shut and walked away from the section before he did anything foolish.

It didn't stop him from picking up a smaller pouch by the register as he waited to pay.

Ianto knew this needed to stop. Stop _now_ before it went too far. There were times he caught himself staring. Other times, Ianto caught Jack doing the same. Ianto would catch his wistful look off the glass, when his skin tingled and Ianto just knew if he were to turn around and look up, Jack would be there, smiling down at all of them, but his eyes were on Ianto. 

This could only end badly.

Ianto found himself fascinated with Jack's mouth, how it curved when he was thinking, how his fingers tapped his full lower lip in a rhythmic quad-beat. But staring at his mouth then led to his throat. He remembered it feeling warm in the cell, taut when Jack tilted his head back as Ianto nipped and licked along his pulse. Jack's moan— _God_ , his moan—rumbled pleasantly against his lips. 

No, _no_ , he needed to stop. He could see the downward spiral and no ladder to climb out. The prospect of leaving after another emotionally draining visit to the vaults made his heart hurt. And finding Jack standing by the kitchen area, asking if Ianto wanted to finish the leftover Chinese or try the new Italian place, while he made tea, always proved to be his undoing.

Start slow, Ianto told himself as he got into the Tourist office, balancing the pastries he had bought with the small bouquet of jasmine and baby's breath he had picked up while waiting to pay for the cakes he had purchased. Apricot danishes. Toshiko had remarked that Jack liked the one in the meeting last week. 

No dinner today, Ianto told himself. Don't stop entirely. It would be too suspicious if it was too sudden. Ianto stared at the counter. Apricot pastries, another bag of candy—dark chocolate this time—and jasmine flowers.

Ianto sank down to his seat. He scrubbed his hands over his face. Taking a deep breath, Ianto grabbed the candy, tossed it in the side drawer with his "Learn Japanese Everyday" book, and checked his email. He deliberately left the bouquet in front of him and let the scent surround him, remind him. 

Then he saw the first email.

 

It was just four sentences. Simple and concise as Abigail was known to be, but the contents were devastating.

How had he forgotten? It went from hours, to days, to weeks, and now _months_. The realization had him wandering blankly down in the vaults, without a flashlight. He knew his way by heart now. And the bouquet he had clutched in his hand trailed the heady, spicy floral scent behind him like a ghost.

He couldn't step past the turn where the discolored green walls would morph to copper. He couldn't. His body knew the moment he reached it and his foot froze. He couldn't stand anymore. He couldn't. He found himself sliding down the wall, his face pressed to the tops of his drawn up knees. 

The guttural sounds that clawed out of his throat were as dry as his eyes. There simply weren't any more tears to be spilled. He felt hollow, emptied, and just so tired, so tired of the routine, the endless automation of it all. In and out was all he could do and the monotonous actions suddenly felt so pointless, so futile, so much a _failure_. Everything he could do simply equated to nothing.

The flowers, trapped between his torso and knees, crushed and crinkled as he rocked. Jasmine swirled around him and his chest thudded with the scent. It hurt to breathe in its perfume, but it hurt worst realizing that it did. It shouldn't. It was a scent he knew waking and sleeping. It comforted him in all levels, it stood with him so often, he thought he could just turn around and she would be there. Too much. He didn't know what to do anymore. Everything he did that he was so sure would fix everything just seemed so useless. Utterly, completely, fucking pointless. 

Ianto suddenly felt very lost.

He didn't know how long he was down there. Gradually, he became aware of the damp seeping into his suit, his trousers cold where he sat on the ground. The heavy, summery perfume had dissipated all around him and its fading reminder made his eyes burn. 

Ianto looked down at the partially destroyed blossoms trapped in his lap. Purple petals clung to the tissue paper the bouquet was wrapped in. 

Months. He looked up and suddenly, it had been _months_ since Canary Wharf. Fire and blood no longer followed him everywhere, but the ache was still there. And to think time had passed so quickly and he wasn't aware of it. It felt like such a betrayal. Ianto hadn't meant for it to come to this. He shouldn't have let time go so casually.

Ianto took a deep breath and struggled to his feet, cradling the damaged bouquet in his trembling hands. He made the turn, entered the corridor and finished what he needed to do and left empty-handed.

It took a couple of deep breaths before Ianto felt composed enough to climb the metal steps up to the central area. He flicked a glance to his left. The lights in Jack's office were on of course. A quick check at the clock told him the others still won't arrive for another forty minutes. Ianto straightened his tie and trudged to the kitchen area. He stopped short.

There was a tray already set out. His mug capped with a tiny sauce plate to keep the heat and a plate of…?

Ianto's right eyebrow rose. He glanced over to Jack's office again, but no one emerged. Ianto looked at the tray again, shook his head, then made a cup of coffee. 

Minutes later, Ianto carefully balanced the tray to Jack's office. To his surprise, the door wasn't locked and easily nudged open with a shoulder.

"Morning," Ianto called out. 

"Morning," Jack murmured, his eyes fixed to his monitor. He looked over to Ianto as soon as the tray was set down. He studied Ianto carefully. But Jack said nothing, smiling briefly as he accepted his coffee.

"So uh…" Ianto took the dish off and found, to his pleasant surprise, a nice English Breakfast, caramel from the swirl of milk, steaming hot, and once more empty of any loose leaf. He sat on the edge of the table and took an experimental sip. Once again, not too sweet.

Jack was watching him over his mug. 

Ianto sighed. It was exactly what he needed. "Thank you," he murmured, meeting Jack's warm eyes. 

"Not too sweet?"

Ianto shook his head. "Perfect, but uh…" Ianto tilted up the plate set out with the tea. A dozen red circles of spotted meat fanned out like playing cards. "What's with the salami?"

To his surprise, Jack blushed. He hid his face in his mug as he drank, but he couldn't hide the pink ears. 

"We were out of biscuits," Jack mumbled. He plucked a slice from the plate, rolled it up like a cigarette and ate it. He made a face. "This was all there was."

Ianto mirrored Jack but instead of eating his, he held it up like a match. 

"Tea and salami?" Ianto archly asked.

It was amazing to see Jack blush; even more amazing was the fact Ianto was the one making him blush. There was something disarming about the captain when he flushed and his bravado shed, revealing something that Ianto felt like he was privileged to see. It gave Ianto a ridiculous urge to smile broadly despite the dark gloom he was suffocating under before.

"Told you," Jack grumbled. "We were out of biscuits."

"Not that I'm not grateful, but to what do I owe the privilege of tea and meats from Captain Harkness today?" Ianto popped the salami in his mouth. He screwed up his face. God, that was ghastly!

Jack set down his mug and leaned back in his seat so he could see Ianto better.

"I got an email from the acting director of Torchwood One about the service in a few months."

The warm glow that had swirled in his belly since his first sip curdled. "Oh."

Jack looked unusually awkward. He sat up, his gaze on his desk. He looked over to Ianto's leg on his desk.

"I uh…got the email, knew you probably got one as well, and thought I’d check if…well, check to see if you were okay. You weren't upstairs, so I went down to the vaults."

The curdling in his belly grew frigid. "You went down to the vaults," Ianto repeated numbly. "I…I didn't see you."

Jack rubbed the back of his neck. "I heard you…thought you might want some privacy."

Ianto relaxed. "I did actually." He couldn't help himself. He brushed his fingers across the knuckles on Jack's hand resting on the desk. Interestingly, Jack shivered. "Thank you," Ianto added. "For that and the tea."

With a nonchalant shrug, Jack looked up and smiled faintly.

"You okay now?"

Ianto's shoulders slumped. "I don't know," Ianto said honestly. "I…I tried not to think about it, but _Christ_ , it'll be a year in a few months. I don't know how that happened." 

Jack nodded. He absently rubbed a knuckle along the thigh closest to him, realized what he was doing, and pulled back his hand.

Ianto could still feel the heat of his hand lingering, soaking through his trousers. He swallowed. "They were thinking of presenting some sort of plaque at the anniversary." 

"It's a nice idea." Jack took another sip, not looking up.

The tea soured in his mouth. "I can't believe they had the audacity to send _you_ an invitation after what we did to you."

Jack shrugged. "It was an automated email to all Torchwood employees, former and current."

" _Someone_ should have noticed. Someone should have realized…"

Jack shrugged again and suddenly, the offhand gesture proved to be too much. 

"We _drained_ you, Jack! We took you, treated you like…like…some sort of thing as if you were—"

"A companion?" Jack smiled ruefully.

"Stop calling yourself that!"

Startled, Jack raised his eyes at Ianto. He frowned.

"It's over. Done. Nobody did anything they didn't want to. I wasn't forced into anything."

Ianto leaned in close, centimeters from his nose. "Can you honestly tell me that _that_ was exactly what you wanted to do?"

Jack's stare was unreadable. "What's done is done," he said evenly. "And we'll never know if it would have worked."

God, he wanted to smack some sense into him sometimes. It was the only reason why the next words spilled out so cruelly.

"And you really think the Doctor had no idea what they were doing to you? What they were using the energies they took out of you for? That this…this horrible thing could have ever fixed you?"

The raw anguish that bled out of Jack's gaze stopped him. Ianto closed his eyes briefly and looked away.

"Sorry," Ianto murmured. He settled a hand over Jack's, now curled into a fist. "God, I'm sorry. I don't know what I'm saying. This whole thing about London has me in knots." He squeezed the cold fist in his hands.

"It's okay," Jack said dully before he pulled his hand out from under Ianto's.

The two fell into an awkward silence. Ianto emptied his tea, hiding his scrutiny of Jack behind his mug. The other man was avoiding his gaze, his eyes briefly glancing to his left to where the jar was. 

"Are you going?" Jack asked, his eyes on his monitor again.

Ianto sighed heavily. "I don't know. I…everyone I knew were…I don't know." Ianto studied Jack's profile. "You?"

Jack lifted one shoulder, letting it drop quickly. 

"They're including Rose Tyler's name on the plaque," Ianto told him quietly. Jack twisted around, surprised. "We had to provide names, after you left for Cardiff. Thought it only fair she be included."

Jack's eyes were bright. He nodded and smiled tightly. "Thanks," he managed out. Jack turned back to face his computer. 

"Would you…" Ianto hedged, not sure why he was asking. "Would you care to go with me? I mean…together?"

"Can I think about it?" Jack asked.

It felt odd to be disappointed that Jack didn't say yes. Ianto nodded. "Of course." 

Jack smiled to him over his shoulder.

"Thanks again for the tea," Ianto murmured, staring at the back of Jack's head. He remembered how Jack felt in his arms, how his abdomen flexed as he pressed against him; a warm, solid pillar of flesh that felt like both steel and silk. Ianto caught himself reaching out to touch Jack's hair. "It uh," he said hastily to cover himself. "It helped."

"Good." Jack sounded pleased.

"And we're not out of biscuits," Ianto added. "I hid them behind the napkins."

"Owen?" Jack guessed, amusement deepening his voice.

"Like a vacuum."

 

**Act II :** _"Doesn’t it get lonely at night?"_  
 **Two weeks later…**

God, he was bored. Bored, bored, bored.

_"Stop that,"_ Ianto's teeny voice in his ear made him smile. _"That's it. No more sugar for you."_

Jack smirked before popping one more blue M & M into his mouth before passing the bag to Gwen. He had found a very large bag of the candies on his desk over a week ago. Even though there was no note, Jack knew who it was, despite the complaining days after about finding chocolate pieces everywhere. 

Jack, Gwen, and Owen paced the square, waiting for whatever was giving off the alien signature to pass them. Jack walked to the fountain, back to their SUV, then to the newspaper stand, then back.

_"You're worse than a ping pong,"_ Ianto complained in his ear. They had been passing the time chatting on a private channel. And Ianto's deep voice and his rolling syllables was a pleasant backdrop in his ears. _"Stand still."_

Jack grinned and tapped his earpiece. "You and Tosh are just—wait a second, how do you know I'm moving around?"

_"Satellite uplink tracking you,"_ Ianto told him. _"So we know where you three are."_

"Aw, tell the truth. You just like watching."

_"Yes,"_ Ianto deadpanned. _"Because there is nothing more arousing than watching that white dot on the computer generated map of Cardiff going blip blip blip. My God, what a fetching looking dot. I think I need a cold drink."_

Jack abruptly laughed, startling Owen and M & Ms spilled onto the street. 

"I'm bored."

_"Of course, you are. It's been seven minutes."_

Jack scoffed. "Seven _long_ minutes. I don't see anything."

_"You would if you stopped ogling at the magazines on that newspaper stand."_

"How do you…?"

_"Your dot is standing by Griffin's Papers. It's practically glowing lecherously."_

Jack snorted behind his hand, but obligingly walked away. "Your century is so obsessed with the display of the human body yet you then cover the books up with plastic wrap."

_"Children,"_ Ianto explained. 

"Ah." Makes sense.

_"And to avoid the hordes of panting lecherous dots like you milling about the stands gawping at the covers."_

Jack chuckled. He looked around the square. He shrugged when Owen looked his way.

"Owen's annoyed."

_"Owen's always annoyed,"_ Ianto corrected. _"We're cutting into his prowling time."_

Jack perked up. "His what?"

_"Prowling. He goes bar hopping to the wee hours. Tosh was talking to Gwen about it once."_

"Explains why he's always late for work." Jack studied Owen thoughtfully from afar. "It's a good idea though. Might pick up more of the culture that way." Jack shrugged to himself. "He came back for me in the forties. I'd only been in the 21st century once before. I have decades of pop culture to catch up on."

_"I don't think going to bars will help."_ Ianto sounded terse even over the phone. _"I don't know how your time—whenever that was or is—for social interaction is. But today is certainly different from your time or the forties."_

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Now I'm intrigued."

_"Don't be. We as a human race had become very predatory this century."_

Jack dismissed his concerns with a scoff. "Please, the stories I can tell you…"

_"Hm, that does remind me. I need to ask you about the one with the alien mimes."_

Yikes. Jack laughed nervously. "I don't think there's much to say."

_"True…they_ were _mimes."_

Jack shoved his hands in his pockets. "Hey," he said hurriedly to change the subject. "You know, I was thinking about London." Jack paused. Actually, he had been.

There was a minute pause. _"About?"_

Kicking an M & M that managed to find its way to him, Jack shrugged. "Think you still want company?"

There was another pause and Jack wished this century had the technology for video communiqué. He could then see their faces, although, to be honest, he didn't know if seeing Ianto's reaction would have helped much. Ianto never reacted as Jack would expect; he didn't shirk away when he found out Jack was immortal, didn't see him as a companion but simply as Jack and looked at him as if he was pleased when Jack was here. Ianto made him feel…wanted. 

Then there were times it was as if Ianto had woken from a dream and his face shuttered. And then there were moments like these when it seemed perfectly natural to have Ianto's voice whispering into his ear like the _thrum-thrum_ beat that haunted him sometimes when the dark became too dark. But whereas the latter gave him chills down his body, Ianto's voice did the same, but it would pool in his groin and his skin would tingle.

Sometimes his head hurt trying to figure out what to expect from Ianto Jones.

"You know what?" Jack chuckled awkwardly when the pause became suffocating. "Never mind, it was just a thought." Stupid, Jack.

_"I uh…I bought you a train ticket already,"_ Ianto confessed. _"Just…just in case. I mean, we were only talking about it, but I thought, well, I was getting tickets, so I might as well buy another one as well."_

Jack felt that odd warmth in his gut again, that hard lump loosening just a little. "Oh. Okay."

_"Have you ever been to London during this century?"_

Jack shook his head and then made a face when he realized Ianto couldn't see it. "Uh, no. I saw it in the 20th century."

_"A lot has changed, Captain Harkness."_

Jack felt strangely giddy. "I'll bet. I—"

Gwen's shout spun him around.

_"Jack?"_

"I think we found the alien signal. There's going to be running now," Jack hastily said before he took off after Gwen, Owen slipping in place as he followed. 

 

**Act III :** _"You have to try and change things, make it happen differently."_  
 **One week later…**

_"Think of what you're doing!"_

_"I'm sorry. I really am, but it's for the best."_

_"Oh God…Alex, p-please. Please!"_

_"Alex! What are you doing?"_

_"Don't. It'll be over soon. I won't let you see the storm. It'll be okay…"_

_"Storm? What the bloody he—"_

_Bang._

_"Oh God, Alex, why are you—"_

_Bang._

_"The sky rained with blood. From the end of the universe, they came…"_

_Bang. Bang. Bang._

_"We're not ready. We won't be ready. Everything's going to change."_

_The television monitor chanted a countdown: five, four, three…_

_"He'll get us ready. The new Torchwood. I…I just have to wait."_

_"Al-lex, d-don't…oh G-god, don't kill me…"_

_"It'll be alright. Don't be scared. I love you."_

_Bang._

"Easy. Easy…"

Ianto gasped, suddenly feeling life returning to his limbs. The gunshots echoed in his head over and over. The coppery stench of death was overpowering. He half-expected to rouse to a metal face but instead Jack was peering closely at him.

"Let go of it," Jack commanded, his hand covering the half of the artifact Ianto gripped tightly.

"I don't think I can," Ianto's teeth chattered. What was he doing? 

Jack's hands seemed hot enough to burn as they curled over both his wrists. "Yes, you can," he said calmly. "Just uncurl those nice long fingers. That's it. Careful…" 

His fingers felt too sharp, too brittle to be his, but they obeyed and loosened their death grip on the device. Jack breathed a sigh of relief when he caught it.

When Jack stooped down to pick up the other half on the floor, Ianto remembered.

"Tosh needed to get more readings," Ianto stammered. "She asked me to get it ready for her tomorrow. I thought I would get it ready before I checked the vaults. I was trying to split it up, thought it would be safer. I-I must have activated one of the halves."

"I came back and found you standing by the couch," Jack explained. "The minute I saw what you were holding, I—Whoa! I’ve got you…" 

Jack had lunged forward and caught Ianto when his knees buckled. Ianto blinked up at worried blue eyes, Jack's sturdy arms under his.

"I think I need to sit down," Ianto said faintly.

"Darn," Jack said gently as he helped Ianto to the couch. "And here I thought we were going to dance."

"Maybe next time," Ianto mumbled in a daze. He watched blearily as Jack briskly gathered up the items and darted back to his office to lock them up again.

He could still hear them begging, asking why, and Alex apologizing, crying as he shot each one. He killed them. All of them. Here, at the height of the happiness that crested from the end of a millennium and the start of a new one. They toasted each other with champagne before Alex first shot their medic in the back of his head. 

"Drink this," Jack ordered, pressing a mug of tea into his hands.

"Too sweet," Ianto protested when he tried it.

"Trust me, you need the sugar right now. You're shaking."

Ianto drained it, not caring that its hot liquid scalded his tongue. The burn erased the tremors in his body bit by bit.

"Better?" Jack dropped an arm around him and began to briskly rub his back. "Still feel cold?"

The sturdy presence against him was tempting to lean into. "Here," Ianto whispered. "I saw Hopkins. He killed them all here."

Jack stopped and stared at the area that served as Tosh's work area. "Here?" He sounded stunned. "God…the letter never said. I mean, your acting director, you and…we're the only ones who know what really happened but he never said where—"

"They had just toasted each other with champagne," Ianto stared at the base of the sculpture that led to the surface. The brunette died there. She was the last. "He kissed a woman there. I think they were l-lovers. He kissed her, told her he loved her then—God." Ianto buried his face in his hands. "All of them, Jack. Then he sat there," Ianto pointed to the large spool they used to hold random equipment. "He watched the fireworks over the London Eye on the telly and kept talking to himself about how he needed to wait. He left himself alive, Jack, after he _slaughtered_ all of them."

"His penance," Jack said quietly.

"Life is not punishment! What right did he have to decide who lived or died?"

"Sh…" Jack said, his arm was around Ianto again, but his eyes were on the spool Ianto had pointed to. "It's in the past."

"All those people," Ianto muttered, feeling sick. It still smelled like blood and gunpowder. "Christ, what a waste." His face screwed up into disgust. "And then for him to survive, recreate Torchwood Three, how…how did he _live_ with himself?"

"That's the thing. He couldn't," Jack said quietly. "In his letter, he said he only waited until the face he saw was here." He laughed strangely. "Me."

"How could anyone see life as a punishment," Ianto muttered. He looked over to Jack.

Jack shrugged, but he kept looking away. "When all you have _is_ life," Jack murmured, his eyes distant. "It'll feel like you're being punished for something."

Ianto stared but Jack wouldn't look his way. Ianto swallowed and turned to face front again. He shuddered.

"God, all I could hear was the begging." Ianto wrapped his arms around himself and shuddered. "This place reeks of death."

Jack abruptly rose to his feet. "Come on." Jack waved to Ianto to get up.

"Where are we going?" Ianto let Jack drag him up to the invisible lift.

Jack punched something in that strange wrist strap of his. The lift began to move. "Out," he said simply. 

 

"I can't believe it," Ianto began before he took another spoonful. "You bought me out here to buy ice cream. It's practically autumn!" 

Jack smirked before he bit into his waffle cone, a giant monstrosity he almost didn't order until Ianto prodded him.

"It was either that or beer," Jack explained. "And since you drive home, figured this was the safer solution."

"Ah." Ianto stopped at the rails, with the wharf behind them and the Tourist office just minutes away to his right. The wind whistled through the pilings. A few rowboats bobbed gently below in the Bay. There was no one around, people preferring the shops above than the well used docks below that led to their front entrance. 

Jack rested his elbows on the rails and crunched loudly on his cone, then a bite of ice cream. He hissed all of the sudden.

"Headache?" Ianto guessed, biting back a smile.

The perplexed nod Jack gave made Ianto chuckle.

"Good though," Jack took a bite of the creamy confection dripping from the cone before his tongue flicked out to catch the sweet drippings. "By my time, we didn't have dairy products like this."

"Really?" Ianto asked. Jack rarely spoke about his time.

"Nope. No one would go near a cow, seeing they became carnivorous and all."

Ianto stared. "Carn…a _what_ cow?"

"Man eating cow," Jack confirmed before he nibbled at one edge of the cone. He glanced over to Ianto's incredulous look and then he burst out laughing.

Ianto rolled his eyes. "Carnivorous cow indeed."

Jack stifled a chortle and went back to his cone.

The evening wind whipped around their legs. Ianto caught Jack shivering a little out of the corner of his eye. He frowned. 

"You seem to get cold easily," Ianto observed. "That coat of yours is certainly warmer than mine yet I'm very warm. Should we go back inside?"

"Do you _want_ to go back inside?" Jack countered.

Alex's apologies punctuated by gunshots still rang deep in his core. Ianto shivered as well.

"Not particularly."

"We'll go in later," Jack decided. "And I don't usually get cold that easily. These days I do." Jack shrugged. 

Because of us, Ianto thought sadly. He could still remember how cold Jack's skin had been in the isolation room.

Jack licked his fingers clean of the melting ice cream as Ianto watched, then bit the pointy cone end off with a loud crunch and slurped the ice cream out like a straw.

Ianto's mouth went slack and dry.

Only Jack Harkness could make something like _that_ look utterly pornographic. Jack had his eyes closed as he tipped his head slightly back. Melted ice cream trickled out of the corner of his mouth from the cone, his cheeks hollowed out as he gently sucked out the cream from the cone. 

Ianto fidgeted and looked away. He poked at his ice cream, trying very hard not to look as Jack's tongue flicked out to catch any drips before he finished the rest of the cone in a few easy bites.

"I have never," Ianto declared when it was safe to look again, "seen anyone enjoy plain vanilla as much as you do."

Jack took the napkin from the ones Ianto had stuffed into his pocket. Ianto closed his eyes briefly. Jack's hand slipped into his coat pocket, fingers probing until he found what he needed.

"I don't like complicated flavors," Jack declared as he wiped his mouth clean. "I want to be able to taste what I'm suppose to taste not like your…" Jack gestured towards his cup.

Ianto looked at his plastic takeaway container. "Actually, I don't remember," he admitted sheepishly, "It was chocolate mocha something something."

"See? And you didn't even take it in a cone."

Ianto made a face. "It looked like it could be messy." He took a spoonful of his dessert. "You didn't have to get me ice cream though. It was nice of you in a very early 20th century archaic sort of way." He smirked at Jack's sputter.

"Alright, Mr. Jones, what do people do in _this_ century for situations like this?"

"They buy obscenely expensive things," Ianto deadpanned. "Or something gold plated. Platinum would be better. There's nothing better than something obnoxiously expensive to fix what ails a person."

Jack pursed his lips and studied Ianto's bland face. Jack went, "Huh" and faced the Bay again. He looked back over to Ianto minutes later. He growled at Ianto's smirk.

"You!" Jack grumbled. He leaned on his elbows. "You had me going there with that face. You're a very good liar."

Ianto's smile faded. "I don't mean to be," he murmured.

"What?"

"Nothing." Ianto stirred his spoon in the melting mess. "Thank you, nevertheless, for the ice cream."

Jack smiled and faced the Bay again.

Ianto finished the last of his dessert in the comfortable silence. Jack's hip was close to his and Ianto was suddenly feeling very content, very right footed. There never seemed to be a need to fill the silence with Jack. 

It was with reluctance that he trotted over to the bin by the pilings to toss his refuse out. As he approached though, he thought he could hear frantic breathing. Ianto tensed. A robbery? He squinted into the crowd of shadowy pillars until he could see two figures, up against a piling and—Oh.

"Oh good God," Ianto muttered as he could clearly see two men doing…well…what two men would be doing under the docks in the middle of the night. He ducked behind the bin, sitting on his heels, his face flaming. Now that he made the connection to the writhing shadows from the distance, the muttered words were clearer.

"What's so interesting?" Jack suddenly appeared to his left. He grabbed Ianto before he lost his balance and pulled him tight against his side.

Ianto was very aware of Jack next to him as the captain craned his neck over the bin to see. He stiffened, stooped lower and arched his eyebrow at Ianto.

"I was throwing out my trash!" Ianto hissed. His face was red. "They were just there, doing…you know!"

Jack peered over the bin again. He whistled low. "Now _that's_ one I haven't considered! You people are very creat—"

"Stop watching!" Ianto tugged Jack's sleeve a little too hard and the captain bumped into him. Jack blinked at him, his mouth just a breath's away from Ianto's. 

Jack gulped and hastily looked away from Ianto's mouth. "Unless voyeurism is your thing," Jack said, waggling his eyebrows at him. "I think we better give them privacy."

"They're just outside the office! I have families who come in here!" Ianto hissed.

"At this hour?"

"You would be surprised."

Jack frowned, looking back at the men. Ianto grimaced as they grew louder and louder and damn it, Jack was crouched right there beside him, his trousers stretched over his hips and buttocks, his coat parted so the curve of his arse was close enough to touch—

"Do something!" Ianto hissed, half out of panic when his hand…twitched.

Jack brightened. "I’ve got an idea." He got to a half-crouch, cupped his hands over his mouth and took a deep breath.

" _Oi_! Can we join you?"

"Jack!" Ianto yelped.

There was a squawk and a mad scuffle.

"Who the fuck's out there?"

Jack grimaced. "Yikes, okay he didn't look _that_ big before!" He grabbed Ianto's hand and dragged him away from the bin, up the ramp to the Plass before two enraged burly men emerged out of the pilings. 

 

"Hurry up!" Jack laughed as Ianto tried to keep up with his long stride. "I think they're gaining!"

"They're not following!" Ianto half gasped, half laughed. "I can't believe you…those two…" He couldn't finish, laughing with his hands on his knees.

Jack grinned and waved at the few bystanders staring. "You have to admit. It worked. They're out of there."

"We could have gone through the office," Ianto puffed, catching his breath. "Did we have to run all the way back to the Plass?"

"And have them know where we are?" Jack scoffed. "I can imagine them parked outside that door with a bat when you come in to open up the next day."

Ianto rolled his eyes. "They don't scare me. Well…maybe the bigger one."

"Which one?" Jack grinned. He hopped on the lift and extended a hand. 

"Come on, let's see if CCTV caught anything."

Ianto glowered. "I think perhaps _you're_ into voyeurism, Captain Harkness."

All Ianto received was a blinding smile. He shook his head.

"No. I better go home." The sky had already faded from purple to deep black, the stars bright above them. The water sculpture gleamed like a silver blade cutting the sky. Ianto straightened, still finding himself grinning broadly. Jack stood on the perception filter and even though everyone in Torchwood knew it was there, Jack looked hazy, otherworldly standing in the filter. The edges around him blurred and softened Jack. Ianto blinked.

"Perception filter," Ianto explained when Jack caught him staring. "I…I better be going."

Jack looked oddly regretful but he smiled anyway. "Sure. I'll see you tomorrow then." He dabbled something on his wrist strap. After it beeped, the lift began to descend.

"Night," Ianto murmured, watching until he could no longer see the top of Jack's head. Then, his feet heavy, Ianto turned away to cross the Plass to the garage. 

It wasn't until he slipped the key into the ignition that he realized he hadn’t done his vault checks. PV-35 vials from Owen's drawers were heavy in his suit pocket.

Ianto rested his head on his steering wheel. "What are you doing?" he murmured, before he slipped out of his car and headed back. Halfway there, he began to run, simply because he thought he deserved the burning pain in his side. 

 

**Act IV**

Jack frowned as he studied the map. When the flashlight flickered and died once again, Jack swore. Great, now how was he supposed to find his way _out_ of the vaults?

"Forget immortality," Jack muttered, staring dubiously into the right corridor. "Just let me see in the dark." He squinted at the corridors. Three openings. Weird. The map, before the lights went out, showed only one. Huh. They must have added a few more vaults after he left. He only hoped it didn't mean there were more…

Jack shuddered, remembering the first time he arrived at Torchwood Cardiff. The muffled neglected howls that echoed the corridors reminded him too much of the game station and his own cries for survivors. Anyone at all.

There were none.

Jack was wishing he had kept his coat on. He rubbed his arms absently. There was probably a vent that led to the street, letting in the cold air. 

The vaults were exactly as he remembered them the first time he had been taken here. Jack had passed the first section, the earlier section with a look of distaste. They had tied him there, demanding to know where the Doctor was. Jack had told them he didn't know. 

How little things had changed.

_…thrum-thrum-tap-tap._

Damn it, there were times when Jack wished he had never come here. Suddenly responsible for more than just himself and the Doctor, four more lives expecting him to have all the answers when he didn't know all of them himself. 

Jack wished the Doctor was here.

_…thrum-thrum-tap-tap._

No mystery there. The Doctor didn't expect answers only responses and he would never look like he was going to do one thing, then turn around and do something entirely different. He wouldn't look at him over a dark Bay, looking like he wanted to kiss him then abruptly say he needed to go home—

Jack frowned. He ran a hand in his hair, wishing he could sleep and not try to find things to do to forget about kissing and skin gliding against skin and the feel of stretched fullness entering him like—

"Argh," Jack groaned and he leaned back against one of the walls. He folded his arms across his chest, feeling very frustrated. It didn't help to find a sweaty, grunting interlude just outside the wharf. And the shocked yet thoughtful look Ianto gave the pair made Jack's chest tighten, his legs quiver when Ianto brushed against him as they crouched behind the trash can. 

It had been too long. Jack missed the feeling of a body heavy against him, a cock sliding slowly into him or his cock slowly being clenched. He missed the heady rush from coming. He missed the pleasure that came immediately after the initial pain. 

It had all been pain.

No, wait. Suzie…well, in the end, it _was_ all pain. 

Jack sighed and stepped away from the wall. If only Ianto had at least looked completely disgusted or horrified by the two men… Why did he had to look like, "Can they do that?"

Oh _definitely_. There was so much Jack wanted to show the younger man about what two men _can_ do. Pain would never be a factor.

_…pushed to a wall, he scrambled to stand but the first thrust pinned him to the surface with his knees bent. He couldn't help it. He cried out…_

Jack closed his eyes. The lump in his gut hardened painfully.

It wasn't like that. Not…not all the time. And if Jack could just be fixed—

Ianto didn't think he needed to be fixed.

Jack scoffed. 

"Jack?"

Jack frowned as he saw a thin beam of light darting towards him. "I thought you went home."

The light drew near until Ianto stood in front of him. The light revealed his pale face as he stared, round eyed at him. 

"I forget to check the vaults," Ianto explained. He shone his light towards the map he still held. "What are you doing here?"

"Couldn't sleep." Jack waved his flashlight at Ianto, who kept staring. "I realized you didn't do your check yet so I thought I might as well do it for you before—"

Ianto's flashlight jittered and dulled.

Jack gestured towards his light. " _That_ happened."

Ianto didn't look down at his tool. "I know the way out."

Jack breathed a sigh of relief. "Great, because I don't and this map," Jack raised it up ruefully, "is not exact."

"I could finish up. Here, let me help you out first." Ianto caught Jack's wrist, his grasp cool and tight. "Watch your step."

"Well, I could wait here," Jack pointed out. "You just finish what you do down here and I'll wait right here." He tugged his hand but Ianto held it tight. Jack exhaled. "What are you doing back here, anyway?" When Ianto didn't answer, annoyance sharpened his voice. "Ianto?"

A stronger tug and Ianto was yanked back. Startled, Ianto stumbled into Jack. The flashlight dropped, the bulb shattered, and Ianto now stood chest to chest with Jack. He stared at Jack, his arm pinned between them. 

"Sorry," Jack said gruffly. He felt Ianto let go of his hand but he didn't step back. "What are you doing here?" he gentled his voice. "What did you come back for?"

"I have to do the vault checks," Ianto said faintly. His hands settled on Jack's chest, his elbows digging into Jack's abdomen. 

"You always do the vault checks," Jack pointed out. "What did you come back for?"

"I…" Ianto raised his gaze. "I'm not sure anymore," he admitted.

Jack swallowed. "If I kiss you, would you know?"

Ianto looked startled and opened his mouth as if to reply. But something crossed his face and as if afraid he would change his mind, Ianto looped his arms around Jack's neck, pulled his head down and kissed him.

The map Jack held fluttered down from nervous fingers. Surprised, Jack’s arms hung in the air before he closed his eyes, and wrapped them around Ianto and drew him closer.

There was a stutter before Ianto laced his fingers through Jack's hair, his mouth sealed over Jack's, his tongue slipping past his lips and darting deep into his mouth.

Ianto's buttocks felt firm, perfect in his hands. They flexed when Jack curled his hands over them to pull him closer. Jack's moan was muffled when Ianto stretched and pressed his body to him, the swell between his legs bumping against Jack's right thigh, bumping, brushing, rubbing as if he was trying to strip Jack of his clothes. Ianto made a sound when Jack squeezed his arse before he pulled Jack's head lower and his kiss became more desperate, more urgent. It was like Ianto was trying to climb into him.

Jack whimpered. He could feel Ianto grinding into him now, devouring every exhale. Somewhere in the back of his mind something screamed that he shouldn't do this. Ianto was different. Ianto couldn’t be just once. Ianto deserved forever, Ianto deserved someone he could grow old with, someone who could love as much as Jack knew Ianto could love. Ianto deserved better than a frantic coupling hidden away in the bowels of Cardiff.

"No," Jack murmured as he tried to pull away. "We—" Ianto kissed his jaw. Jack nipped his throat. "Shouldn't…" Jack groaned when Ianto rubbed against his groin. He could feel Ianto's hesitation when he could feel Jack's erection tenting unabashedly in his trousers. 

"You deserve candles," Jack groaned as Ianto's shock wore off and he pressed against Jack's crotch, the swell massaging into Jack telling him to just shut the hell up.

Jack buried his face into the curve of Ianto's neck. "You deserve wine, dinner, starlight, a bed, not…" Jack cried out when Ianto bumped against his heated erection. Jack _ached_. "Not…" Jack panted. "Not this. Not here."

"I don't deserve any of those things," Ianto whispered into Jack's ear before he licked the lobe and sent jolts of pleasure humming down his back. Jack clutched Ianto to him, lead by touch, blind in the dark save for Ianto's overly bright eyes.

Ianto kissed his mouth, the tip of his tongue swiping across Jack's lower lip. He looked at him, his eyes unreadable in the black. His hands, still cool, interlaced with Jack's. Ianto walked backwards. Jack could feel Ianto's gaze on him despite not seeing anything.

"Where are we going?" Jack asked, a little dazed.

"Your bed," Ianto sounded rough, his hands insistent. 

Jack could only numbly follow.

 

Ianto's eyes in his room were bright and large, and followed Jack as he climbed down the ladder to join Ianto.

Jack's mouth was dry. "You've never…" At Ianto's head shake, the rush clouding his mind cleared a little. "Maybe we should…"

"Show me." Ianto's command was soft but not to be denied. It was deep, rough with need, hunger, want. It echoed the ache brewing in Jack's chest.

Clothing was carefully peeled away as if giving each other another chance to stop this. No one did. When they were both naked, Ianto averted his eyes from Jack's straining erection.

"I…" Jack eased Ianto down onto his back with a hand curled around his neck. Ianto stared at his face, stared and never looked away. 

"I won't hurt you," Jack promised throatily. The intense stare demanded a promise. "Never."

Ianto nodded, his face pressed to Jack's shoulder. He started when he felt the first cool, slicked finger entering him.

"Oh." Ianto breathed out slowly into Jack's left shoulder, his exhale short and warm with surprise.

"You okay?" 

"I thought you were just going to…" Ianto's voice stuttered when Jack inserted a second. "Thought you were going to…you know…just ram it in there."

The comment made Jack's eyes burn. "Trust me," he rasped as he scissored gently, making sure the short puffs of "Oh" didn't point to pain. "You really wouldn't want me to do that." Phantom tearing made his eyes blur. "It's not fun."

"I'll…" Ianto moaned, his eyes closing when the fingers deepened their careful thrusts in him. "I'll take your word for it." Ianto's eyes flew open in surprise when one particularly thrust touched something.

"I know what that was but I didn't expect _that_."

Jack gave a shaky laugh. "Are you going to give me a running commentary on everything here? You're making me nervous."

The smile Ianto gave him was just as shaky, but Ianto quieted.

When Jack finally took him, something simply clicked. It felt like coming home. Ianto's body gave after a little resistance and welcomed Jack into a tight heat that he had long forgotten. 

Jack took it slowly, so slowly his knees quaked as he stroked into Ianto, his hands curled around Ianto's shaft. Like a slow dance, they rocked on the thin mattress, their pants, Ianto's intakes of surprise then pleasure, Jack's tightly reined moans filled the dark space. Everything else was blocked as their pace became a bit more desperate. When Ianto came, his body arched off the mattress and clutched around Jack so hard, that Jack cried out before he came in a simultaneous release. 

Jack breathed heavily on top of Ianto. He could feel Ianto's fingers lazily making circles on his back.

"Are you okay?"

"Mm," Ianto murmured. He kissed a spot above Jack's collarbone.

Jack smiled into his hair. He felt Ianto's hand tracing down his bare back, trailing to the curve of his right buttock.

"Am I too heavy?" Jack whispered. He liked the feeling of Ianto breathing against him. His heartbeat was steady and rhythmic against his ribs. 

"Mm." Ianto now made the same circular pattern on his butt cheek.

Jack rubbed his jaw against his temple. "Is that all you’re going to say?"

"Mm." But Jack could feel him shifting. 

"I'm trying to think of something to say." Ianto's eyes were unreadable, but his hands…

Jack pulled up, propping himself on his elbows and gazed down at him. "Did I…"

Ianto shook his head. "I wish…" he sighed. "I wish I knew how to describe it."

Brushing a palm down Ianto's face, Jack marveled how his eyes never changed to disgust, hate or…anything. There was a swirl of emotions that spun like a vortex in Ianto's eyes. 

"Show me," Jack murmured as he sat up, pulling Ianto up as well.

A flicker of fear flitted across Ianto's face. "Me? I…I don't want to hurt you." Something strange crossed his normally placid features. "I don't want to hurt you, Jack," Ianto repeated.

The hard lump softened in his stomach, warmth infused and flowed up to his chest. Jack choked and he pulled Ianto to him. He kissed Ianto's throat.

"Thank you," Jack murmured into Ianto's ear and buried his face into the curve of Ianto's neck. "I know you won't hurt me." He slowly laid back, pulling Ianto to him. 

 

**Act V**

Where Jack was slow and patient, Ianto found himself lost in a whirlwind of confusing emotions. Jack was hot, tight, a glove around him, his hands—oh God, his _hands_ —skimmed on his skin, his hair, his _cock_ , everywhere air embraced him, Jack touched.

Ianto tried; he tried to be as careful as the other man had been. Jack held him and tasted every part of him with such attention, it only made Ianto feel worse when he stroked into Jack. He sobbed out his release feeling like his insides had dissolved to his very bones. When Jack came with his name on his lips like a prayer, Ianto was transfixed at the sight of Jack throwing his head back, his back curved off the mattress. 

It…it wasn't supposed to feel this perfect. This _right_. 

The dark was cool and quiet in Jack's room. Ianto listened to Jack's heartbeat steady by his ear. Jack, despite his claims of insomnia, slept, tangled in Ianto's limbs. 

Ianto closed his eyes tight, away from the peaceful expression on Jack's face, long lashes soft against his cheek. Away from the dark hair across his forehead that Ianto wanted so badly to brush back. 

Carefully, Ianto slipped out of Jack's grasp and dressed quickly. He sat on the edge of the bed and watched Jack. Jack mumbled something and turned towards the wall.

Ianto choked, his eyes greedily tracing the elegant curve of Jack's exposed back, his buttocks pale and round turned towards him.

Carefully, Ianto extricated the afghan pinned under Jack's legs and pulled it over his length. Focused, Ianto tucked it in around Jack, making sure no skin was exposed to the chill.

Jack murmured under Ianto's ministrations but didn't wake. Ianto, bent over him, pausing. Ianto kissed his hair, the tender gesture shocking him to immobility. Ianto's lips hovered over Jack's hair. Then, his face crumbled and Ianto pulled away.

 

He didn't need a flashlight this time. Ianto wandered, shirt untucked from his trousers, his tie a loose noose of silk around his neck, Ianto numbly walked until he was at the junction, marked by Jack's discarded map. 

Ianto stood there, the map a blazing white mark in the dank darkness. Like a scarlet letter. It mocked him yet Ianto couldn't find it in him to defend himself. He walked past it, taking the corridor to the right.

Walls of rusty green turned to copper after almost an hour of blind walking, Ianto could see stray petals of jasmine making a trail to the last door in the corridor. It was the only one that hummed with an edge of light below the heavy door. 

Ianto braced both hands on the door. His head hung low and he took ragged gulps of air before he entered.

The door opened without a reproach that he was late, or that he smelled like Jack, or that he was dressed more like a vagrant. Ianto staggered in, his head swaying like he was drunk and he beheld the dais of steel tilted towards him. Jasmine from dying flowers greeted him as he took his seat, a stool with its twin doubling as an end table for a book he was reading and the water glass of flowers. 

There was someone sleeping on the dais. What skin Ianto could see was dark yet ashen from a long sleep between pain and death. IVs of yellow liquid traced along a conglomerate of metal and fleshy limbs. 

Ianto checked the monitors, his mind mechanically guiding his actions. When done, Ianto injected the vials he had stolen from Owen's supplies into the IVs and dropped to the stool. The dull throb from the base of his spine made him squeeze his eyes shut.

His hands, his legs around him, his heated skin, Ianto could still feel him. He could feel Jack in him, on him, around—Christ, the feel of him—his cock. Jack drank every part of him like water, gave him back diamonds and cried out Ianto's name like a call for help.

"I'm sorry." Ianto's voice cracked. He crammed his fist over his mouth. "I'm sorry," he muffled around his hand. Ianto lowered his head to the platform. His fingers trembled as he stroked cool skin. The lack of reaction after receiving _all_ reaction— _tight around him, his heart hammering against him, his mouth around his cock_ —broke his heart.

Ianto bowed his head over Lisa Hallet's body. "I'm sorry," he repeated.

When he realized he no longer knew who he was apologizing to, Ianto Jones wept.


	22. "Cyberwoman"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning For This Chapter:** DARK, mentions m/m situations, strong language
> 
> **Notes For This Chapter:** Note there are parallels to TW's "Fragments", "Everything Changes" and "Cyberwoman"

**Act I**   
**Two weeks later…**

Fire crawled up the walls to surround him, crackling and sparking like it had a life of its own. He stood in the center of it. Death approached from all sides. 

Someone called his name to the left.

Another called his name to the right.

But he could only go to one.

Ianto choked out a scream as he came out of his dream violently, sheets tangled around his legs, hair plastered against his face.

It was too early for sunlight to dress his studio flat in yellow light. But it was late enough for night to have begun its reluctant departure. It left his space murky, dim, and resentful around him. The crates, still unopened, huddled up against the wall. Their shadows stretched and made them look like cowering, frightened people lined up for execution. 

Ianto drew up his knees and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. Everyday, every single day he woke to walls of fire, screaming, and the feeling of being pulled in two directions, of being ripped in two while the screaming and the cries kept coming. 

The walls loomed over him and Ianto stumbled out of his bed, sweaty sheets around his ankles, and he staggered, bumped, and crashed towards his bath. He kicked, lashing back a foot to free himself. 

The shower started cool, but steam soon filled and caressed his skin like a hot breath over him. Ianto braced his hands on the wall, his head hung on his chest, his breathing shallow and harsh. The heat from the shower didn't help him. He tried to purge Jack's touch from him, the reminder of his betrayal to the two people he never wanted to hurt. Every morning, every fucking morning Ianto tried, but Jack lingered. He had become a part of him, mingled in his skin, his core, and short of gouging his flesh out, Ianto was sure Jack would linger there.

_…his hands on his body…his mouth…liquid fire around his cock…the sweet/salty taste of his skin…_

"Damn it," Ianto sobbed out. The heaviness between his legs refused to forget the silken heat he had slipped into. 

Ianto stood in the shower until steam covered his mirror in a moist veil of condensation and collected around his face to dribble down like tears.

 

"Sorry!" a skateboarder shouted as he nearly collided with Ianto as he raced across the Plass to catch up with his friends. Ianto stopped short, momentarily taken out of his automatic trek across to the Tourist office. Ianto had been blindly walking to work everyday almost unseeing. Now interrupted, Ianto was momentarily lost.

"Uh…your office is _that_ way."

Ianto heard the baritone rumble to the left of his ear and turned even though his heart already recognized it. It hammered hard against his chest at the first syllable.

Jack stood there, head tilted, his hair ruffling lightly in the dawn breeze, his hands clasped behind him.

_…hands traced the patterns of his ribs…mouth followed…he filled him until it felt like there couldn't be room for anything else but themselves…_

"Morning," Ianto managed before he averted his gaze from Jack's intense one; the one that always looked like it could burrow under his skin.

"Morning." Jack sounded inexplicably sad. "You're here early."

"Actually, I'm late. Couldn't sleep." Ianto began to walk briskly towards the office. Jack followed. He frowned mildly over at Jack and noted the rumpled shirt. There was a red edged tear hidden under his coat, revealed only when Jack trotted behind him.

"Weevil convention," Jack explained. "I was the guest." He shrugged.

Ianto looked away, focusing on the door far ahead, though aware of Jack behind him. It was like a vibration pressing against his senses. It was hard to ignore. 

"I thought you weren't going to hunt them alone any more," Ianto said tightly as he walked faster.

"Hey, the deal was—would you slow down? Ianto!" 

A hand curled around Ianto's elbow. Ianto skidded to a halt even if he could have easily yanked his arm free.

"Is it that hard to look at me now?" Jack asked in a low, dull voice. He uncurled his hand, letting Ianto go.

Ianto turned around. "What? I…" Jack looked worn, his eyes fixed to Ianto. 

Ianto stared back until it hurt to see himself reflected in the pale blue eyes growing paler as he watched. He glanced sideways.

"See?" Jack sighed and walked away to rest his hands on the rails that lined the wharf. He stared at the morning sun rising above the Bay.

Ianto watched the breeze lift up Jack's greatcoat and flap it around his legs. The solitary figure beckoned him and even if everything in him was telling him to keep walking, Ianto joined Jack by the rails.

"Thought you were late for work," Jack drawled, his eyes tracking a boat sailing down the horizon.

"I'm sure my employer would understand," Ianto returned tentatively. He smiled briefly before turning to watch the same boat.

Here. He should tell Jack about Lisa here, about the vault, about what they shared, about how…how it was a mistake.

Ianto stared down at the water below them, moored rowboats bobbing gently in the water. He could feel Jack's right hip against his left. If he closed his eyes, he could still feel the taut, silken muscle under his fingers, strength under the fragile canvas of skin, life pulsing under his palms. 

Why? Why _didn't_ this feel like a mistake? It would be easier; it would _all_ be easier if it felt like a mistake.

"It's okay." 

Ianto blinked. He glanced over to find Jack smiling wearily at him. 

"It-it is?" Ianto stammered, staring at his mouth. 

_…his lips, Jack's eyes were so blue when he gazed at him before dark lashes concealed them, his neck stretched back gracefully when he came…  
_  
He had to look away before he pressed himself closer just to see those eyes change from pale blue to the color of the ocean again. 

"Look, that night…" Jack exhaled. Ianto cringed. "I know that was your…well…"

"It was," Ianto murmured. It was and it was _brilliant_. Damn it. It would have been easier if it was horrible. A lot of things would have been easier if it had been horrible. No, Ianto suspected it wouldn't have made a difference because it was with Jack.

"Wasn't quite what you expected, huh?"

Startled, Ianto looked over, but Jack was looking out onto the water.

"It's okay," Jack assured. "You're not hurting my feelings if it wasn't…you know."

"No," Ianto confessed. "It wasn't what I expected." Not at all and _that_ was the problem.

Jack turned around and rested his back on the railings. His mouth quirked.

"I get that. I get that you're probably embarrassed and wishing it never happened."

Ianto stared. "I uh…"

Jack shrugged. "We tried, it didn't work. Don't worry about my ego. I…I understand." Something flitted across his face. His smile faded. "It was just sex. It's…it's okay."

"Just sex," Ianto repeated. He flushed.

The chuckle Jack made rang false in his ears. "Look, you had sex with a man, it didn't work, chalk it up to the sexual revolution."

Ianto's mouth twitched. "I think you're a few decades off, Jack," he murmured.

Jack chuckled. "Finally."

Ianto raised his brow at him.

The shoulders lifted and Jack's lips quirked. 

"It's been nothing but 'sir' these past few weeks," Jack explained, his eyes clouding over. "I kinda missed…" Jack spun back around and ran a finger across the railing. 

His chest clenched and Ianto swallowed. "Sorry." He meant it sincerely. "I didn't mean to…this is hard to…" He chuckled nervously. "I usually don't do this."

"Yeah," Jack teased lightly. "I can see that." He clapped Ianto's shoulder. Ianto jumped, startled. "Look, it's fine. We're okay without… _this_." Jack gestured a hand between them. "You and me. We just were never meant to be…" Jack nodded behind him to the pilings.

Ianto flushed, remembering. "God, I don't think _anyone_ was." He offered Jack a rueful smile. "If you told me it was going to be like that…" He might have pinned Jack on the bed to see him as unbridled. "I would have balked." Liar, liar. 

Jack's replying grin was weak, but it met his eyes this time. "Back in my time, that wouldn't have been unusual."

His mouth dry, Ianto could only manage a feeble, "Oh."

Jack bumped his shoulder against Ianto. "Think of it this way. How many people can say they’ve slept with a Doctor's companion?"

Ianto nudged his shoulder back. "Funny," he murmured.

Jack looked at him questioningly.

"I could have sworn I slept with _you_." Ianto leveled his gaze on him. "Not a companion."

Speechless, Jack stared at him, mouth slightly opened. Then, as if waking up, Jack turned back to the water.

"So…we're good?" Jack asked very gruffly. "I mean…you know…you're not going hide up in the Tourist office for the rest of your life, are you?"

"I wasn't hiding." Actually, he was. Ianto even went to the vaults through the ladder in the back of the archives.

"If it weren’t for the coffee magically appearing on my desk, I wouldn't have known you were there," Jack teased.

"It'd been busy upstairs. People actually walking in."

"You mean tourists were visiting the _Tourist_ office?" Jack acted horrified. It wasn't convincing.

Ianto gave him an exasperated look. "Yes. The audacity of some people."

The two men chuckled. 

"So," Jack hedged. "We're good?"

Ianto looked at Jack. A twinge of regret warred with the relief in his chest. It would be easier this way.

"Yes," Ianto murmured, feeling a little sad. 

"We're good."

 

Sitting in front of his computer, Ianto made polite sounds as a couple from America commented on the water sculpture while they sorted through the pamphlets. He had opened the office barely an hour ago and already, this was the fifth pair wandering in. Jack would laugh.

"Have a good day," Ianto mumbled. He was sorely tempted to put the 'Closed' sign up. 

It was a way out. Jack had unknowingly given him a way out. So why did a lump sit in his belly? Why did it feel like he would choke on his tea? Ianto sighed. It felt so simple then. To bring her here, keep her alive until he could find help. It seemed doable. It made sense. It was a chance to keep Lisa with him, repair the life they had planned.

He sat back on his chair and looked glumly at his computer. No emails yet. He had made so many inquiries. Would anyone answer? When?

Ianto suddenly felt tired. So tired. His limbs abruptly bled out everything that was holding him up. He sagged in his seat and there was nothing he wanted more to do than sleep.

The PV-35 was starting to lose its effect. Instead of eight hours, Ianto was finding he needed to increase the doses to every six. Ianto glanced over at the locked drawer to his left. He didn't have that many doses left. There was only so much Owen synthesized each time and Ianto grew nervous about fixing the numbers on the inventory. Toshiko wasn't the only one comfortable with computers.

Guilt gnawed his insides and once again, Ianto was glad he had skipped breakfast. He sat forward, put his elbows on his desk and buried his face in his hands.

God, the look on Jack's face. He had offered himself up for rejection. He didn't deserve that. Ianto just wanted it to all be over. He wanted to fix everything. He wanted to see the pain vanish from her face, to see her face dry of tears of agony when a dose wasn't enough. He wanted to hear her voice again, uncorrupted by the cybernectics augmented in her throat. He wanted to feel her thick hair around her face instead of metal, her fingers long and delicate again instead of cool and sharp. He needed her back to make sense of everything. 

But he also wanted to feel Jack against him one more time. He wanted to feel himself move inside Jack, feel Jack around him like a shield from the universe. He wanted to smooth away the darkness that came over Jack's face when he thought no one was looking. Ianto wanted to feel his mouth against his throat, his jaw, his back, everywhere again. He wanted to hear the way Jack cried out his name in the peak of his release. He wanted to see Jack smile each time Ianto said something.

Ianto wanted to weep again but he was afraid if he did, he wouldn't be able to stop.

Abruptly, he heard the front door click shut, a signal their hidden one was about to open. Ianto straightened just as Toshiko and Jack slipped out.

"Rift activity in Bute Park," Toshiko explained, lifting up her scanner. 

"Coffee break," Jack added cheekily as he shrugged on his coat.

Toshiko rolled her eyes and winked at Ianto. "We may be a few hours."

Ianto returned the grin as best he could. "Pick me up a latte?"

"Hey! We're doing serious work here, people!" Jack called out after her as Toshiko waved "Yeah, yeah" behind her shoulder before she went for the SUV. Jack stayed behind and grinned at Ianto. 

It felt like a familiar, comfortable pair of shoes he was slipping into when Ianto chuckled. "Isn't Chambers' Coffees by that way?"

"Is it?" Jack returned innocently.

"Hm, let me guess…you have a craving for their espresso brownie again." 

"Well, since it is on the way…" Jack grinned, flashing him a brilliant smile full of teeth. Slowly, he canted his head and sobered.

"You okay? You look like a Weevil just farted on you."

Ianto glowered. "Did you always have such a way with words?" 

"Part of my charm." Jack rested his elbows on the reception desk and frowned.

"You do look like crap though," Jack said bluntly. 

Ianto sighed when Jack pursed his lips. "It's nothing. Just tired."

Jack murmured sympathetically. "You could take a nap on my bed if you want. Gwen could make a rota for the reception desk," he offered. Jack grinned. "Let Owen handle the tourists for a while."

The thought of burying his face into Jack's scent made his groin twitch. Ianto steadied his breathing. "No. I'm fine. Maybe pick me up an espresso pudding from there as well while you're on your break."

"Rift activity."

"Uh huh," Ianto said skeptically. "And I'm the Queen of England."

Jack surprised him by capturing the hand closest to him and planting a light kiss to his fingers. "Your Majesty."

Ianto laughed and tried to ignore how his skin tingled where Jack's lips had touched him. He waved his hand at Jack, who ducked it easily. "Go! And bring me back a latte!"

Jack gave him one of his sloppy salutes and cheeky grins again before he slipped out the door. Ianto's chest warmed. God, he had missed that. It infused a glow all over him and Ianto was smiling broadly when his computer bleeped. One incoming message.

His smile faded. His stomach twisted when he saw the tiny flag flashing that meant he had finally received a new email from Dr. Tanizaki.

 

**Act II:** _"In order to save what we love, we have to risk losing it."_  
 **One week later…**

"…thanks." Jack smiled at the barkeep as he turned away to fill his orders. Idly, he sipped his glass of water and looked around him.

The bar everyone insisted on was apparently a known local spot. One of Owen's favorites, Ianto had commented before declining the invitation to join them for drinks. Gwen, Owen and Tosh had found a booth and were already chatting, joking, and plainly enjoying life as it was meant to be enjoyed. 

Jack took another sip. The barkeep was busy but Jack didn't mind as he wistfully looked at the patrons deep in conversation.

"…told him if he didn't want his ass out the street…"

"…turned me down twice. Cheeky…"

"…never thought I would vote for him, but he sounds good…"

"Mother would have a fit if she knew…"

The television behind him was switched from channel to channel. Jack caught snatches about the Ministry of Defense, a rugby game that was playing, Archangel, and Elvis Costello playing in some hall before someone finally settled on a sporting match he didn't recognized, but people cheered. None of it really made any sense to Jack, not that he ever cared. He just wished there was someone here he could ask; aside from Gwen—which only invited more questions from the ever inquisitive former PC—Jack didn't dare ask the others. Well, maybe Ianto.

At the thought of Ianto, a pang churned in his chest, the lump in his gut that never seem to go away growing harder and colder. Jack sighed to himself and looked glumly at the barkeep as he tried to dodge more demands as he filled orders.

It was ridiculous to miss someone who hadn't really left. For weeks, Ianto couldn't look Jack in the eye and Jack thought that was far worse than waking up alone that night.

_…his hands…his voice…  
_  
Jack drummed his fingers on the tall glass. 

It was unrealistic to think one encounter could convince Ianto Jones that being with a man could be just as satisfying as with a woman. Although, in his day, Jack could be very convincing. Or so he thought. But sex with a man apparently proved to be a little too overwhelming for Ianto Jones.

His chest tightened and he found he needed to look down and concentrate on the water stain on the counter. Ianto had to believe it was just sex otherwise things wouldn't go back to the way they were. And the thought of one more person not being able to look at him made him ill and the _thrum-thrum-tap-tap_ in his head grew too loud to bear.

It was for the best, Jack decided. Ianto wasn't the type of man to indulge in sex just for the physical intoxication of it. No, Ianto Jones looked like the kind of person who would court, care, and try to connect with someone. Sex would only be the end result; a bonus. No, Ianto Jones looked for love. And Jack couldn't give him that. Not with forever coursing in his blood. He just wished Ianto would stop looking at him like that had never occurred to him, that Jack wasn't a freak, that forever didn't matter. Jack almost wished Ianto would just stare at him like the Doctor had. _That_ , Jack knew how to deal with. 

"Buy you a drink?"

Jack blinked and looked up. Again, a face that under the right light, right turn, could be someone else. He was clean shaven, dressed in dark clothing, the leather jacket a nice fit over narrow shoulders. He had a young face but his smile was definitely older.

"No, thanks," Jack quipped, flashing him a smile in return. "I don't really drink."

"Mm, yet here you are in a bar." Blue eyes darkened as he considered Jack up and down. 

Jack resisted rolling his eyes. Didn't matter what century, he recognized this look. It was the one constant among humans. Their smiles are pleasant, but their eyes always said something different.

"Just getting drinks for my friends there." Jack gestured towards the booth. They were all huddled together, deep in thought, not looking his way.

"More non-drinkers?" The teasing smile stretched across his face and suddenly, it was like looking at Ianto.

Jack's breath caught and he couldn't help but laugh at that smile, feeling more in place with the hungry look cast his way. It was a language he knew how to respond to finally.

"Sorry, three pints. I'm the only non-drinker here." Jack nodded to the barkeep when he finally got his tray of orders. 

"Well, let me get you another." Smoothly, before Jack could do anything, the other grabbed his glass and whistled for a refill. Done, the man turned back to Jack, his smile a little too broad, a little too easy. "Here you go." The tall sweaty glass of water slid his way. "I like cheap dates."

Jack could smell the taint in the clear water even from here. "Apparently, not cheap enough. No thanks," Jack said smoothly, pushing the glass away. He felt a pang of disappointment when the man's eyes narrowed and the illusion morphed to something more feral. Jack tensed. Great, was he going to get thrown out of a bar _again_? 

"You know, we're dying of thirst here," Owen announced, suddenly shouldering between Jack and the other man. He dropped into the empty stool between them. He looked over his shoulder at the man.

"I think you're in the wrong bar, mate," Owen said pleasantly, but his eyes drifted to the tattoo of talons on his tanned collarbone. "Caveat's on the other side of town."

The other pressed his mouth together in a thin smile. "We were just talking."

"Actually," Jack interrupted. "He was just _leaving_." Jack plastered a smile on his face. It dropped when the other left finally. Jack rolled his eyes. Ianto was right. Very predatorial.

"New glass please," Gwen swooped in, plucked the drinking glass away from Jack. "Glass was dirty," she explained to the barkeep before she slid onto another stool. She scowled matronly at Jack.

"Thought we would keep you company," Toshiko explained as she popped up next to him. 

Jack gave them all an eye roll as well. "My heroes," he teased as he accepted the new glass of clean water and moved down a few stools for them to join him.

"Christ, Jack. We can't take you anywhere," Owen grumbled. "Don't tell me you don't go to the bars in London either. Of all the people to chat up."

"Hey, all I said was hello. Wait, I didn't even get to say that!"

"Good thing," Owen scowled at the doorway the other man had left through. "Unless you were into kinky."

Toshiko raised an eyebrow at Owen. "Oh, was he from Caveat?"

"Same tattoo and everything—Hold on, how do _you_ know about Caveat?"

Toshiko just smugly drank her beer, ignoring Owen's sputtering.

"Caveat, huh?" Jack pretended to give it some thought. He wondered what this century's people meant by kinky.

Gwen glared. "Don't even think about it, Jack! I think I must have made a dozen arrests there while I was PC."

Toshiko brightened. "Okay, there _must_ be a story or two in there!"

Jack laughed when Owen exclaimed, "Just how much did you have to drink already?"

The conversation drifted from Gwen's strangest arrests to someone's old flat mate before he had enough and joined the conversation.

"Tusks?" Gwen was laughing. "Are you serious?"

Jack snickered. "She said 'Do you know how hard it is to find a man? What's a few tusks?'."

Gwen snorted. "And I thought Rhys leaving the seat up was bad."

Toshiko made a comment and the girls laughed even harder, drawing attention.

Jack grinned, not quite getting the reference and hid his confusion with a long drink of water.

Owen, stuck between the two women, shot Jack a long suffering look before he wiggled out from between them and stood, slouching, next to him.

"The blonde down the bar, drinking the Guinness," Owen muttered out of the side of his mouth.

Jack's eyes flitted over. The blonde was pretty. He beamed at her and her coy smile widened.

"Cute but nope," Jack turned back to Owen. 

Owen shook his head. "She's practically salivating."

"No." Jack made a face. "I once dated a guy who had an overbite problem." Jack took a sip of his water before continuing. "Used to wake up with slobber all over me. _So_ over it." Of course, it could be because he was a member of the Trebganian family, known for their carnivorous appetites, but Jack decided to leave that part out.

Owen gave him a disbelieving look. "Okay then, _that_ bloke drinking the rum."

"Don't like heavy drinkers. Bad breath."

"The red head with the briefcase."

"Nope."

"The—"

"Okay, there can't be that many…" Jack trailed off when he looked around. Turning back, Owen smirked.

"Welcome to happy hour," Owen muttered. "Have you been living under a rock?"

More like a police box, Jack thought. Jack poked him with his elbow. "I thought we were just getting drinks here, not…" Jack shrugged, but he did look around curiously at the ones Owen had described. Yup, they all wore the same look. Jack relaxed. He could deal with predictable.

"The _one_ time we convince you to go out for drinks with us and you drink water," Owen snorted in disgust.

"Hey, it's a drink," Jack protested.

"Jonesy, I could understand, but I would have thought you would already be out there drinking back when you were working for Torchwood London."

"They kept me pretty busy there." Jack frowned at Owen. The doctor scrutinized him like a puzzle he couldn't quite figure out. Jack ignored the open curiosity and took a few more gulps of water.

Owen leaned over and lowered his voice. "You know, he's probably just feeding that pterodactyl of ours," Owen grunted as he took a gulp of beer as well. "If you give him a call; he could probably get here in time for the second round."

"Who?" Jack gave him a puzzled look. Owen shook his head, snickered, and just took another sip of beer. Gwen then said something else and the three were all back talking about the worst flat mates they ever had. Jack listened curiously, laughing when they did, wondering why he was wishing he was back in the Hub.

Then, Toshiko's scanner rang. UFO sighting in Cardigan Bay. Everyone, especially Owen, complained, but Jack almost grinned. It was time to head back to Torchwood. 

 

**Act III:** _"Why is there one in our bloody basement?"_

Even though Owen had warned him, running into the Cyberman was still a shock. More so when he realized it was a woman. And when it approached…

"Lisa?" Jack blurted out when the cyborg came closer. "What? How? You died…" She took another step closer and his gun automatically went up. He aimed and—

"No!" Out of nowhere, someone grabbed him, bodily slammed him up against the wall. 

Ianto's red rimmed eyes filled his view and Jack _knew_.

"You brought her down here," Jack hissed and Ianto gave him a tight nod before Jack released him, turning to the power switch as Gwen screamed, terrified, trapped on the platform.

Jack staggered back, bumping his legs against Owen's prone body. He thought a rift had somehow opened, another breach, another…anything but this. How did he get so blinded?

"We have to go," Jack hissed as he grabbed Owen and hefted him over his shoulders. Ianto looked at him, dazed and almost stupor-like, before he averted his gaze. Jack's gut turned ice cold but he didn't have the luxury to let out the lump ramming in his chest, demanding to be released. 

"This way," Ianto rasped, still not looking at him, his fingers tugging at Gwen's sleeve for her attention. She gawked at the conversion unit— _it shouldn't be_ _here_ —but at Ianto's pull, she followed, her eyes wary and alert again. Jack shifted Owen's weight evenly across his shoulders, gritted his teeth and followed Ianto out of the vaults. The other's sure footing and direction in the dark made his mouth sour.

 

It felt like his hands belonged to another when he prodded the gun to Ianto's head. 

"What else have you been keeping from us?" Jack didn't know him anymore. Maybe he had never known him at all.

"Jack, for God's sake, what are you doing?" Tosh sounded horrified and she stopped in her tracks. 

"Tosh! I gave you an order! Gwen, help her." 

Ianto didn't flinch at the gun pointed at his forehead. He stared up to Jack, his hands behind his head. "Jack, I—"

" _What else_?" Jack clenched his teeth to keep from screaming, to keep his gun steady. The entire Hub was on lockdown, everyone's faces a ghoulish red. "How many more are down here?" 

"One! Just Lisa! Jack!" Ianto's eyes pleaded with him. "I had to save her."

At all costs apparently. Jack choked back whatever wanted to come out. He had been a fool. 

"Who is she?" Gwen demanded, not moving.

Ianto looked past Jack and answered her. "Her name's Lisa. She's my girlfriend. She was caught up in the battle at Canary Wharf."

"Oh my God," Tosh breathed. "They tried to convert her."

"She wasn't converted!" Ianto stared up at Jack again. "She's still human inside. It's still Lisa."

Jack lowered his gun as Gwen tried to wrap her head around what Ianto was saying. "B-but you could have told us about her. We could have helped you—"

"Torchwood exists to destroy alien threats." The loathing Ianto had for Torchwood London spilled out like venom. Jack felt his chest squeeze. "Why would I tell you about her?"

Jack fought for composure. "Torchwood's different now," Jack rasped. "I changed it. _You_ know that," Jack grated out.

"How could I risk it?"

"A little loyalty, perhaps?" Owen groused, rising to his feet swaying with Tosh's help, his hand to his head. 

Ianto wouldn't look at Jack. "My loyalty's to Lisa." 

The room went completely dark for a second. The air drained from his body. Just a second, only a second of eternity, but when his vision returned, Jack realized everything looked different now. 

"You love Lisa," Jack rasped. "You did all this for her. _Everything_."

Ianto's face crumpled as he gasped out, "I owe it to her." 

_We_ owe it to her, Jack thought he could hear Ianto saying. His eyes burned.

"There's no cure for her," Owen argued. "All you've done is just sent her down here to slaughter us all!"

"You're not listening! The conversion was never completed. I can still save her!"

Toshiko kept anxiously looking back and forth between them. "Jack, it'll take at least six hours to get the power back up."

"There's no way we can get into that weapons store without power!" Owen argued. 

Ianto kept his gaze on Jack as he rose to his feet. "Let me talk to her. I'll make her listen. She'll listen to me!"

Jack shook his head, sick. "Forget it, Ianto, she won't list—"

"I have to try!"

Jack stared hard at Ianto.

"I have to try. I…I love her. Haven't you ever loved—" Horror crossed over Ianto's face at whatever he saw on Jack's. "God, I didn't mean—"

"You better decide whose side you're on," Jack said, his voice thin. "Or you won't see the end of this. _None_ of us will." 

 

**Act IV:** _"I am…disgusting…I have…I am wrong…"_

The second time he came back to life, Jack wanted to howl his disappointment. He thought this time he wouldn't come back. _Why_ did he come back?

The empty thuds beyond his sight, however, reminded him why he needed to come back.

Jack curled into himself and breathed out harshly. The remnants of Lisa's, no, the _cyborg's_ shock rippled through his body. It felt like it had ripped the vortex out of him and there had been a brief moment of clarity, of weightlessness in his body, before darkness swept over him, promising peace. Only to come back to life.

Another metallic clang roused him further. Jack sat up, grimacing, his body aching, wondering about his next move when he saw Ianto.

Jack was by Ianto before he knew it. Carefully, he turned Ianto over and held him to his chest. Ianto's head lolled against him. It was a mockery of that night, when he had held Ianto like this weeks before. Already, Ianto felt cold, slack, limp in his arms. And despite whatever anger, rage, and rawness he had felt inside him before, panic now rose in its place when he realized Ianto was dying. Jack felt the weak pulse fluttering against his fingers. Jack stared at Lisa's shadow creeping up to the medical bay like a ghost.

He remembered when he had kissed the girl Carys, how it felt like he was being drained as the alien took what he offered. His life departed into the possessed girl in a familiar sensation. 

Jack brushed a hand to the pale face. Ianto's head rolled to him, his mouth opened in shallow breath. Would it be enough? 

With a tiny pause, Jack sealed his mouth over Ianto's. He didn't sense anything and Jack despaired when he felt no response.

There!

Like candlelight at the corner of his eye, Jack felt the tiny pricks of heat, of life, seeking, questioning.

Like he said, all he has is life. A surplus.

Jack tried to imagine himself cutting open a vein, baring his neck. Take it, he offered in his mind, to the flickering light he could almost see, just at the outer edge of his awareness. The body he held stirred.

Jack's hold tightened, pulling Ianto to him. His kiss deepened, his hand gripping Ianto's chin almost painfully. He could feel himself diminishing and it was all he could do not to cry out in relief.

Take it, Jack screamed in his mind. All of it! Put me out of my misery!

Drained was the only way Jack could describe it. He grew lightheaded, his limbs tingled like a current ran through his blood, but Jack didn't pull away. He could feel the pulse under his palm grow stronger, the body warmer yet he didn't stop, hoping Ianto would just drain him dry and finish him off once and for all.

He didn't.

Ianto jerked, his body thrashing as he strengthened. When his eyes flew open, they met Jack's.

His mouth moved as if to speak. Jack simply placed a finger to his mouth, shushing him. Ianto kept staring at Jack, his breathing slowing to a calmer one. His hands settled on Jack's heart and Ianto looked confused.

Then Lisa cried out. Both of them whipped their heads towards the medical bay. Before Jack could help him or stop him—he didn't know which—Ianto scrambled to his feet and was gone. 

 

**Act IV:** _"You like to think you're a hero, but you're the biggest monster of all…"_

Five minutes had passed. Then six. 

"Jack, Ianto…"

Not looking at them, Jack pulled out his gun. Ianto had called him a monster. His hands shook as he checked the chamber of his Webly for bullets. He might as well act the part. The Cyberman—he can't bring himself to think of her as Lisa—can't leave the Hub, even if he had to bring the whole base down on her. "I told him to choose. He obviously made his choice."

"Jack," Gwen choked out. " _Christ_ , this is his girlfriend. He _loves_ her. How could you ask him to choose—"

Jack closed his eyes. Because he was a monster, remember? "That girl died in Canary Wharf. All Ianto was doing was keeping the shell alive." He gnashed his teeth. Ten minutes. He gave him ten minutes. The least he could do for a man who was willing to do so much for the woman he loved was to give him ten minutes. It's now been seven.

"This is bollocks," Owen said abruptly and slipped into the hallway before anyone could stop him. Pretty soon, everyone ran to the elevator.

The lights were back on by the time they'd reached the sub-level. Everyone pressed their backs against each other as they pointed their guns at any shadow. The pterodactyl cawed bitterly above. Blood was splattered everywhere. 

Jack's breath quickened as he scanned the central area. No bodies.

"Oh God," Gwen hissed. She crouched down and ghosted a hand over pizza boxes left on the ground. "Still warm," she reported tersely. "Jack, these weren't here before."

"Everyone to the vault," Jack ordered quietly. 

"Ianto," Tosh said hushed, looking around, and Jack's heart clenched.

"Vaults," he said tersely. 

As they walked carefully down to the vaults, the turns, the corridors grew clearer in Jack's mind with each step. And when they reached the junction where it split off into three corridors, something fell into place. Something that made perfect sense now and a piece inside him that Jack didn't know existed until now splintered and left him numb.

"Shit, it's like a maze in here," Owen swore low. "We didn't go down this way before. How do we know—"

"This way," Jack said brusquely, pushing past everyone, and turning to the right. 

 

"…can be upgraded together—"

It wasn't clear who fired first. The first muzzle flash sparked the other three and the young girl no one knew yet who spoke like Lisa jerked like a puppet with its strings cut off. Jack thought he heard Ianto scream out her name. But the young man just stood there, mouth slightly open, his face white despite the smudges of dirt, soot and blood all over his face. 

When the gunfire silenced, it was over. In fact, it felt to Jack like everything was _truly_ over. 

Stunned, Ianto had dropped to his knees between the dead girl on the conversion platform and the cyborg on the ground. Also dead. 

"Ianto," Gwen breathed, her voice breaking.

Jack felt remorse for Lisa. It really wasn't fair to her. She didn't deserve this; not after having someone fight so hard for her. But he felt nothing else. He didn't wonder at that. He just felt tired, husked out and…and such a fucking fool. 

"Find out who the girl was," Jack said to no one in particular, his voice flat. He kept it low though so Ianto wouldn't hear. "Owen, get everyone upstairs and lockdown this vault. Take out all the power sources connected to this place."

"What do we do now?" Gwen murmured as she hesitantly took a step forward towards Ianto. Jack didn't stop her. The bowed figure now holding Lisa's hand couldn't be ignored. 

Standing outside the vault, Jack could smell jasmine with blood and ozone. He suddenly felt sick.

"Now," Jack rasped as Gwen hunched over Ianto, murmuring. "We move on." 

 

**Act V:** _"You would never have shot him…"_

The Hub stilled when he entered. Barely a day ago, he held Lisa's bleeding body on his lap. Barely seven hours ago, he had tried to scrub the blood off his hands then panicked because the last bit of Lisa he had left was running down the drain.

Ianto stood by the cog door and cage, uncertain.

"Ianto." Toshiko made as if she was going to walk towards him, hesitated, then fluttered her hands helplessly in the air, trying to figure out where to place them. 

"Didn't think you would…" Trailing off, Toshiko shrugged, one hand nervously massaging the back of her neck, she smiled nervously, looking away. 

"I was given a choice, remember?" Ianto murmured. He tried but couldn't hide the bitterness in his voice. Toshiko flinched. "I uh…" His eyes drifted and caught the girl's face on Tosh's screen. Something sour filled his throat.

"Who was she?" The delivery girl's all too young face on her driver's license smiled brightly behind the computer expert.

"Does it matter now? She's dead," Owen replied shortly before Toshiko could as he walked past, autopsy report in his hand, surgical mask pulled down, his lab coat speckled with blood spots.

"Owen!" Toshiko hissed, but Owen ignored her.

It wasn't any less than he deserved so when Owen went right up at his face, his chin jutting out, Ianto didn't flinch.

"Our illustrious leader," Owen drawled, his eyes narrowed, "said your cyberwoman's body…," he ignored Toshiko's slap on his shoulder, "…should be turned over to her family instead of our morgue. For a proper funeral."

Ianto sucked in his breath and for the countless time, his voice cracked. "I'll take care of it. There was no one else. All she had was me. I was her family."

Something flickered across Owen's dark eyes and his glare eased back. "Ah," he just said. He slapped a form against Ianto's chest, pursed his lips at him, his eyes narrowing again. Then, he abruptly turned on his heel and stalked back to the infirmary, muttering. 

Tosh gave him an uneasy smile and went back to her station. She quickly scribbled the name from her screen, tore the sheet off her notebook and folded it into neat quarters. Wordlessly, she went over and slipped it in his suit jacket pocket.

Ianto swallowed and looked up to the briefing room when he felt someone was watching. Gwen stood there, her arms folded in front of her by the glass, smiling sadly at him. He remembered her coaxing him out of the vaults, up the steps, her voice calm in his ear all the way back to his flat.

He nodded slightly to her, a tiny bob of thanks and Gwen just smiled sorrowfully again before turning away. Ianto folded the body release form, tucked it in with Tosh's note, and began to clean up.

He never saw Jack.

 

Walking down the corridors, the tool kit rattling in his hand, Ianto stopped short at the sight of a solitary figure standing in front of the conversion unit. With the rigid back and braces towards him, Ianto was afraid to approach.

"I guess you made your choice." While the voice wasn't flat, it was devoid any of the familiarity that usually made Jack's voice hum to him. 

"I was going to take down the unit," Ianto set down the kit. "I uh…didn't know anyone was down here."

"No need for you to do it." Jack's stance was odd, feet apart, arms dangling by his sides, his hands curled loose. "We'll do that."

"I put it up—"

"And we'll bring it down," Jack finished harshly.

Ianto lowered his eyes. The ground blurred in front of him.

"If she had gotten out," Jack said in a hard voice. "She would have been unstoppable. We might not have been able to stop her. If she had gotten out, do you know how many people wandering around the Plass could have gotten killed?"

"She's not like that, Jack. Lisa's not a murderer—"

"I found the other body!"

Ianto screwed his eyes shut. "Oh God."

"Who was he?" Jack asked flatly over his shoulder. 

"Dr. Tanizaki," Ianto whispered. "From Japan. He's— _was_ studying the technology. Lisa and I thought he could help us. We thought he could make her human again."

"There's no cure." Jack's voice lost its edge and he sounded weary.

"I thought there could be," Ianto cracked.

"You thought wrong."

Ianto sagged back against a wall. He covered his face with his hands, but he couldn't bring himself to cry. There was nothing but an emptiness there that he never thought he would feel when it was finally over. "I wanted to save her. I owed it to her. If I hadn't left her—I loved her."

"So you brought her _here_ , lied to all of us, and risked exposing the world to—" Jack heaved a sigh. He fell silent. And they stood there, not looking at each other, Jack's back as imposing as Ianto feared his face must be.

The hesitation in Jack's voice made Ianto's chest hurt. "Just answer me this. That night, down here…"

Ianto bowed his head. His eyes stung.

"She was there, wasn't she? Another turn and I would have found her."

"Yes," Ianto whispered brokenly. "She'd been in there since I started here."

Jack said nothing. He stroked something in his right hand, his thumb brushing across something. Ianto glanced over, his mouth dry when he realized it was a drying jasmine blossom.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Jack said quietly.

Ianto bit his lower lip until it bled. He couldn't say anything. 

"But I can't ignore the fact you placed us all at risk," Jack went on.

There was a sliver of fear. "Are you going to Retcon me?"

Jack sounded strange. "Do you _want_ me to Retcon you?"

Ianto gulped and bit his lower lip. "I-I don't want to forget Lisa."

From here, Ianto could see Jack slowly nod and relief made him lightheaded. 

"I thought you would be angrier than this," Ianto confessed. "Last night, you wanted to kill us both."

"You did all this out of love," Jack said listlessly. "How can I possibly hold that against you?"

Ianto pressed a fist to his mouth to block a sob wanting to come out. 

"Jack, I-I'm sorry."

"I'm not," Jack responded quietly. "But I'm sure Lisa would have understood why you did what you did. You didn’t betray her. Not really. It was just sex."

Ianto realized, dismayed, that Jack had misunderstood. "No! I—"

"Four weeks suspension."

Ianto stared. "What?"

"Starting now." Jack placed the flower he had in his hand on the blood soaked ground, as carefully as he would if it were glass. "I have to follow protocol here. I can't ignore this."

"Four _weeks_?" The prospect of sitting home, Lisa's things all around him, made Ianto's knees wobble. "I can't, I—"

"Think of it as bereavement leave," Jack cut in. "Get her affairs in order, deal with the body."

"I’d rather keep busy and work. Please, I don't need four weeks."

"There's a lot you need to deal with," Jack said quietly. 

"I can deal with it working! Jack, I don't need four weeks. I—"

" _I_ need you to take the four weeks," Jack interrupted. For the first time, there was a tremor in his words. 

Ianto stared at Jack's back, dismayed. "I…" 

" _Please_." There was the slight crack again.

His shoulders slumped. "Alright," Ianto relented, deflating. "If-f that's what you want."

"Thank you."

The gratitude was far more than he deserved. He'd failed them both. Ianto took a step towards the room, but his feet wouldn't move any further. Jack had yet to look at him.

"Jack, I don't know what to say." Or what to do. Ianto stood away from the wall.

The humor in Jack's tone didn't invite a smile. "I think enough's been said."

"What I said. What I called you—"

"It's done," Jack said stiffly. 

Ianto stared at his back. "Won't you look at me?"

"I'll see you in four weeks," Jack just said.

"Jack, I—"

"Goodbye, Ianto." Jack wavered at his name.

Ianto's eyes burned. He could barely breathe, could barely see. He staggered back a step, then another, and another until he was up the stairs and gone.

 

Three hours later, Owen went down to check the vaults and found Jack sitting on the ground, cradling a dead flower. Every finger in his hand was broken. Metal surrounded him like a giant crown of steel thorns.

Jack had torn down the conversion unit with his bare hands.


	23. "Cyberwoman 2.0"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning For This Chapter:** DARK, mentions m/m situations, strong language
> 
>  **Notes For This Chapter:** Note there are parallels to TW's "Fragments", "Everything Changes" and "Cyberwoman"

**Act I:** _Suspension Week 1_

It was a face that didn't need to be turned the right way or viewed under the right light. His nose was not the right size, the eyes were the wrong color, and his hands were just a little too rough. He didn't look like anyone familiar; he was essentially a total stranger. 

He was perfect.

But after a grope, failed attempts to kiss—he kept veering for his mouth—and clumsy thrusts up against a brick wall, Jack Harkness thought Mark or Martin was far too gentle, too considerate and too careful to be doing this with. Jack, or James to him, wanted to forget and there was no oblivion to be found here, no desperate writhing under the threat of German bombings. 

The man had recognized a solitary soul edging along the bar uncertainly and had congenially offered him a drink. Jack offered himself in exchange. 

But past the frantic unbuckling of belts and the snarl of zippers, Jack realized the heat, the knot of _wrong_ in his chest wouldn't relent even under the prospect of anonymous sex. 

He straightened his flight jacket, the jeans he had bought on a whim, and tucked in his t-shirt. He awkwardly gave some excuse, which the other took graciously as a way out and they parted ways in the alley behind some theater. Jack stumbled out and tried again, only to again make polite excuses, graceless exits, and wandered away from yet another alley feeling oddly numb. The lump in his gut just kept growing and growing until it felt like he was being filled with sharp knives trying to gouge him from the inside out. 

Finally Jack just sat in the SUV, scanner on his lap and his greatcoat folded in the passenger seat next to him. He blankly stared out the windshield as a night sky dawned to crimson and waited to see if any Weevil alert would come in tonight. A hot slice from a claw would be welcomed right now; anything to rival the other pain in his gut. Anything that would make the beat in his head go away. 

_Anything_. 

 

Jack had found the flight jacket in a vintage shop during his last week in London, before leaving for Cardiff. Abigail, as her first objective as acting Director of Torchwood, made it her mission to acclimate him to the 21st century after learning that Jack's experiences had been cut short during the forties when he rejoined the Doctor.

It was a whimsical purchase then, something he bought with the stipend he was given—it still amused him to no end that the colorful printed paper held such value in this century—though he knew he should have been buying more up to date clothing. 

It looked like the one he had owned before: khaki in color, brass zippers, snug, and stopped flatteringly at the hip. Rose was caught trying it on one time during a stop in 15th century Mexico. She said in her time, vintage was very in. Confused, Jack had asked in what and she had laughed. The 21st century was so confusing. Bad means good, in wasn't really in anything, vintage fashion was the _new_ fashion, and men didn't have to open doors for women anymore. Jack had quite liked doing the last one.

Everything he had from that time with them was gone, possibly tossed out by the Doctor. The greatcoat was from when he had visited 1941 the second time. He still missed his gray one, but hadn't been able to find an exact copy.

He did, however, find the jacket. But it was never meant to be worn. Just to be a souvenir of the old Jack Harkness. 

Jack picked at a fraying thread along the utility pocket on the right. Hm, shouldn't be a problem, or so he hoped. Otherwise, he would have to ask Ian—

His hand jerked away from the thread. Roughly, he hung up the jacket and shoved it to the back of his wardrobe, behind his shirts. Jack pulled off his t-shirt, jeans and switched them for his button down shirt, his trousers, his red braces and his boots. He rubbed a towel roughly over his hair until the slick product was gone and his hair fell back over his brow in short bangs. He looked back at himself in the mirror hanging behind the wardrobe door. 

Funny, he had thought it was strange to see himself back in the jacket and that hair style, yet reverting back, he felt just as strange, equally as disembodied.

His wrist strap beeped, indicating someone entered the Hub. Probably Toshiko. She'd been coming in earlier and earlier these days.

Jack pulled the braces over his shoulders and shrugged on the greatcoat until it fell over his body. Jack took a deep breath, then another, before turning around. He steered for the ladder, ignored his bed once again and climbed out of the hatchway. As soon as his face cleared the manhole, he fixed a smile on his face and bellowed.

"Toshiko! Rift monitor shows activity in the fourth sector. Road trip?"

It was time to get back to work. 

 

The first two days were spent sleeping. Ianto slept fitfully on a bed too big—Lisa wanted a big, big, bed—and a room too hot. Ianto hadn't felt like getting up to fix the thermostat. When his bladder demanded not to be neglected, he shuffled to his bathroom, did what needed to be done, avoided the mirror as he washed his hands, then curled back under the covers. He'd never checked the clock or even looked out the window.

The fact that he constantly woke up sticky, thirsty, or even disoriented—was he late for work, had he slept through his alarm, would the new dose be sufficient—wasn't enough of a motivation to get him out of his bed. Tired, his limbs like rubber, his eyes swollen and gritty, Ianto simply slept.

Ianto dreamt of the day Lisa had talked about out on the beach, how wet the sand was between his toes, how it had felt gritty yet fascinating against her skin. He dreamt about the first time they had moved in together. They had debated who would get the top drawer. He had; Lisa was always ticklish behind her left calf. 

He was content to lie there, uncomfortable in his tangled sheets, dreaming about a Lisa from when she hadn't thought of herself as Human 2.0 or wrong or that her 'upgrade' was incomplete. It was easy to fool himself that the pillows rammed up against his back were Lisa and each time he blearily opened his eyes, it was simply just another lazy Saturday where they would spend hours debating the merits of getting up and making breakfast. 

But then, the dreams progressed.

Lisa was always crying in pain when he sat with her. PV-35 had lost its potency after a month and the doses needed to be increased. All Ianto could dream about now was of her crying. He could see a tear trailing down her face even while she slept, while he read the next chapter of the latest paperback by her favorite author. He'd finished the first one and was reading the sequel to her.

He never got to finish it for her. It was left on a stool in the vault. Ianto never saw it again.

The dreams had grown colder, darker and Ianto would wake up with his face wet, his body aching. It proved to be too much and on the third day, after dreaming of finding Jack on the dais, Lisa standing over him impassively with a bloody circular saw, Ianto stumbled out of bed, feeling like an old man. But once his feet were planted on the floor, Ianto stood there swaying, confused.

Now what?

Ianto stripped his bed, did his sheets, and threw out the pillows. He pulled off every shirt and trousers from the hangers and deposited them for the dry cleaners. He threw out everything in his refrigerator and stood in the market, wondering how he was supposed to shop for one now. He'd always shopped for two even when Lisa wasn't with him. It was depressing, a gloom pressing down on his chest as he sorted though can sizes and mulled over if a liter of milk would be too wasteful. 

Ianto followed his usual habit and glanced over the rack while he got in the queue to pay. A small smile twitched at the corners of his mouth when his eyes fell upon the pouches of chocolates. That was a new flavor: crispy rice. It was amazing the things candy companies would think of.

Ianto plucked a few packets of each kind, chuckling when the clerk giggled as he piled the chocolates into his basket.

Still smiling as he left the store, Ianto fumbled out his mobile, his thumb already punching the necessary digits. The name 'Jack Harkness' popped up by the time he reached his car.

Ianto's smile faded and he slowed to his car's door. He held the mobile in his hand, looking down at it. 

His hand curled around the mobile and it hurt to thumb the 'Cancel' button. Ianto sighed as he pocketed his phone, climbed into his car and drove back to his flat. He threw everything into the fridge, not bothering to sort them out, kicked off his shoes and crawled back into bed. 

 

Jack scanned a memo that mentioned the launching of satellites and instructions on how to switch all their systems over to them. Despite cutting all ties with Torchwood One, there were still a lot of bureaucratic dealings between all the affiliates and UNIT. Jack kept his eyes on the stack of paperwork. He could hear Owen and the others talking low outside—they'd been doing that a lot lately—but couldn't bring himself to care. It was too tiring to care any more.

After the third section, Jack grew bored and in a fit of temper, balled it up and threw it across to land on the empty deposit case used for the alien safe. It bounced off the open lid and ricocheted into the metal case.

The letter about UNIT's new liaison went in with a graceful arc. Then the one about Torchwood Two's request for personnel sailed right in. The one about Owen's request for more of chemical fifty six missed the edge. So did a copy of an email from PM Jones about some files missing in the Cardiff's Mayor's office. That one caught the edge, spun, and skipped under the table.

The next—

Ianto's name had jumped out when he grabbed the paper. It was a print out of an email, slipped between two weeks worth of other requests. It was meant as a reminder, formally requesting a few days off in the next month. It was for a sojourn to London. For the anniversary of Canary Wharf.

There was a petty part of him that wanted to tear up the polite request. Another part—the more foolish part, he decided—wanted to call the young man and tell him...

Tell him what?

Jack heaved a sigh, smashed the sheet to his face as he bowed his head, hearing and feeling the paper crinkling around the top of his head.

_Thrum-thrum-tap-tap…_

Ianto did everything he could to save Lisa Hallet. Jack could only imagine the nights spent piecing the unit together down in the Hub.

Did he really think he could actually get away with it? Someone was bound to come down there. Or did Ianto plan to sleep with them, too?

Jack felt ill the minute he thought it. Ianto wasn't him. He would have found another way. _That_ way happened to be the best way to deal with Jack Harkness.

_Thrum-thrum-tap-tap…Thrum-thrum-tap-tap…Thrum-thrum-tap-tap…_

Jack lowered the sheet of paper. He thought about that lone figure kneeling over Lisa's dead body. He fought because he loved her, couldn’t bring himself to live without her.

Jack couldn't help but feel envious. 

'Approved', Jack scribbled on the sheet. He smoothed the printout before folding it into threes and slipped it into an envelope. Once done though, Jack stared at it.

Now what? 

 

**Act II:** _Suspension Week 2_

The knock on the door roused him out of a dream of Lisa covered in blood and metal, Jack staring stoically from a distance. Ianto jerked his head up from the pillow, momentarily feeling displaced and confused. The knock, a little more timid and uncertain, drew him out of bed and to the door.

Gwen had her hand up for another knock by the time he opened the door. At her look, he wished he had taken the time to change, or shower, or shave, maybe even comb his hair because the look on her face was a little too sympathetic, a little too concerned for him to tolerate right now. 

"Did I wake you?" Gwen asked needlessly.

Ianto could sense daylight still streaming behind him through one of the windows. "No, I uh," he checked his watch. "Just a nap."

"Oh good," Gwen said a little too brightly. She paused. "Um…alright if I come in?"

Perhaps he was too groggy, or her overly cheerful face caught him off guard, but Ianto only now realized that he had left Gwen standing out in the hallway. 

"Sorry, come in, come in." Ianto stepped aside, smiling briefly as she passed. He tugged at his shirt, shrugged and grimaced as he straightened his jeans. "You're here very early." He stopped. "Or…oh, is…is this official?"

Gwen surveyed his flat before looking back at him over her shoulder. "No. Not really. It's been slow and Jack—" She paused at his name. She looked down at her sneakers and her voice brightened again. "Let us go home early."

Ianto frowned and checked his watch again. "Oh."

"Uh, he asked me to drop this off for you." Gwen fumbled into her handbag. "Hang on. Oh, where did I—no, that's not it—oh, here."

It was just a white envelope but Ianto stared at it nervously.

"This came in the mail for you, too," Gwen pulled out a bundle of mail to add to it. "Thought since I was coming here, well, might as well, you know…" Gwen trailed off. She sighed. "I'm just going to come right out and say it: how are you, Ianto?"

Jack's neat, almost too straight handwriting stood out on the print out. Ianto glanced up and almost cringed at the open look of worry; it was the look of detached grief, too much a reminder to him of what he had lost. Ianto dropped his gaze.

"Fine," he murmured. Jack's brief 'Approved' written below his email was more painful than he thought it should be. Ianto folded it back into its plain envelope and sorted through his mail absently.

"Ianto," Gwen hesitated. "Owen's done with the b—with Lisa."

His fingers stilled over the confidential letter from Torchwood One. "Oh," he said shakily. "You…he needs the name of…of the funeral home. Hang on." Ianto dropped the stack of letters on the folded chair he had left open since Jack had used it, still huddled around the other two. Ianto waved distractedly towards one of the chairs for Gwen to sit. "I'll get you the—Sorry, did you want anything to drink? Something to eat?" Wait, did he buy food? He had gone to the market yesterday, hadn't he? Or was that this morning?

Gwen touched his left arm. Ianto looked down at her fingers and thought how she had almost became a cyborg because Lisa—no, it wasn't her—threw her into the conversion unit.

"You already gave us the address. Remember? Here, sit down with me."

The grip was light but he allowed it to guide him to a chair. Gwen sat down in front of him and studied him intently. Dimly, Ianto wondered if this was some sort of counseling training PCs were given. 

"How have you been?"

"Fine," Ianto automatically said, because it was the only answer he could think of.

"We…um…well, Tosh and I were wondering if there was anything you would like us to do?" Gwen fiddled with her purse. "Owen mentioned perhaps you would like to select an outfit for her to be…" Gwen hesitated. 

It seemed every word was a landmine right now. Ianto blinked at her before he nodded. "For the burial. Of course." Because she would have been stripped of all alien tech, lying in cold storage, waiting for Ianto. 

Gwen's brow lined and she reached over and patted his knee. "Would you like us to help you?" She smiled nervously, as if afraid of the answer.

Ianto glanced over to the crates and thought about her or Tosh rummaging through Lisa's things. Ghost vapors of jasmine made his stomach clench.

"No, ah, I better do it m-myself."

"Okay," Gwen murmured, rising to her feet. "But if you do want Tosh and I—"

"I'll call you, thank you," Ianto rasped as he followed her to the door. "Thank you for dropping off—Gwen?"

Gwen turned to look over her shoulder questioningly.

"H-how's Jack?"

The briefest hesitation told him everything. "He's fine." And then she was gone.

 

Ianto managed to get all the crates opened the next day, and pulled out half of her clothes before he had to get out of the flat. The floral smell grew to be too much and he choked as he pulled out a cardigan and found a button was missing at the bottom. Lisa had kept it anyway because he had given it to her for Christmas.

The cardigan with its finely brushed material fluttered to the bed while Ianto grabbed his keys, his wallet and his jacket. By the time he crossed the street, Ianto had decided he needed a drink. _Now._

It was a bar that looked shabby, a bit dodgy, and sparsely crowded that drew Ianto's eye. It reminded him of the one he and Lisa often gave patronage to back before Torchwood. It was close to the universities, she just started working and the food, while being just the usual pub fare, was cheap. 

They'd gone there everyday. They even had a favorite booth, furthest away from the music, the billiards, and noise. 

No booths here, just a few mismatched tables and chairs, but the drafts were cheap. Ianto was done with one pint quickly, contemplating his second when the pub began to fill with the evening crowd. His head was pleasantly fuzzy and he thought he could hear Lisa every time a girl laughed. 

He couldn't go back to his flat. He couldn't go back to Torchwood—not yet anyway—and there was nothing left in the vaults that beckoned him. There was no place left for Ianto to go. Damn this suspension. Damn Jack.

The thought of Jack, however, bade him to take another gulp of beer. The memory of his voice asking—no, _begging_ —Ianto to take the four weeks made him take another. And another. The fact that Gwen had to deliver the note made him take another long drink. The realization that he had to go through the crates and decide which part of Lisa's things would be buried with her made him empty the glass and gesture to the barkeep for another. 

Maybe he could do this for the rest of the four weeks, Ianto thought glumly as he blearily looked up at an increasingly blurry telly. It burbled something about the Ministry of Defense, then to the Ospreys scoring a penalty that made some cheer. 

Maybe he should drink himself into a stupor or at least numb him to what needed to be done. Maybe he should see if Jack could still time travel and take him back to fix things. No, wait, Jack can't. He had said only the Doctor, whose hand was haunting Jack in a jar, could travel back and forth in time and he left Jack behind in Hartman's grasp. Bloody Doctor. 

"Buy you a drink, mate?"

Ianto squinted over to what he could see was a friendly smile and a man perhaps his height leaning sideways on the bar.

"No thank you," Ianto muttered and turned back around again. "I bought mine already."

"Well, all the better for me. Mind if I join you, then?"

"Actually, no—" Ianto began, gritting his teeth when the man squeezed past him to sit on the empty stool next to him. 

Ianto looked to his left and behind the fellow at the row of empty seats. He blinked back at the intruder, still smiling pleasantly enough, his eyes wandering up and down. 

Good God, was there a sign that screamed, "I slept with my boss. Now fancy blokes!" above his head? Ianto pointedly ignored him and heaved a sigh when the barkeep wouldn't look his way.

"Hm, I think I can guess." The knowing voice off his shoulder made him gnash his teeth. "Your date never showed."

Ianto intercepted the beer before the other could from the barkeep. He fumbled out a few quid and practically threw it at the barkeep before the other could try and pay for it.

"Argument with your girlfriend?" When Ianto didn't answer, he tried again, " _Boyfriend_?"

Ianto had never been in a brawl in any drinking establishment, but today he wanted to make an exception. He turned on his stool towards him. The room spun and when it finally steadied, someone new had joined them. 

"To quote another, Caveat's on the other side of town, Gavin."

Ianto blinked at the deep rumbled voice. He brightened at first, then squinted, puzzled. It didn't match the out of focus image in front of him. 

"James." Gavin—if that was really his name—practically purred. "Missed you."

"I didn't," James returned lightly. "You're really circulating around." Tall, broad shouldered, James sidled up next to Ianto. "You're wasting your time with this one. Too much play-by-play chatter. Not really into…you know."

Ianto peered up at him but damn, his eyes watered. Slicked back hair, shadowed eyes, a strong jaw; the eyes while unclear, held a darkness in them Ianto's gut ached looking at.

"A friend?"

Not really, Ianto wanted to say, wondering when he had become a prize for complete strangers to heckle over. Soon, they'd be pissing around him to mark their territories. Ianto opened his mouth to deny it when an arm dropped over his shoulders. Wait, _this_ felt familiar; this solid feel of heat and gentle strength that spoke of both iron and soothing warmth.

"Yup," James quipped. His arm around Ianto squeezed briefly then dropped quickly. "Stanley and I go way back."

"Ah." It irked Ianto that not only did Gavin _not_ sound disappointed, but he sounded intrigued. "Then perhaps, we—"

"Nope," James cut him off. "Come on, Stanley." The grip on his elbow was almost painful. 

"See you later, James." Gavin sounded so smug, Ianto wanted to turn around and box his ears.

The hand on his elbow jerked and Ianto started in surprise. He looked up at the face not looking at him. The jacket rubbing against his jaw felt unfamiliar, zippers and synthetic material instead of heavy, dense blue wool.

"Jack?" Ianto asked faintly and felt the other jerk.

"You smell like a distillery," the other just said, tugging him upright and pulling him along. "Can you walk?"

"Aren't I walking now?" Ianto murmured faintly and bumped into him. His nose pressed into the jacket and his eyes widened. Musty, spicy, scents he recognized yet couldn't pinpoint. Ianto grabbed the jacket with both fists, not caring that they were in the middle of a road. 

"You're drunk." It was a dull voice that answered and cool hands that pulled his away, but one hand wrapped around his wrist, guiding him across the street and around the corner towards his flat.

"You look different." Ianto slowed, his arm stretched in front of him as he was dragged behind Jack like a child. He stared at the denim that wrapped snugly over a pert ass and the jacket hugging his body in a way a lover would be jealous. "He called you James."

The back facing him said nothing. Ianto just stumbled after him, bumping into his back when he miscalculated.

Exasperated, Jack sighed and Ianto felt himself being tugged forward until he was shoulder to shoulder to him. An arm dropped over his shoulders, a hand took his elbow and the fast pace slowed to Ianto's weaving one. 

"How much did you have to drink?"

"One," Ianto mumbled. "Maybe two. No, sorry, it was three. Or was it four? He wanted to buy me a drink. I didn't want it." He looked heavy-lidded at the ground. The boots were still the same and somehow that made him feel better. But the jeans and the jacket were disconcerting and, for a brief moment, Ianto panicked.

"What are you doing?" The arm around his shoulders flinched when Ianto slipped his arm around Jack’s middle.

"Wanted to be sure it was you," Ianto slurred. He pressed his face to the arm closest to him. The mixture of spice and soap was comforting. It didn't smell floral. It didn't smell like it could fill his flat and suffocate him. 

"That is your building down there." Choked, barely audible, it still pulled Ianto's eyes away from the arm he was resting against. Ianto squinted under the street lamp.

"I don't want to go back to my flat," Ianto insisted and pulled away. He tugged at the sleeve—even that felt different from the greatcoat—and pulled in the other direction. "One more beer. Just not there. I don't like him."

The arm he pulled was unmoving. "I think you've had enough."

"No, I haven't. I still…" Ianto swallowed. "I can't go back up there yet. One more."

The sigh was above his head. Hands gingerly settled on his shoulders. "Enough. Let's get you upstairs—Ianto!"

It was a mistake to try and break away, because while his upper body listened, his legs didn't. Ianto crashed awkwardly to the ground and he must have hit his head because things went dark for a short period. He woke up, peering up at a foggy face.

"Ouch," Ianto said, baffled as to how he got down here and Jack up there.

The face tilted and considered him. Then, arms reached around him and hoisted him up.

Ianto knew he should protest. The shoulder now digging into his belly was sure to be trouble later. But all he could think about was how nice it was not to have to worry about walking now and the large hands curled around the back of his thighs and rear were a sensation a man really shouldn't miss.

"Your hand's on my bum," Ianto mumbled as he felt him turn into his street. His head bounced as he was carried up his steps. "I can see your bum." It was a nice bum actually. "You should wear jeans more often, too."

"You're really drunk." The voice up front sounded strained.

"Am I too heavy?" Ianto tried to look, his hands awkwardly planted on the stiff back to lift up higher and nearly struck the threshold. "I really don't want to go home yet."

The other didn't answer.

Ianto swallowed when he heard his door open. Idly, he wondered how Jack had opened the door when he could still feel his keys in his front pocket.

There was a moment of hesitation before he was carried past his kitchen and into the center of his bedroom. Ianto could feel himself being lowered to the bed and he could feel the other pulling away. Instinct, panic—he didn't know which—made him loop his arms around his neck. 

Jack grunted as he tried to get up, failed, and ended up falling on top of Ianto.

"Sorry," Ianto said faintly, but he didn't let go at first. Pale blue eyes wordlessly stared back before they shuttered and Jack pulled away with a rough jerk. "I'm sorry!" Ianto shakily sat up and called to the back as Jack walked away. 

"What I did…I shouldn't have slept with you…" Not like that, not because of Lisa. But that was his dilemma, wasn't it? Because it _wasn't_ just because of Lisa. He wanted it to be because it was Jack, but what did that mean for him? He loved Lisa. Jack…was Jack. "It's all mixed up," Ianto's head drooped. 

Jack was motionless. Different clothes but the same back, rigid, stiff, shoulders curled in as if bracing for a blow. It was the same back down in the vaults. The same back shook down in the archives in London, bowed over Ianto's lap. 

Ianto's eyes burned from the jasmine that floated around him from the crates he had pried open. 

"Can't we talk?" Ianto croaked.

"Get some sleep," Jack said curtly and he left.

Ianto stared at the space where Jack had been, the emptiness stuck in his throat. He blearily looked around him and he couldn't stay. Not here. 

He got up. And came crashing down.

"What are you doing?" Arms slipped under his and hauled Ianto back up on the bed.

"You're still here." Ianto stared at the face shadowed in his dim flat.

A damp, cool towel dropped over his face, effectively hiding Jack from view. A tiny Band-Aid, a bottle of water still cold from his refrigerator, and a bottle of painkillers were deposited into his hands.

"You're going to have a hang—Where do you think you're going?"

Ianto had set his hand back and brushed against one of her scarves on the bed. It was the silk one that they bought after a weekend trip in Dover. 

"I can't be here," Ianto muttered, but he was pushed back onto the bed.

"I think you had enough—"

"No, I didn't because I still can't do it!" Ianto slapped the hands away. But he couldn't get up any more and he slouched there.

The bed gave as Jack sat next to him, a few inches away, silent and waiting.

Ianto could feel the bitterness in his throat. He swallowed and waved helplessly towards his room, his crates, his life. 

"I'm supposed to choose something for her for the…" Ianto swallowed again because the bitterness threatened to flood up his throat, his mouth, his nose. "I tried to…those blasted crates…" Ianto coughed, hiccupped. He breathed sharply behind the back of his hand pressed to his mouth. He squeezed his eyes shut. "I couldn't even get them out. I don't even know if she wanted to be buried or cremated!" Ianto dropped his face in his hands. "We never talked about it— _she was just twenty-six, damn it_!"

It just seemed so unfair. Ianto breathed in and out in harsh pants because his eyes were still too dry to do anything more than blink hotly in the dark. 

Jack took the bottle of water that was left neglected on his lap. A quiet click and the cap was twisted off. Silent, Jack extended it to Ianto.

There was so much else Ianto should be doing, but he gratefully took the bottle and drained it quickly. Ianto sat there, his hands curled around the empty bottle and hung between his knees.

"I kept trying to go in there and pick something I thought…I thought she would like. God, what kind of boyfriend am I if I can't even…" 

The plastic bottle cracked inside his grasp, caving in then popping back into shape. 

"I had always," Ianto cracked, "known what needed to be done next." PV-35 in the morning, her pulse monitored, heart rate around lunch time, then perhaps another dose if warranted. 

"But now…" Four vials still rattled in his dresser, two more paperbacks shoved in his glove compartment that he thought she might like. 

"I can't even pick out a damn…" Ianto pressed the bottle to his face. The knot in his chest grew. "It isn't fair. I just wanted to save her."

The bed gave again as Jack shifted over. Ianto wearily peeled one eye open at his impassive face, yet now within reach.

"I'm sorry," Ianto hoarsely said. He leaned his face into Jack's arm and felt the other man stiffen. His eyes burned. "I didn't mean to hurt you," he hiccupped. "I didn’t want to hurt _either_ one of you. But in the end, I failed you both."

A tentative hand reached up and settled on his shoulder. Ianto sniffed loudly.

"I just don't know what to do anymore," Ianto whispered. "I wanted to fix her. I just wanted to fix her…" So why did he feel like the one broken? 

The hand tightened on his shoulder and Ianto huddled against his arm, his hands clawing Jack's sleeve, hating how alien the jacket felt against his face.

Jack never said anything. He just sat there, his left hand on Ianto's shoulder, his body stiff. But he was warm and alive and Ianto thought he could feel the hand move, almost shyly, in small circles over his right shoulder blade. 

Ianto concentrated on that, on the scent labeled _Jack_. He ignored the floral specter around him, the strange texture of the jacket against his face, and sat there, pressed up close to Jack. He fell asleep against Jack's right shoulder and for the first time, didn't dream.

 

Ianto woke in the dark, lying on his side, on his bed. There was a momentary eye blink of disorientation. He sat up and realized his shoes had been pulled off and a duvet thrown over him.

And on a fold out chair, pulled up besides the bed, there was a sleeveless spring dress in soft layers of cream and blue linen that had draped down over the top of Lisa's calves. She had bought it after her first paycheck and then complained it wasn't practical. She wore it only once.

On top of the dress was an antique frame with a photo he had taken of her in that dress, in a car riding high on top of the London Eye. Lisa's head was on his shoulder and the photo was taken with him stretching his arm out to take the picture of them. It came out crookedly, over exposed, and she had teased him that he looked very yellow and had a weird smile, but they kept it in a frame they found in a street fair in Mead and it sat on the shelf they bought together for their loft.

The dress was wrapped carefully in tissue paper and set on top was of a pair of shoes Ianto knew would match. He took the frame in his hands and smiled sadly, feeling for once like his face wouldn't crack. He fingered the post-it with Jack's careful print stuck on the back of the frame. All it said was "This one."

Ianto went back to sleep, dry eyed, his chest not as hollow, the photo and note clutched tightly to his chest.

 

**Act III:** _Suspension Week 3_

Most people would be glad it was Tuesday and they were going home. Apparently, Torchwood employees were not like most people.

"You sure?" Gwen stood by his office door, not moving. She held the serving tray she used to pass around coffees—it just wasn't the same—to her chest like a shield. 

Jack wondered if she had thought he was going to throw his coffee at her. He shrugged.

"Rift's been pretty quiet, you guys go home. We may not get many days like these."

Gwen looked torn over her good fortune and her sense of responsibility. "Well, Rhys will be getting off soon…"

It wasn't deliberate but jabbed all the same. "What did I tell you before? Go have a normal life. You're in charge of giving us that perspective."

"Yes, but…" Gwen brightened. "We'd never finished our drinks last time because—" Her eyes widened and she hastily went on. "How about a second go on those drinks?"

"Maybe next time," Jack lowered his eyes to his paperwork, not even looking up when she sighed and left. The low talking outside started up again and Jack wished they would go home already so he could concentrate. He just couldn't remember what the paperwork was for. Alien registration? UFO sightings? Office supplies maybe?

Jack sighed and lowered his head, resting his chin on his fists. He stared at the jar sitting on the left of his desk. It was turned away—the bubbles made the hand look like it was waving goodbye—but he could hear it tapping on the glass as the liquid made it move.

"I did everything you asked," Jack whispered to it. "Why wasn't it enough?"

The jar never answered, its fingers tapping on the surface as the liquid bubbled.

"How long do I have to wait?"

"How long before it's all finished?"

"Why do I still feel so wrong?"

There was never any answer. Jack stared at the jar with gritty eyes.

"You look like shit."

Jack's gaze slid over to Owen by the door. Jack straightened in his seat.

"Stop flattering me," Jack shot back. "It's embarrassing."

"Trust me, I _am_ flattering you by saying you look like shit," Owen drawled. "When did you last sleep?"

That would be the year 200,100, Jack darkly mused. He shrugged. "I don't require much sleep."

"But you do need some sleep," Owen countered.

But sleep meant lying down in the lonely dark on a bed that smelled like someone else, reminded him of touches that were gentled, exploring, caressing. Sleep meant going to bed and not dreaming. 

"Look, the girls asked me in here to see if you want to go out for drinks." Owen folded his arms and leaned on the door. "Your treat, though."

Jack laughed, because it seemed like the correct response. "Well, with that kind of invitation, how can I refuse?" He shook his head. "No, thanks. Seriously." 

Owen studied him, his lips pressed thin. "If you want me to give you anything to help you sle—"

"No," Jack said, sharper than he intended. "No drugs." He straightened up, his back popping. "Just a little trouble sleeping lately. It happens. It'll pass." Everything always does. 

Owen rolled his eyes. "Fine, don't listen to the doctor. We'll be at the one next to Padlock's. Tosh wanted to try that one. If you change your mind…"

"Maybe I'll see you there," Jack said as he looked down at the files he was reviewing. He didn't look up again. Owen thankfully took the hint faster than Gwen and left.

Jack reviewed the reports from this week's Rift activity and read them over and over again until he finally admitted to himself that he was going nowhere. Jack raised his head. They had dimmed the lights in the Hub when they left and everything looked blue from the swirls and neon twists from their screensavers. 

Something sat heavily on his chest. Jack swallowed. The hum within Torchwood reminded him of another mechanical murmur, surrounding him in the dark, in his room as he slept between dream and awareness of the door opening. He didn't move because the hands holding him down, the body cutting through him could never be denied…

The feel of being stretched and filled first by disgust— _wrong, wrong, wrong_ —and then by…something else—he looked right at him, called him Jack, painted his body with feather-like touches—collided in him. His stomach cramped. That spot that he couldn't identify throbbed as he thought back to a young face in the dark, words slurred with alcohol and grief. 

He said it was a mistake. 

Something that sounded suspiciously like a sob escaped. Jack clenched his teeth and bunched his hands into fists.

"Stop it, stop it!" Jack hissed to himself. "It doesn't matter! It was just s—"

_Thrum-thrum-tap-tap…_

"Leave me alone," Jack snarled. His head pounded. Someone told him everything that he already knew in his heart. He was wrong. Just a fact, an object to be used, no one could really accept his forever, no one would ever accept _him_. But he had thought…

_Thrum-thrum-tap-tap…_

The darkness, the hard pang in his gut, and the mocking beat of "told you so, told you so" grew too loud to think. Yet the cold cadence made more sense than everything and everyone around him. 

Jack needed simple. He needed to know that what he saw was what he would get. No surprises. No lies. The clear cut of pain was the only clarity he knew and Jack needed something familiar to drown away whatever was roiling and petrifying in his stomach. Jack needed _something_ to make sense again.

Jack pushed away from his desk and climbed down the ladder. Minutes later, back in the jacket he said he would never wear and in jeans, Jack became 'James' again. 

Just for one more night.

 

Ianto hoped Lisa would like it.

It was twenty minutes away from Kenfig Dunes, behind a village cemetery. It was away from Cardiff, away from London and the plot sat on a hill, facing the distant sea, trees lining the back as a natural border for the church.

The pastor was very sympathetic as Ianto explained Lisa had no surviving family. The service was simple. The plot lay under the shadow of an old, wide limbed tree. 

The pastor said a few words from the Bible and Ianto walked with him back to his church simply because he didn't want to look at the groundskeeper shoveling dirt over her coffin. 

The pastor chatted, never really expecting Ianto to respond as he talked about the village, interesting facts about the church and all sorts of things a sixty-four year old pastor would say to pass the time. Ianto didn't mind; it blocked out the dry scrape of the shovel cutting into the partially frozen dirt.

Ianto sat through tea with a polite smile and proper responses as the pastor continued on about grief and loss and how life really goes on. Etcetera, etcetera. Ianto had heard it all before when he was younger and learned the right answers to make people leave him alone. He didn't need time. He had plenty of time trying to ease Lisa's pain and watch all his planning crumble into bloodied ashes. No, what he needed was to move on, keep busy, work. 

All pastors must have gone through the same counseling courses that as PCs did—Gwen made sure to call every day even if it was just to say hello—because Ianto knew what the pastor would say next. He just sipped his tea, took a tea cake and nodded every so often until the morning light became brighter as the sun moved overhead. 

The plot stood out with its rectangular spot of freshly packed dirt when he exited the church. Ianto approached her, his steps slowing when he realized there was someone crouched by her tombstone. When he saw the blue greatcoat's tails sway in the breeze, Ianto ducked behind the trees before he was sighted.

He didn't know why he did that, why he approached stealthily, or why he plastered himself on the other side of the tree.

"…nice spot," Jack was saying, crouched one knee to the ground, one knee drawn up. His voice was conversational, soft, and he had one hand on the stone slab.

"It's a little far from Cardiff but I'm sure he'll visit." Something crinkled and he coughed awkwardly.

Ianto's eyes burned as he peered around the tree trunk and watched Jack set a deep violet bouquet of jasmine on the ground. 

Jack stared at the inscription. "Twenty-six," he murmured. Jack sighed. "He's right. This…it's really not fair to you. I'm sorry." Jack took a deep breath.

"You had said you were wrong," Jack rasped. His hand settled on the ground and his head bowed like he was listening for something. "I know what that is like…to be wrong…but he loved you anyway. He…Everything he did…you have to understand…it was for you…"

Ianto squeezed his eyes shut, his hands over his mouth. His shoulders shook. No, not all of it.

"At least," Jack cracked. "Being wrong. It's all over. You can rest now and he'll love you forever." There was a choked sound and Jack's voice lowered to a whisper. Ianto could barely hear him.

"It's over for you now," Jack hushed. "But not for me."

Ianto's eyes flew open. He stepped away from the tree, faced her plot and he came out from under the shadows.

But Jack was gone.

 

**Act IV:** _Suspension Week 4_

Ianto found if he pulled things out of the crates a little at a time, his new telly and stereo both blaring, it wasn't too hard. It was bearable and sometimes Ianto took a walk outside around his building, kicked a pebble, shouted at a tree, before going back in again.

Most of her clothing was packed away in cartons and left outside to be picked up by the various charities Lisa favored. He only kept a few scarves, a cardigan, and a left glove that still smelled like her. He tissue-wrapped some photo frames and packed them with the clothing in an airtight archival storage box. The box was stowed in a shelf above his head in the closet.

It turned out Jack, when he had been there, had already refolded all the other outfits Ianto had pulled out then rejected. They sat in a compact stack at the bottom of one crate. Ianto sat there on the floor with the pile, stroking the top outfit until his foot fell asleep.

It took him a few days but finally, everything was sorted, the crates disassembled and set outside for refuse. But when Ianto stood there in his now more spacious room, Ianto didn’t feel accomplished. Just lost.

Right about now, Ianto would have been wandering the vaults, checking on Lisa, reading the next chapter on the book and washing her face with a damp cloth. 

There was no need anymore.

Ianto choked and dropped down heavily onto his bed. His fingers dug into his own scalp as he fought the knot clawing to come out of his throat. He felt a little hysterical, his chest tight, his ears ring—

Wait, that was his _mobile_ ringing.

It took a few blinks before it registered. Ianto lowered his hands and fumbled for it. it had been so long, he'd forgotten where he placed it to recharge its battery.

The mobile felt strange in his hands as he activated it.

"Hello?" Ianto said cautiously, not even checking the caller id.

The voice sounded so frantic, Ianto at first didn't recognize it.

_"Ianto? Ianto? Thank God I was able to reach someone!"_

"Tosh?" Awkwardly—he hadn't spoken to her since the day after Lisa died—Ianto fumbled. "What? Why are you—"

_"Ianto, do you have your gun with you?"_

Ianto froze. "What? No. I had to turn it in when J—when I was suspended. Why?"

 _"Damn, damn, damn!"_ The computer expert swore in Japanese.

The fact that Toshiko was not her usual calm self rattled him. Ianto's voice sharpened, any awkwardness gone in an instant.

"Tosh! What's wrong?"

_"We were tracking Weevils emerging from the sewer system. Two sets from both ends so Owen and Gwen took the third quadrant and Jack took the seventh. They were on open channels at all times! I was still talking to him—"_

"What happened?" Ianto pressed the phone to his mouth. "Tosh?"

Toshiko drew in a steadying breath. _"Last thing I heard was that there wasn't just one Weevil in there, but before I could ask, I heard…something and he cried out and now I can't bring him back up on the—"_

" _Who_ , Tosh? Who?"

_"Jack. Ianto, I can't get Jack back online."_

Ianto swallowed. He can't die. That's what Jack had said. He can't—

"What about Gwen? Owen?"

 _"Cut off. They can't get to him. They’re still down in the grid. I can see them, but I can't call them."_ Toshiko sounded frustrated. _"I would leave here and go myself but I'm too far away. You were the closest but if you don't have a weapon—"_

Ianto didn't hesitate. "Where?"

_"Ianto, no. I shouldn't even be calling you—"_

"Where, Tosh?"

_"But you have no weapon."_

Ianto yanked open his dresser and scooped up the vials of PV-35 and an injector he had taken from Owen's supplies. He headed for his kitchen. "I'll get something," Ianto said curtly. "Where, Tosh?"

_"Four blocks west of you. There's a manhole. Straight down sixty meters then another eighty to your right."_

Ianto nodded, repeating her directions to himself as he grabbed a padded knapsack and tossed in the kitchen knives off his counter and the emergency flashlight by the door. 

"Keep trying Jack's cell, then the others. I'm on my way." Ianto was already shouldering his knapsack, running out the door.

_"Ianto, I'm sorry. I shouldn't be calling you like this. I mean—"_

"It's fine, Tosh," Ianto panted as he darted past traffic to his target. "You did the right thing. I'm the closest to Jack right now." 

Ianto stood over the manhole with the crowbar he had tucked under his denim jacket. He pried open the cover and peered down the dark hole.

"Okay, I'm going in."

_"Good luck."_

Ianto could have sworn he heard a distant roar.

"Thanks," Ianto gulped. 

 

Ianto walked down the sewers with a mild distaste for the water he could feel collecting in his shoes. Had he the mind set and perhaps calm of a field agent, Ianto would have worn his boots. Of course, he hadn't been calm at the time.

He's alright, Ianto thought. He flinched when he thought he kicked something small and soft. The squeal confirmed it but he kept his flashlight up at Weevil height. Or should he point his flashlight downward instead, he wondered.

He can't die so it's alright, Ianto thought anxiously as he tried to ignore the squeal and tiny splashing all around him. He swallowed and counted down the meters until he reached a crossroads of sorts, openings in all directions, sickly light shining down from the grate above.

Ianto blinked, confused. Tosh had made no mention of this. He shone his flashlight to the ground. Ianto jerked.

Two Weevils, clearly dead, floated facedown in the shallow waters. Ianto gulped and rotated his flashlight up.

And met the third Weevil.

Ianto shouted, staggering back. He swung his flashlight, felt it shatter against its skull. The Weevil howled and Ianto whipped out the first knife his hand wrapped around the handle of.

It was a serrated bread knife. _Brilliant_.

The Weevil howled again, froth in its mouth. It lunged for him.

A shot to Ianto's right rang out. The muzzle flash was a brilliant red flare in the dark. The Weevil jerked as the bullet accurately struck its ear opening and went out the other side. 

The Weevil simply dropped.

Ianto, his back against the rusty curved pipe wall, heaved and gasped, his stupid knife still in front of him like a sword.

A small pouch was tossed out from where the muzzle flash had been.

"It 'ight not have k-killed it." The voice was barely audible. "Better sedate it first in cas-se it wa'es up."

Ianto dropped his knife—what was he going to do, offer to make it a sandwich?—and grabbed the kit before it floated away.

The Weevil looked dead but Ianto agreed. Why take the chance? He plunged the injector into the center of its chest and emptied the contents. He breathed a sigh of relief, retrieved his flashlight, and staggered to his feet.

"Thanks," Ianto managed. He turned towards his right. "Jack? Is that you?"

"Not unless I'm a talking Weevil."

Ianto frowned. "You're slurring. Are you alright?" He squinted into the dark pipe. "Where are you?"

"Unfinished pipe," Jack wheezed. "Stops at about two meters."

"Can you come out?" Ianto approached the opening when Jack rasped, "Don't."

His stomach twisted uneasily. "How bad?"

"Bad." Jack could be heard gasping. "Dyi'g"

Ianto bit his lower lip. 

"I'll be okay though." Jack gave a painful, wet laugh. 

"Why are you in there?" Ianto took a step closer and he could see a shadow, curled and huddled up against the back to the left. Even his flashlight couldn't penetrate the inky black. 

"Don't want to wake up with anything missing or gnawed off." Jack's breathing worsened. "Woke up one time without my boots. I was so pissed."

"I can assure you, I won't be taking your footwear." Ianto stepped into the pipe. "Here, let me get you out of here."

The shadow shrank back from him and the weak spot of light. "Don't." 

Ianto stilled. He was a meter away. "Jack?"

"Just go. Leave me alone. I'll see you up on the surface."

Ianto swallowed. "I can't leave you down here."

"It's fine." Jack sounded strange. "I'll die, come back healed, and come up to the surface."

The nonchalant reply made Ianto ill. "So just like that? You're just going to sit here in the dark and wait to die? You're not going to try to live? I thought you had accelerated healing?"

"Living's too hard."

Ianto's vision blurred. He rubbed at his eyes angrily. "Yes," he rasped. "It is." Ianto turned back, glancing down at the water to watch his step. 

There were streams of blood swirling in the water around his ankles.

"Jack!" Ianto spun around and splashed back towards Jack.

The Webley clicked in the darkness. "I said don't."

Ianto froze. "What are you doing?"

"I should be asking you that." Jack sounded like he was getting weaker. 

"I-I," Ianto tried to take another step. The gun gleamed in the dim light from the grating behind him. He could see Jack's feet now, tucked under him as he huddled fetal like in the corner. The water around him grew darker and darker.

"Let me help you," Ianto pleaded.

Jack gave a disbelieving laugh. "It'll be easier if I just die. Leave me alone." Jack's voice cracked.

"Are you really going to shoot me?" Ianto murmured. "For this?"

The gun wavered.

Ianto took a few more steps, swallowing hard when the gun followed, but he ignored it until he stood over Jack. The gun lowered. Ianto doubted he had the strength left to hold it. 

Pale blue eyes narrowed at him warily, looking like a wounded animal.

Ianto crouched by him, his hands on the damp coat. It was cool from the sewer but he could feel trickles of something thicker, warmer.

"Where?" Ianto rasped.

Jack's hands feebly pushed his away, but Ianto followed the blood. He soon felt the warm sticky gash under Jack's throat. The hiss Jack made when Ianto probed his stomach told him the location of the other.

Ianto's chest ached. Jack hadn't even tried to stop the bleeding. His arms were wrapped around himself to be a tighter ball in the shadows.

Ianto slipped an arm around Jack's middle and pressed down on the wound he could feel still bleeding sluggishly under his shirts. He pulled the tense body to his chest, his other arm around front to clamp down on the gash by Jack's neck.

Jack flinched inside Ianto's awkward embrace.

"How long will it take to heal?"

"Don't know," Jack muffled against his collarbone. "Sometimes it's immediate, sometimes longer." Jack shivered from the blood loss.

"Why are you bothering?" Jack asked, the confusion clear in his wispy voice.

"Because it matters to me that you try to live," Ianto murmured, pressing down on the wounds.

Jack gave a weak scoff. Then, he groaned.

"Shh." Ianto shifted closer until Jack was slumped completely against him. "Easy."

"You shouldn’t be here," Jack mumbled. "Suspended."

"Tosh called me. I was the closest."

"Gwen? Owen?"

"Cut off but they're alright. Tosh was worried about you." He was, too.

"Why?"

Ianto wanted to weep at the puzzled question. He bowed his head over Jack.

"Ah, Jack," Ianto's voice trembled. "I'm so sorry. I'm so goddamn sorry." 

Jack jerked. "Don't," he hissed.

"I swear, I didn't mean to—Jack! No, _no_ , calm down! Shh! Don't move, be still!"

Jack thrashed in Ianto's arms. "Leave me alone," Jack snarled breathlessly. "Just let me be. Why are you doing this to me?" Jack kicked uselessly at the water. Pink spray flew around his boots.

"I'm sorry. I am. Shh. Calm yourself." Ianto held on tighter. He wrapped his arms around Jack, his legs corralling him to his chest, but Jack still fought.

"Just go back up," Jack mumbled. "When I come back, I'll be fine."

Ianto hugged him harder, his eyes burning. "Let yourself heal," he pleaded. "I'm right here. Just let your body heal." 

" _Leave me alone_!" Jack howled. "Just let me die and get it over with!"

Ianto pressed his face to Jack's hair. The stench of blood was overpowering. "Calm down. Calm down. You're hurting yourself, Jack. It's alright. Shh. I won't hurt you—"

"You already did!" Jack wailed, no longer trying to fight Ianto, no longer even aware of what he was saying, his body too weak to do anything more than thrash feebly in his hold. "Leave me alone. Why are you doing this to me? Don't fucking pretend you care. Just go away. _Go away_."

Ianto could feel something stinging hot trickle down his face into Jack's hair. "I'm sorry. I never ever wanted to—Sh…sh, just take it easy…" Ianto began to rock him, trying to get Jack to calm. 

"Why are you doing this to me?" Jack whimpered before his body slumped against him. 

Ianto could feel Jack's breathing slow, his body relaxing. Ianto panicked. He pressed down on the gash and realized it wasn’t as wet as before, the raw wound smaller, albeit still bleeding. He prodded the one on his belly and could feel the fragile new skin trying to close the wound.

Something broke free from his throat as Ianto felt Jack's body grow limp, his head tucked under his chin. Ianto pulled him to his body fiercely and buried his face into Jack's neck. He didn't care if he soaked up the blood around him. He had Lisa's blood on his hands, that poor girl Lisa killed, why not one more?

Ianto pressed his lips to Jack's hair.

"I'm so sorry," Ianto whispered as he rocked Jack, cradling him carefully. "I am so very, very sorry. I'm sorry. God forgive me. I'm so sorry…"

Jack never said anything. But Ianto didn't care. He didn't deserve absolution.

 

He slipped away to the scent of his own blood draining around him.

He woke up to the scent of soap and water in his hair.

Jack stared at the ceiling, puzzled by the fact that he woke up without a violent gasp or an iron band around his chest. 

"I didn't die," Jack rasped out loud, more to hear his own voice and be sure it wasn't a dream. 

"No." A quiet voice above him heralds a cool towel on his brow. Jack turned his heavy head towards it. Ianto smiled wearily at him. 

"But you were sick for a while there." Ianto looked odd wearing a cotton shirt unbuttoned over a t-shirt, his sleeves rolled up. His hair stuck up in different directions from a brisk scrub with a towel. 

Jack closed his eyes and let the coolness of the cloth on his forehead spread to the rest of his face. He felt like he was being borne down on the mattress by a giant weight. 

"Others?" It hurt to speak louder than whisper.

"They're alright. Gwen's got a twisted ankle. Owen still won't talk to me so I don't know but Tosh assured me he was an arse but fine." Ianto slipped a hand under his head and lifted him up enough to sip water from a straw. The water felt wonderful down his parched throat. Jack grimaced and felt his lips crack.

Jack gritted his teeth and sat up. He looked down at himself and realized where the scent of soap and water came from.

"Where are my clothes?" Jack asked hoarsely. He felt a little stronger once he started moving. 

"They were covered in blood, I had to soak them," Ianto watched him from the fold out chair by his head and made no move as Jack swung his legs around. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Torchwood," Jack mumbled. He plucked at the t-shirt snug around him. Must be Ianto's. The thin bottoms barely met his ankles and he wondered idly how Ianto managed to clean him off and change him. 

"Your clothes aren't ready yet."

"I'll just wear my coat over this." Jack waved at himself. 

Ianto hesitated. "That's soaking in the tub as well. There was a lot of blood."

Jack snorted. "Well, they did try to disembowel me," he mumbled as he pushed off with his hands and tried to stand. But his knees shook, folded, and Ianto caught him with a grunt.

"You tried this before, too." Ianto said calmly as he eased Jack back onto the bed and piled pillows against his back. "Twice actually."

Jack blinked at him. "I don't remember that."

"There was a lot of blood," Ianto repeated.

Jack looked away. He could only imagine what Ianto was thinking when he saw Jack healing right before him. 

"I should get back," Jack mumbled. "Before they wonder."

"Owen said bed rest is what you needed. They don't expect you back until tomorrow evening."

Jack looked at him sharply.

"He doesn't know anything. He thinks it's a knock to the head," Ianto said defensively. "I wouldn't betray your confidence." 

Jack couldn't help himself. He laughed, saw Ianto wince and he laughed some more. It felt like he was tearing his throat apart.

"And I said you couldn't do stand up." Jack steeled himself when Ianto swallowed.

Ianto looked pained. "I guess I deserved that."

That lump in his gut wrenched, painful enough to bring tears to his eyes at Ianto's wan grimace. Jack deflated.

"No, not really," Jack murmured.

"Are you lying?"

"Pretty much."

The two men smiled wryly at each other before Jack broke eye contact. He studied Ianto under his lashes. He watched the younger man as he settled on the edge of the bed by his knees.

"You shouldn't have come out there like that," Jack murmured. "That was pretty reckless of you." He sat back and stared up to the ceiling. He could still remember the heated slash across his belly and the morbid elation that finally there was something that rivaled the pain in his gut, something that could drown out the smug beat banging in his head.

"You shouldn't have let three Weevils get the better of you," Ianto countered.

"Hey! It was _three_ Weevils!" Jack glowered at Ianto. "And what was with the bread knife?"

Ianto scratched his ear and colored. "Tosh said you were in trouble. I uh…guess I panicked. I grabbed anything."

Jack felt something loosen in his chest. "Oh. Uh…thanks."

Ianto shrugged. He picked at the duvet Jack was lying on. "Wasn't much help, I'm afraid." He sighed, looking a little relieved at Jack.

"You had me worried there." 

Sure. Jack resisted rolling his eyes. "It's not like it's permanent." Only he was. 

"Still, it looked like it hurt."

Jack shrugged. It did. He didn't want to talk about it though. 

"Jack."

Jack tensed. Ianto stared at him seriously.

"Before—" Ianto began.

"It's alright," Jack cut him off, his heart clenching. 

The brow furrowed in front of him. "What you said down there—"

"Don't," Jack hissed. Ianto flinched. "Move on, Ianto. You've buried her, bury this."

"But—"

" _Bury_ it." Jack sank back against the headboard, chest heaving. Damn it, it felt like he had ran for miles. "Please," he said hoarsely. "Just bury it and move on."

Ianto lowered his head. "I don't know how." His voice wavered.

Me neither, Jack thought.

"When you lived as long as I have," Jack told the bowed head, "you realize time moves too quickly to stay on any one thing. The present is what counts."

Ianto turned his head slightly, still bowed. "That doesn't sound fair to you."

Jack shrugged. "Doctor's companion, remember?"

For some reason, Ianto's face darkened. 

Jack closed his eyes and exhaled slowly.

"You should rest a little bit more. You're still warm," Ianto settled a hand on his brow. It was an unfamiliar touch. Jack's eyes flew open under his palm. Ianto considered him. 

"I _am_ sorry, Jack," Ianto said softly. "Please believe me. It was _never_ my intention to…do that in order to keep my…" Ianto's face twitched as if it would crumble. "S-secret. And in the end, it was just all destruction." 

It hurt to see the self loathing on Ianto's face. 

"I forgive you," Jack murmured, his eyes fought to stay open.

Ianto's eyes looked suspiciously bright. "You shouldn't."

"But I do," Jack yawned. He gazed up sleepily at Ianto as he helped ease Jack down on his back. Ianto pulled the duvet from under his legs and drew it up to his chest. 

"Are you lying again?" Ianto joked weakly.

He wasn't sure. "No," Jack replied drowsily. He tracked Ianto settling back into the chair by his head. "I'm tired." He blinked in surprise. He was, actually. He felt a bit of panic at what his dreams might hold.

"Then sleep," Ianto murmured. "You lost a lot of blood. I gather that's not really something you can just recover from."

"It would have been easier if you had just let me die. I would have been better already," Jack whispered as his eyelids grew heavy.

"Easier, maybe." Jack heard Ianto rasp. He sank deeper into darkness and heard Ianto's husky words as he faded.

"But not better."


	24. "Small Worlds"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning For This Chapter:** DARK, mentions m/m situations, strong language
> 
>  **Notes For This Chapter:** Note there are parallels to TW's "Small Worlds"

**Act I:** _"They're home. They're here. My little darlings."_

Jack leaned against the wall by the cog door. He covered his eyes with his hands and took a deep breath.

The flight jacket itched around his neck. Too used to the upturned thick wool collar warm against his neck, this one was a little scratchy, pilled from it being pulled off him too roughly or rubbing against coarse brick walls.

His jeans were still damp at the knees. Jack grimaced. Wet denim was never pleasant. He straightened, wincing at the sharp stings and aches he had all over his body and swiped his card. The alarms bleeped, swirled and groaned as the cog doors reluctantly opened. 

The Hub was still draped in dim, electric blue light that made strange shadows when he crossed the patchwork of metal grills over water and concrete. His body ached and his head was still stuffed with cotton from drinks he probably shouldn't have drunk. Jack made a face over how he smelled.

Jack stopped short when he heard the pterodactyl caw.

"Get some sleep," Jack told it wearily, but didn't look up. "I'm going to try to now." He shrugged out of his jacket; the musky smell too overpowering for his nose right now. 

The shower he stood under washed the night and the anonymous faces away. Jack found he needed to brace himself, arms and legs apart, and let the water trickle down and wash away the touches and the bites and the filth and—

Jack sighed. He rubbed soap over his body, carefully over his groin and tentatively fingered his own opening before rinsing himself off. 

_Thrum-thrum-ta—_

Jack slammed his palms on the slick tile. It went away, but left him feeling slimy and hollow. There was an ache between his legs he tried to ignore. He'd been trying to ignore it the two days since Ianto came back. It had been cordial, reserved, and _safe_. No wondering what the younger man _really_ meant, no watching him and remembering how he had touched Jack like he was made of spun glass, no more trying to ignore the _hunger/want/need_ roiling in his gut each time Ianto spoke. Ianto said it was a mistake, Jack said move on, so they're…moving on.

His gut tightened as if someone was twisting a knife point from the inside. His chest echoed the sensation.

No. _No_. Jack had drowned it out before. Blunt and brute force tore into him and pushed that alien feeling out. It should have stayed gone. Jack Harkness performed his own exorcism. Why? Why was it back?

Jack stood under the water, clenching and unclenching his fists, head low to his chest as he waited for the water to finish baptizing him for the new sunrise approaching in a few hours. 

When it grew too cold to stay under the spray, Jack stumbled out of the tiny space, half-heartedly toweling dry, and then collapsing into his bunk with a groan. He lay there, staring up through the open hatch. He watched the lights that must have came from Tosh's computer dance across the ceiling in his office. He thought he could hear Moonlight Serenade. 

Time crawled but still he couldn't sink into blessed sleep. He lay on his back, eyes blankly tracking the swirls of blue spinning above him, his arms stretched above his head. It was cold but he couldn't bring himself to get something warmer from his wardrobe. 

The lights were hypnotic and gave him the sense of being underwater. Jack kept watching until at last, his eyelids drooped.

But as they shut, he heard fluttering wings and saw a rain of rose petals.

 

It was too early to be here. So early in fact that not even the bakery was open yet so Ianto contented with himself with leftover bread toasted on their hot plate and a small smear of butter and jam. 

Ianto woke up from watching Lisa down a long hallway. She was smiling at him teary eyed, her hands clasped in front of her and standing so far down the narrow corridor. He kept trying to reach her, but she kept pulling away until finally, she was gone. 

There was probably food in his kitchen but he couldn't bring himself to stay in his flat any longer nor tolerate yet another feeble attempt to sleep. Ianto crept into the Hub and wandered workstation to workstation like a living ghost. He left the lights off so he wouldn't wake Jack. 

The odd readings from Tosh's station came as a relief; abnormal climatic changes localized to areas barely large enough to fit a house. It was something to do besides the now awkward routine among people no longer sure if they can trust him. Ianto knew Gwen and Tosh were trying; they made feeble attempts to chitchat when he circulated by their stations to cleanup. He caught Owen glowering at him resentfully from time to time. And Jack…

Ianto sighed. It was like meeting him for the first time, Jack watching him warily like he was still trying to figure him out. But the first time, before, there was also something else brewing in Jack's gaze, something Ianto couldn't identify. Yet its absence was sorely evident. And it made Jack virtually a stranger.

Time passed as he paced from one station to another, his nose buried in the reports he’d printed. The toast he made was now left forgotten on the table by their worn couch.

"You shouldn't be here."

That deep baritone husky with sleep slowed his steps back towards Tosh's station. Ianto looked—he couldn't help himself—at Jack in his white undershirt and trousers, his braces dangling from his waist.

"Neither should you." It was the only thing he could think of saying at the hooded eyes and mussed up hair. Ianto averted his eyes back to Tosh's station.

"I sleep here," Jack said, closer to a sigh. He didn't move from his doorway.

It didn't look like there was any sleeping being done though, Ianto noted as he brought up the geographical map and the meteorological reports.

"You…you're the one who shouldn't be here."

Jack was a force that was hard to ignore. When he moved, Ianto felt like the very air around him move as well, like ripples in the water as a boat cut through. 

"Can't sleep?" It was a throaty question that flinted off shivers down his back.

Ianto leveled his gaze at Jack. "Nightmares?" he challenged. 

Not surprisingly, Jack didn't answer.

Ianto heaved a sigh and turned back around. "Sorry," he murmured. It felt like all he did was apologize lately.

A hand slipped up and settled over his right shoulder blade. Startled, Ianto glanced over. The hand patted him, then abruptly pulled away. He felt bereft when Jack's hand vanished before, pulling back quickly as if remembering. Jack's brow was slightly furrowed and Ianto turned away.

"What's going on?" Jack asked, but he wasn't looking at the screen.

Ianto pretended to misunderstand and nodded towards the monitor at the map. "Funny sort of weather patterns."

Jack leaned in from behind his shoulder and stared at the screen.

Ianto swallowed hard as he could see Jack's profile out of the corner of his eye. Jack was close enough for Ianto's skin to feel his body heat. Damn, even now, his groin twitched remembering how smooth yet hot Jack's skin felt, stretching when he arched his back, pulling Ianto in deeper. His skin felt just as silken hot when Ianto was in him, filling him, every glorious—

"Are you okay?" Jack tilted his head at Ianto, frowning. "You look flushed."

"F-fine." Ianto covered himself by clearing his throat. He covered his dismay by pointing at the red spots on the map.

"These started showing up about five minutes ago." Ianto took a step away to reach for his printouts. "Weather reports called for clear skies, no winds." Ianto ran a hand through his hair and exhaled sharply. "Lasted about four minutes, then…nothing."

For some reason, Jack glanced back to his office. Something flitted across his face. "You didn't happen to bring in uh…flowers or anything, did you?"

The question was rather a non sequitur. Ianto raised an eyebrow. "No," he said slowly.

"Anything with petals, roses?"

His brow rose higher. "I've never been the sort to buy people flowers, sir." Except for Lisa and never roses. "Why?"

Jack glanced back at Ianto. He had a mild frown. "Nothing." He considered the map.

"Where was this again?" 

 

**Roundstone Woods**

It was still dark enough to need a flashlight. The small patch of wood was surprisingly wild and feral feeling as his boots crunched twigs and leaves. 

Jack welcomed the chance to be out here, away from the Hub, his dreams, and Ianto.

At the thought of Ianto, Jack gulped. Maybe it was because he had just come back, maybe it was because he was still groggy from the minutes of sleep he had managed to get, but finding Ianto in the shadows of Torchwood had left an ache in his stomach. The feel of Ianto's body under his palm before Jack caught his surprise was just too much. He wanted to lean in, wrap his arms around the lean body and lick a line along his Adam's apple.

Jack rested his forehead against a moss-covered tree. 

Not helping, he thought as he stepped away from the tree. Alone in the Hub would have been dangerous; fire that he was drawn to despite knowing he will get burned. Jack ruefully looked around himself. A late night goose chase will help. Jack drew his coat closed. 

_"Do you see anything?"_

Okay, Ianto whispering in his ear? _Really_ , not helping!

"Lots of things," Jack said in a low voice as he waved his scanner in front of him.

_"What?"_

Jack smiled to himself. The curiosity was barely suppressed from Ianto's usually reserved voice. Maybe he should consider training Ianto for the field. He could almost see the younger man sitting on the edge of his seat in excitement right now, his slim upper body leaning forward, his mouth parted as he—

Jack yelped as he tripped over an exposed tree root.

_"Jack?"_

"Tree root," Jack managed, two fingers in his collar. He shined his light on it first; to be sure it _was_ just a root. There was a small part of him that wished Ianto stuck with "Sir". Then his insides wouldn't knot each time, his groin wouldn't feel overheated. It was one stupid syllable. Damn the Welsh and their perchance to make everything sound so erotic. 

_"What do you see?"_ Ianto asked again quietly. 

"Trees, leaves, dirt, rocks, and—wait."

_"What? What?"_

Jack snickered. "More trees."

Ianto's sigh in his ear piece made his toes curl inside his boots. _"Very funny."_

"Why are you whispering anyway?"

 _"I uh…"_ Ianto was taken aback. _"I don't know?"_

Jack covered his mouth before a laugh broke through. God, it felt like ages since his face had stretched out like this. He was still smiling as he scanned the woods. It was easier to talk to Ianto when he couldn't see him. Less chance of remembering things; it deceptively felt like nothing had changed.

 _"I can hear you laughing."_ Apparently, it was the same for Ianto. His tone sounded a bit more relaxed. 

A twig cracked in the distance. Bushes rustled. Jack stiffened.

There was no way Ianto could have heard yet his voice dropped. _"Jack?"_

Jack took a steadying breath. He could hear footsteps approaching. His hand drifted to his hip holster.

It was as if Ianto was right there; his tone was low, calm.

_"No climate changes. No rift readings in front of you."_

Jack nodded even though Ianto couldn't see it. He could see a small shadow in front him, slowly as he drew near. Just a shadow, non-threatening, but Jack drew out his weapon.

"Show yourself!" Jack barked.

Someone gasped. Someone _human_.

"Oh my God… _Jack_?"

 

**Act II**

"Fairies?" Ianto repeated. He set a coffee down in front of Jack. The captain barely looked up as he sorted through a stack of photographs.

Jack had returned before anyone else had come in to work. It was like falling back into an old routine—Ianto caught himself checking the time to patrol the vaults—while he made a coffee and kept it warm and waiting for him. When Jack arrived, however, he looked too dazed as if he was sleepwalking. Ianto brewed a stronger cup which Jack drained almost immediately. 

The laugh was strained. "She believes these creatures are fairies. I don't." Jack's expression darkened and reminded Ianto of Canary Wharf. He swallowed. He resisted the urge to step back. 

"They're something more devious, beyond human comprehension." Jack picked up the rose petal. He twirled it like a flag. 

"You've seen them before," Ianto guessed, gingerly sitting on the edge of Jack's desk. Jack didn't seem to notice.

"Back in 1909," Jack murmured.

The faraway eyes flashed in his memory. "Ah."

"You don't look surprised," Jack realized, looking up.

Ianto tapped a finger to his temple. "Archivist for section 'G' to 'H', remember? You made some interesting reading, sir."

There was a surprising pink line across Jack's cheeks. Ianto couldn't stop staring. "Oh yeah." He chuckled nervously.

"The mimes," Ianto reminded him. 

Jack grimaced. "Still on the alien mimes, huh?" He smiled sadly at the rose petal.

If this was like before, Ianto wouldn't have hesitated to ask. He would have asked and found out why Jack had stumbled back to the Hub like that; why he had abruptly cut off his comms after Estelle Cole ran into him in Roundstone Wood. 

But it wasn't before. It was _now_. It was after glorious sex, abrupt loss, and the palpable, yawning chasm he could feel between them. 

"If I…" Ianto began, swiping his tongue across his lower lip. "Would it be horrible of me to ask you a question?"

Jack frowned at the petal he held. "What do you—Oh." The petal dropped. Jack raised his gaze at him, suddenly wary.

Ianto shrugged. He lowered his eyes, unable to meet Jack's and brushed a hand across his lap. "Never mind. I know I'd lost that right. I…forget it—"

"What was your question?"

Ianto blinked in surprise. He met Jack's gaze. He wished Jack didn't look like he was bracing for something. Ianto shook his head.

"No. Forget it. I—"

"It's buried, Ianto." Jack shrugged, more to himself. "It's okay."

No, it's not, Ianto thought. He wanted to reach over to Jack's shoulder, not even sure why he needed the contact, why it hurt to hear Jack dismiss everything that happened between them like a passing glance. Ianto cleared his throat.

"How did you know her?"

Jack looked at him sideways. It looked like he wasn't going to answer, his face shuttering as he studied the rose petal again.

Ianto dropped his gaze to his shoes and tried to tell himself it was okay. He needed to expect this. He couldn't come back thinking everything would be okay between them.

"London," Jack said quietly. "We were— _she_ was in love." He smiled ruefully up at Ianto. "With me."

"Oh." The answer didn't make Ianto feel any better. "She didn't know." It wasn't a question but Jack answered anyway.

"No." Jack rested his elbows on the desk and propped his chin in his hands. "Not something that can ever come up in conversation. I met her, we were together for some time." His eyes grew cloudy. "I realized it could never work…I left." 

"Just like that?" Ianto blurted out, regretting it instantly when Jack's face completely closed off.

"Just like that," Jack said flatly.

"I didn't mean…"

Jack dropped the petal and walked out to greet Tosh arriving to work. "Yes you did." He brushed by Ianto without another word.

 

**Act III** _"Well, I suppose one person's good could be someone else's evil."_   
**Three days later…**

It was a relief when Gwen left him alone to venture outside. Jack stole a look, checking she was completely gone before he shook his head, bemused. Well, he _did_ want her never-ending curiosity for Torchwood. But he’d rather she direct it to her work and not toward things as frivolous as his, or his _dad's,_ past.

Jack sorted through the other pictures Estelle had. She was right; just pictures of the area. He looked up with a sigh. Her other photos in the lecture she had invited him to were just as uninformative, but she had presented them like the Grail itself. 

With a chuckle, Jack left the folder of photographs on her table and studied the room. 

He could have asked Ianto to bring up her history, her records, but Jack cringed at the idea of seeing everything that had gone on with her; everything he had missed.

There had been a time when Jack had imagined living in a house just like this one with her. Perhaps a child or two. He had foolishly vowed forever with her until he woke up one night and looked at his calendar and realized when she turned eighteen, he would be—he couldn't remember, he couldn't keep track. 

He told her he was being shipped off to war. It was an easy lie in the heart of London back then. It was also easy to discard Jack Harkness and become James Harper among the many souls doomed to die in the war. Estelle made him promise to come back; come back alive. He promised her with a heart still weeping his loss, weeping for the loss of what he and Estelle could have had. They danced on the rooftop until dawn. He carried her to bed and let her sleep, his farewell was a rose pinned under his handkerchief. He never came back. 

Instead, the Doctor did.

A twinge of guilt gnawed at Jack as he made a slow circuit around the room, decorated in worn yet cared for furniture. He studied the books of horticultural and local folklore. He smiled sadly. She'd always loved nature.

The photos on her mantel made his eyes burn. Jack had hoped to find modern photos of sons and daughters. 

Estelle confided in him once while he bicycled them both down to the shores with her on his lap that she wanted many children. She had shrieked, her shapely legs swinging as Jack pedaled down the boardwalk so fast she had lost her hat in the breeze. 

It didn't matter to her he was, in her eyes, a much older American soldier. Jack could do no wrong in her eyes even when a swoop off her feet made her lose her favorite shoe. She had kissed him, tasting faintly of the buttery popcorn they shared on the beach, and told him she wanted her boys to look like Jack. He kissed her back and told her he wanted their daughters to laugh like her. And that night, he had dreamt of dark-haired daughters on his lap as he furiously pedaled them up to an undamaged shore. 

Estelle had said she wanted her house full of children and always be filled with laughter.

 _She_ was filled with laughter.

Not _was_ , Jack thought to himself angrily. Estelle's still here, still nurturing a garden, still dreaming magical wishes and laughter. Her eyes still held life and joy when he came back to see her lecture even though Jack knew her joy must have been more for the illusion of _her_ Jack returning. When they walked Estelle back home with her things, Estelle had looked up at him and smiled. Jack saw not an eighty-year-old woman, but a young woman who liked to pin ribbons in her hair. It didn't matter the years. Her eyes, her beautiful _soul_ was ageless.

Jack stroked the one sepia tone picture. His _dad_ as he told Gwen. The smile he wore looked so unfamiliar. It felt like a long time since he had smiled like that. When he first met Estelle, all he had wanted was temporary reprieve from despair; what she gave him was the hope of joy. Jack knew now it was a false hope. What could he possibly give besides bitter and unnatural _forever_? But she made him believe, for a short time. And for that, Jack had stayed with her until reason returned and he left. He thought it was for her own good.

There should be photos of someone else here. 

Standing there in front of the mantel made his chest ache with something he learned long ago to ignore. It was pointless to want something he could never have. He gave the photos one more lingering look, grabbing the folder she promised them, before he left the room.

"…three of you ever meet? You, Jack, and his father?

Before he could push the door open to the yard, Gwen's voice reached him. 

"Oh no, never." There was a soft whisper of regret in her words.

Damn it, Gwen, Jack thought. He fought the urge to run out there. 

"I ran into Jack in the wood. I was so surprised. It was like seeing a ghost."

Jack grimaced. Estelle, small in her windbreaker, had looked like she was about to faint. Jack didn't recognize her, didn't realize who she was until she gasped out that he looked just like Captain Jack Harkness from sixty years ago.

"He's so like his dad. Same walk, same smile."

Like father, like son, Jack thought bitterly. He leaned against the window, his heart aching. 

"I hope he's still alive. He'd be in his early nineties now."

One hundred and four actually but who's counting?

"I noticed you still have his photos up," Gwen asked. Jack gnashed his teeth.

Estelle gave a little, embarrassed laugh. "Oh, I could never bring myself to throw them away! I'd always…well, seeing them made me feel like he never left."

Jack closed his eyes.

"You two looked very happy in them," Gwen observed.

Shut up, Jack wanted to plea. 

"I would like to think we were in love," Estelle sighed. "I was young and he was so full of darkness."

"Darkness?"

"From the war, I suppose. Oh, the war was still young but our boys came back old men."

"And Jack was from the war?"

Jack sucked in his breath, his chest tight.

"Yes. You don't know how good it was to see Jack's father laugh again."

If only Estelle knew how wonderful it was _to_ laugh. Jack lowered his eyes to the floor, his hands in his pockets. She made him forget, even for just a few months, about empty game stations and hollow, silent space.

"Yet you haven't seen him since," Gwen persisted.

Jack's hands fisted in his pockets. 

"You could always ask Jack about him."

"I have, but he doesn't seem to want to talk about his father."

Jack had enough. He pushed through the screen door, careful to not let it swing as he strode out. Jack ignored Gwen as he headed straight for Estelle.

"Estelle, when you next see these creatures, you call us immediately," Jack warned. "Understand?"

Estelle's years melted away when she gave him an amused, mischievous, nod. "Alright, Jack. I will."

"Night or day. It doesn't matter, just call us." Jack dipped his head and gave her a disarming smile. "And be careful. It's important to me." 

"But, Jack, I have nothing to worry about." Estelle laughed; it was breezy and heartbreakingly young. 

Jack looped a friendly hand around her shoulders. "Just be careful. Please." He couldn't help but pull her in closer to him and her slight body against him reminded him of first dancing in the Astoria ballroom. He impulsively kissed the top of her head and was caught off guard at the feel of aged thin hair; white instead of dark.

Estelle only laughed lightly, looking up at him with the sparkling eyes of a seventeen year old, but agreed. 

 

**Act IV:** _"It wasn't your dad that was in love with her all those years ago, was it?"_

_"We need a clean up operation on her house."_ Gwen sounded defeated.

Ianto closed his eyes briefly. "Estelle Cole?"

Gwen paused and Ianto already knew the answer but she replied anyway.

_"We were too late."_

God, Jack. "Where is he?"

Gwen knew who he was referring to. _"He went back to the car."_

Ianto frowned. "He did?"

Jack's channel beeped and Ianto didn't even spare time to say goodbye to Gwen.

"Jack?"

The voice was dull. _"Tosh is going to make a call to 999 so they'll find the body. Owen's going to need to intercept the body from SOCO to do an autopsy. Gwen's—"_

"Enough," Ianto said soberly. "Don't worry about it. I know what needs to be done."

Jack was guarded because he wasn't alone, but the lost tone was clear to Ianto. _"There's something else that needs to be done. I can't think of it right now."_

Ianto swallowed. He knew the feeling. "Don't worry about it," Ianto repeated. He could hear Owen urging Jack to let him drive, shuffling could be heard in the background, and Tosh reporting that the police were on their way. "Just get yourself back to the Hub," he rasped. 

 

 **Act V:** " _She lives forever…"_

Jasmine skipped as if it was her playground. 

"Leave her alone," Jack spoke, not yelling but he knew they could hear him. He grabbed the child—she barely stood to his chest—and drew her close, hunching over her.

"Find another chosen one!"

They spoke in a singsong voice in unison, sounding like one. _"Too late. She belongs with us."_ The winds that had died before began to pick up again. The tiny body he held struggled. Jack thought he heard her hiss.

Jack glared up into the trees. Gwen muttered a curse, or a prayer. It didn't matter. If she wasn't afraid of the so-called fairies before, the sheer number should scare her now. Jack edged back. Gwen automatically took a step back as well. The trees swayed angrily. The wind hissed and crackled.

"The child belongs here!" Jack declared. He flinched when a twig zipped past his eye. Jasmine squirmed.

 _"No!"_ the gaunt creatures snarled and hissed like serpents. 

_"She lives forever."_

A cold feeling flooded his chest. Jack tightened his hold. _No one_ deserved a fate like that. "You can't have her!"

There was a simultaneous howl at his defiance and trees bent backwards in their rage. Something flew past their vision and a car exploded. Someone screamed. Glass shattered.

 _"Jack! What the hell is going on there! The world's gone to shit out here!"_ Owen's terse voice crackled through both their comms. A tree uprooted and flew down onto someone's roof. 

_"Give us the child! Ours! Ours!"_

Gwen grunted as winds threw her against Jack. Car alarms rang in the background. Glass continued to break.

Tosh's tight voice cut through the howling. _"I'm getting erratic weather readings localizing on this area. What's going on?"_

"Tosh, try to evacuate everyone in the area!" Gwen gritted out from behind. She staggered as debris flew around them. 

"She's staying with us!" Jack could feel Gwen joining him to hold on to Jasmine, who writhed in their combined grasp like she was the wind itself.

"Then lots more people will die!" Jasmine stopped struggling. She smirked, her eyes glazed. She stood there and spoke with the charming arrogance of a child yet the smug tone when she referred to Estelle made Jack want to smack her.

_"Come away O' human child…"_

Jack crouched down and shook Jasmine until she looked at him. "Do you understand what this means? Forever?"

"Yes," Jasmine breathed, her eyes glowing too brightly to be human. "Forever means forever."

Gwen dropped down to a knee. "It means you won't see your mum again. Your friends either."

" _They're_ my friends." Jasmine looked up at the trees. 

Jack shook her again, hard enough that Gwen barked out his name. "Don't you get it?" he tried again desperately. "You'll be _alone_. Forever means alone!"

_"She will be with us, undying one…"_

Jack's head shot up. "What?"

_"Forever in time…the child belongs with us…"_

"I won't be alone. Not like you," Jasmine stared up at him, her eyes narrow and defiant. "Let me go."

Jack stared at her, dismayed. Already her eyes were swirling. He could hear the winds behind him screaming like banshees. Gwen clutched at him, unable to keep her balance. 

Owen and Tosh's voices crackled in their comms, the winds screamed like they were possessed.

Jack's throat felt like it was filled with nails. "The child won't be harmed?"

Horrified, Gwen grabbed his shoulder. "Jack, you can't…"

Jack wrenched away. He stared at them, challenging. They knew they couldn't harm him, kill him. They hissed and spat back. "Answer me! She won't be harmed."

 _"We told you,"_ they spat out sullenly, _"she lives forever…"_

"Jack!" Gwen darted in front of him. "We can't."

Jack looked at Jasmine. Forever. No, forever was too cruel. He curled his hands around the child's shoulders again. The creatures howled and wailed above him as if they knew.

"A dead world, is that what you want?" Jasmine threatened, her tiny fists beating in the air to wiggle free.

Jack bent down and spun her to face him. "What good is that to you? There would be no more chosen ones."

Jasmine smiled darkly and spoke with their voices. _"They'll find us, back in time."_

His heart sank. She was already gone. Jack pulled her closer, nose to nose.

"You can't go back on forever," Jack hissed.

The child's mouth curved smugly. "I don't want to."

Jack stared at her, oblivious to the winds, Gwen, or the shouting behind him. He cupped the young face and wondered how she would feel after a century of heartache. Jasmine stilled and watched him, waiting. 

"Take her," Jack croaked.

 

**Act VI**   
**One week later…**

It didn't take long to track down the SUV through the GPS. Ianto took his car to the cemetery that bordered the small town that had already lost so much.

Jack stood by the new plot on top of the hill, mirroring Lisa's spot so eerily that Ianto had to stop and rub his eyes for a moment. It had been raining all day and the greatcoat, too sodden from the rain, no longer flapped in the wind.

Ianto sat in his car, watching, waiting, his hands curling and uncurling around the steering wheel. He had watched the GPS signal all day as well. It never moved either.

With a sigh, Ianto levered out of his car, opening an umbrella that barely shielded him from the downpour. The skies had cried all day and the setting sun only made it bleak. It invited sorrow all around.

Jack didn't look up when Ianto joined him, the umbrella now over them both. Jack smelled of wet grass, wet wool, and…well, he was just wet.

"The others were wondering when you’d be coming back," Ianto said quietly. He wasn't sure if Jack heard him in the rumble of rain crashing over his flimsy umbrella. 

"Didn't think anyone would have noticed," Jack said dully, eyes still on the tombstone.

"They understood."

"No, they didn't," Jack corrected him in a flat voice.

Ianto winced. He remembered their faces, their silence. Gwen, in a choked voice, told Ianto what happened. Jack, in the meantime, just kept himself in his office for days after. Today was the first time he'd ventured out, gone before Ianto arrived, gone still when everybody left.

"Tosh checked out okay?"

Ianto nodded. She had left the hospital a few days ago. "Owen doesn't believe there would be any permanent nerve damage. The stitches will come out tomorrow."

Jack's jaw clenched. "Do we have a final count?"

Ianto hesitated before replying. "Fourteen dead…" It was the only reason why everyone began to fully realize the culpability of Jack's choice. "Not including Jasmine Pierce," Ianto added.

The laugh in response was empty. "She's not dead. She's going to live forever." Jack swallowed convulsively and turned his head away from Ianto, from the tombstone.

Ianto looked at the stone slab, at Estelle's epitaph.

"It was from her favorite poem." Jack lifted his head up and finally looked at Ianto. 

Something darker than grief slammed over Ianto and for a moment, it felt like his knees would buckle. 

"Oh," Ianto managed. He stepped in closer to Jack. Their shoulders touched.

"I promised her I would be back," Jack whispered. "I thought she would find someone better." His face contorted and he averted his gaze. "Instead, she waited."

Ianto closed his eyes briefly.

"Over sixty years," Jack choked. "I waited for him just as long. Longer maybe."

He didn't need to ask who _he_ was but his hand curled tighter around the umbrella handle. "She was in love," Ianto said quietly. "She wanted to wait. Like you."

It was the wrong thing to say. Jack jerked as if he was physically struck and stumbled out of the shelter of Ianto's umbrella.

"She shouldn't have waited!" Jack shouted, but to whom Ianto doubted Jack knew himself. "I-I could wait. I have forever, she didn't! She wasted her whole life, waiting, hoping I would come back, praying to get back what we had before!"

Ianto stepped forward, but Jack backtracked. "Is that why you're here?" Ianto demanded. He reached out before Jack took another step. 

"She waited!" Jack staggered drunkenly back to her plot. Ianto threw away the umbrella—it was useless at this point anyway—and stalked back to Jack.

Ianto pointed to her tombstone, his face inches from Jack. "So now _you're_ going to wait here? For how long? Sixty years? A hundred? It won't bring her back!"

"She _waited_!" Jack howled and gave Ianto a hard push. Ianto staggered back. He stared at Jack, chest heaving. Jack wouldn't budge, wouldn't look at him. 

"Come on," Ianto said brusquely. He grabbed Jack by the arms. "Let's go."

"Get off me," Jack snarled, slapping his hands away. "Just go. Leave me alone."

Ianto set his jaw and tried again.

"I said get off!" Jack shoved Ianto back. Ianto fell to the ground, mud seeping into his suit, staining his hands like blood.

Even if he was to think back to this moment, Ianto still wasn't sure what had set him off. He was down in the mud, staring up at Jack, standing still and silent in the rain, his eyes as dead as the angel statue that stood over another grave to his left. Jack's eyes were as empty, rain streaming down his hair, his face like tears. But it grated him. Rage straightened his spine, curled his fists and suddenly, Ianto was back on his feet.

Jack barely had a chance to react when Ianto threw himself bodily at him. The two men tumbled down to the ground. Jack gripped his sleeves, grunting as the two grappled, rolling in the wet dirt until Jack was on top of him.

"What is your probl—" Jack's head snapped back.

Christ, but that _hurt_. Ianto shook his hand as he straddled Jack and grabbed him by the lapels.

"What is _your_ problem?" Ianto shouted, giving Jack a hard shake. "What you're doing is pointless! Absolutely pointless! She's not coming back!"

Jack stared up at him. He didn't even blink when rain water dribbled off Ianto's chin into his eyes. 

"Then how am I supposed to fix this?" Jack rasped, his voice cracking, his eyes pleading.

Ianto rolled off him and, with his hands still on him, helped Jack up. Jack stood swaying in front of him.

"You can't," Ianto said brokenly. "Not everything can be fixed, Jack."

 

The ride back to the Hub was quiet.

Ianto had turned up the heat in the SUV as high as he could, but out of the corner of his eye, Jack still shivered. 

Mud dried unpleasantly on his clothing, his hair, and in his shoes. He was sure it was the same for Jack, but aside from a random shiver, Jack was very still.

Jack was disturbingly complacent as he climbed down the rungs to his bunk. He sat there, limbs jerking as Ianto tugged the greatcoat off, then his shoes.

"Why don't you take a shower first?" Ianto suggested as he towel dried his hair for the time being. 

Jack just nodded.

Ianto's heart sank. "Do you need any help?"

A head shake. Jack got up unsteadily and went into the tiny bathroom in the back of his underground place.

Ianto sat there on the bunk. He absently ran his palm across the thin mattress as he listened for the shower. He could hear Jack moving sluggishly, the water sounding like the rain outside, but nothing else. Ianto remembered how hoarse his throat was each time he hid his grief in the shower. Never mind the fact he lived alone. The overhead water crashing over his body somehow gave him permission to let go, under the guise of a shower. He never left feeling truly cleansed.

The absence of grief disturbed Ianto and he couldn't sit there any more. He busied himself with pulling out a fresh change of clothing for Jack, then escaped upstairs to make coffee. It was something familiar he could do mechanically because Ianto doubted he had the presence of mind to do anything else. 

By the time he was done, Jack was sitting on his bunk, changed, smelling now of soap. Red-rimmed eyes tracked Ianto as he climbed down the ladder. Jack even managed a smile when Ianto poured him a steaming drink out of a thermos to keep it warm. 

"You could borrow one of my shirts and pants for your shower," Jack's eyes flitted over in the darkness to where his wardrobe would be. "There's extra towels by…" Jack frowned, trying to remember.

Ianto bent lower to his ear, his hand on Jack's still tensed shoulder. "I know. Thank you. Why don't you get some rest, Jack?"

The nod was a weary one and Jack just sank down onto his bunk. Ianto could feel his stare as he entered the shower.

The hot water on his clammy skin was a relief and loosened a few shivers of his own. Ianto closed his eyes and tilted his head and let a different sort of rain trail down his belly, his legs, his arms. 

Ianto suddenly missed Lisa, missed her hand in his, missed her fragility and her strength. Ianto longed for Lisa's whispers in his ear. He missed how everything he said she would listen to like a song in her ear, everything he could ever say to her was right. 

There was nothing he could say to Jack to make this right. And Ianto desperately wanted someone to tell _him_ something to make it right.

Ianto rested his forehead on the tiles and pressed a hand to his mouth and grieved silently for Lisa, for Jack, and for a woman who never knew how much she was loved in return. 

 

"She never married," Jack suddenly said as Ianto silently changed in the dark. He looked over at Ianto with dull eyes from the bed. "She never married. There was no one."

Ianto paused, looking towards the bed. "Did I wake you?"

"You didn't wake me." Jack sounded very small.

Ianto sighed, padding over to sit on the edge of the bed and looked at Jack. "You should rest."

Jack either ignored the question or didn't hear it. "She waited."

"What?" The darkness demanded whispers. Jack's face was white from the slice of light descending from the open hatchway.

"She waited," Jack repeated, looking at Ianto as if expecting him to understand.

"She was in love," Ianto whispered.

The corner of Jack's eye twitched. "She wasn't the only one," Jack croaked. He dropped his head and looked away.

"Get some sleep," Ianto murmured. He pulled the afghan up to Jack's shoulders. 

Blue eyes murky with grief gazed back and Ianto found himself pinned, hovering over Jack.

"She shouldn't have waited," Jack whispered.

"She wanted to," Ianto whispered. "It was her choice."

Jack's face crumpled a little. 

Ianto leaned in closer and brushed his lips across Jack's forehead before he could tell himself not to. "Get some sleep," Ianto hushed as he pulled away.

Jack looked back silently, neither shocked nor maybe even aware of what Ianto had done. He just shivered and rolled to his side, facing the wall.

"Still cold?" Ianto asked. He could feel the tremors against his back while he sat there.

"Can't seem to get warm," Jack mumbled. He tugged the afghan higher.

Ianto sat there, looking at Jack for a long moment. Then, he eased himself down on his side, settling against Jack's back.

"Ianto?" Why are you here? What are you doing? 

"I'm just trying to get you warm," Ianto told the tensed back quietly. He found himself easing to fit behind Jack, his chest flushed against Jack's back, his knees behind the hollows of Jack's bended ones. He cautiously draped an arm around Jack's middle and felt Jack flinch. "Easy. Just trying to get you warm." Even through their shirts and pants, Ianto could feel the cool skin. He shivered as well. "Get some sleep."

"I don't sleep." The answer could have come from a petulant sleepy child.

Ianto smiled faintly. "Try to get some rest then."

Jack fell silent and Ianto settled, his face on Jack's shoulder blade. He found himself breathing in time with Jack and marveled how it seemed to make perfect sense. The raw, emptiness inside him eased a little the more he grew aware of Jack's bony spine against his chest, the back of his long strong thighs warm against his lap, Jack's firm stomach rising and falling gently against Ianto's arm.

Ianto took a deep breath of Jack's scent and felt his eyelids grow heavy. Oh well, he couldn't drive home anyway; his car was still parked by the cemetery. Ianto curled his arm tighter around Jack. Ianto was heartened to feel the shivering fade.

"Ianto?" Jack suddenly called out drowsily.

"Hmm?" Ianto could feel Jack stir a little in his hold and he smiled sleepy against his back.

"It was the wrong choice."

Ianto's eyes flew open, but too late, Jack had drifted to sleep.

His eyes burned and he thought how much simpler things had been when everything looked like they could be repaired: a doctor from Tokyo, a cup of coffee, a night embrace for warmth. But no the reality was, Ianto realized, that some things may simply be beyond repair and the realization broke his heart.

"No," Ianto whispered. He sniffed loudly and before he changed his mind, kissed the cotton shirt over Jack's shoulder.

"It wasn't."


	25. "Countrycide"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning For This Chapter:** uh...I'm afraid this is rather gratuitous as the fic extends the camping one more day. It's more about Janto than the episode I'm afraid. Sorry. 
> 
> **Notes For This Chapter:** Note there are parallels to TW's "Countrycide"

**Act I**   
**One week later…**

"Drinking?" Jack repeated. He stared at Gwen, unsure he had heard correctly.

Gwen, while her more personal and human insight was an added plus to their investigations, had the tendency to attack any situation with a more normal approach that could be downright scary at times. She refused to see the exceptions to the rule.

"You think we should go out drinking," Jack said once more, slowly. "Because everyone in here seems…tense? Isn't that a recipe for a bar brawl?" Not that he would mind. Jack hadn't been in a bar brawl since…oh…1899? Jack had some of the most violently, gratifying se—

Jack shifted in his seat. He wasn't proud of who he was back then. The Doctor had a strong word for it and upon reflection, Jack had to agree. He cleared his throat.

"You think getting everyone soused will…" Jack framed the air with his fingers in a quotation marks gesture, "help? Because I really don't look good with a black eye."

Gwen shot him an exasperated look. "Yes, I think it would help."

"Gwen, if anything, I think drinking will only aggravate the situation." Jack grimaced. "Trust me, drunken, sexually frustrated people and glass bottles _so_ do not mix. You don't know how many times I—" Jack stop when Gwen raised an eyebrow.

"Voice of experience, Captain?"

Jack flashed a toothy grin. "I don't kiss and tell."

Gwen rolled her eyes. "Since when?" she muttered. Gwen gestured behind her at the Hub beyond the office. 

"Look, something needs to be done. Everyone's on edge with Ianto and obviously he hasn't been coping well since Lisa."

Jack frowned and leaned a little to look past her. Tosh was quietly working at her station, Owen could be heard doing an autopsy on a Weevil they found floating facedown in an abandoned building, and Ianto…

"Reception desk," Gwen answered Jack's furrowed brow. "Except for his duties, he's usually just up there, Jack."

Jack sat back, his lips pressed thin. Ianto never said anything to him; then again, they both hadn't said much of anything these days, except for the occasional coffee inquiry. He missed their talks, silly as they sometimes were. Jack realized he woke up that day alone and hadn't seen Ianto since. The realization made his throat tighten.

"Owen barely talks to him, Tosh and I have tried to get him to go out to lunch with us but nothing, and you…" Gwen paused at Jack's look but plowed forward.

"You and Ianto had seemed to get along well in the beginning but after Lisa…" At Jack's changing expression, she switched gears. "Then it seemed like things were sorted between you two and now…" Gwen shrugged. "What's going on, Jack? What's changed?"

Everything, Jack thought, but he cleared his throat instead. "What Ianto did—"

"Was horrible, I know. He could have killed us all, but he chose to stay with us despite everything." Gwen dropped her hands on his desk and leaned forward. Her dark eyes looked at him intently. "He did it for Lisa, Jack. He did it because he couldn't stand the thought of living without her. I…Can you imagine how much pain he must be going through right now? To not have the one you love by your side no matter what you do?"

Jack briefly looked over to the jar by his desk. A phantom sensation of fingers dancing on the back of his head made him shudder. 

"Yeah," Jack said sadly. His shoulders slumped. "I can." He shook his head. Bitterness collected in his throat and even a drink of lukewarm coffee didn't wash it down.

"Okay, I get it, but us going out for drinks isn't going to resolve things. Trust me, Ianto does not make a pretty drunk." Actually, he made an adorable one and damn if Jack couldn't erase the sensation of his palm cupped over the back of Ianto's firm rear while the younger man mumbled insensibly all the way to his flat. 

Jack held up a hand before Gwen could protest. "I think it's time Ianto gets field experience anyway so…" Jack pulled out the folder from the bottom of his pile; his paperwork never seemed to end.

Gwen scanned it quickly. She raised her startled gaze at him.

"Brecon Beacons?"

"Sixteen disappearances within a twenty mile radius of each other in the past five months." Jack nodded towards the folder. "Things have been coming up here in Cardiff so there was never a chance to investigate, but if it's slow enough for us to go out for drinks tonight, why not a trip to the countryside tomorrow?"

Gwen brightened. "Oh, that might be a lovely idea; like a sort of team building exercise. We could chat by the fire, make smores. I'll let Rhys know I won't be home tomorrow." She handed back the folder to Jack and left the office.

Jack blinked after her, confused. "Smores?" he echoed. 

 

Coming up the hidden corridor next to the Tourist office, Jack was beginning to doubt his decision. Camping? Stuck in a tent with Ianto _not_ in a suit?

Jack groaned and he stopped in his tracks. He leaned against the wall and sighed. 

Gwen was right. Jack was blind—whether deliberate or not—to Ianto's pain over Lisa. Jack was being obtuse to the very fact that grief was walking alongside Ianto Jones, not Jack. And Jack had been oblivious—again, he wasn't sure if it was deliberate or not—or naïve to think that just being there and ignoring what had happened between them before in the hopes that things went back to the status quo.

Idiot. 

Jack thumped his head against the wall he was leaning on. He probably hit too hard because his surroundings actually spun a little before it settled.

He hadn't slept a whole night like he did with Ianto curled behind him in a very long time. It felt like the younger man was shoring him up, a wall of sandbags barricading him from destructive waves. Ianto was around him like a warm blanket, warmer than any hearth he'd ever known. The ache in him was absent and it was disorienting to wake up without the feeling of empty, hollow pain in his gut and chest. And it was an alien feeling to rouse and not feel sleep deprived and limb heavy for once. Jack had actually laid there, blinking in the dark, wondering where and when he was, if everything had been just a horrific dream. The feel of Ianto pressed against him oddly didn't bring up any internal alarms, just drowsy contentment. 

Illusion. All an illusion. It was just Ianto Jones in his usual sensitive and generous way like he was in London. He gave everything to Lisa and spared some to Jack. 

He shouldn't read more into that.

The low grinding was quickly followed by Ianto's hushed voice. 

"Jack?"

Jack turned and grinned sheepishly. The younger man stood in the middle of the hallway, his brow furrowed.

"How did you know I was in here?" Jack wanted to know as Ianto strolled down to lean on the opposite wall in front of him. 

Ianto nodded at the wall behind Jack. "CCTV." Ianto tilted his head. "What were you doing hiding in here?"

Jack gave him a scowl. "I wasn't hiding! I was…thinking."

A quick turn to the left and then right. Ianto raised an eyebrow at him. 

"Couldn't you have done your thinking in some place more furnished?"

"You should talk!" Jack retorted. 

Ianto flushed, lowered his head a little and he scratched the bottom of his jaw. Jack found himself entranced.

"Yes, well, I'm trying to remedy that." At Jack's puzzled expression, Ianto clarified. "I've received a check for my relocation. A stipend from Torchwood." Ianto smiled faintly at him.

Oh. Now it was Jack's turn to lower his head. "Well, they gave _me_ a stipend, I thought…" Jack shrugged. When he looked up, Ianto was still smiling. Jack found himself smiling back. 

"Well, I guess I have you to thank for my good fortune then," Ianto murmured. "Any recommendations on how to proceed?"

Jack grimaced, remembering the tiny fold-out seats. "Real chairs would be nice."

Ianto chuckled. He sobered and gave Jack a speculative look.

"So really, what _are_ you doing here?"

Damn. Jack coughed into his fist. "Yeah, about that…"

"Um hm?"

The accented murmur made his stomach quiver. Ianto sounded just like that after Jack had kissed down his firm stomach, down his bare hip, and trailed all the way to his—

"Jack?"

Jack gulped and forced himself to match Ianto's curious gaze.

"We're going out in the field tomorrow."

Ianto nodded, his posture already posed to take notes. "What do you want for tomorrow?"

Jack grinned, teeth flashing. "You, actually."

"Pardon?" Ianto's voice went up an octave.

Okay, maybe not the best way of putting it.

 

Ianto looked around the shooting range, his mouth pursed. The paper targets in the distance were both amusing and intimidating. 

Jack had explained that he wanted Ianto to join their field operation. It was comical to see Jack waving his hands in a frantic attempt to explain himself after nearly giving Ianto a coronary—because he was mortified to find himself not repulsed by what Jack said at all. And that was not helpful considering his mind was already a soup of confusing thoughts since waking up against Jack.

"We should try the hand guns first," Jack mused. His right hand hovered over them before selecting one. 

"I had weapons training when I was in London," Ianto reminded Jack as the other circled the weapons' table with an eye like a connoisseur, a finger to his pursed lips. Jack had shed his coat, his sleeves rolled up, his braces pulled off and swaying lightly, framing his buttocks perfectly.

Ianto hastily averted his eyes before he was caught staring.

"True, but only of the standard issue," Jack murmured, his eyes studying the table. He leaned over, practically bending over the table as he reached for one. "But I rather you're comfortable with all types." His trousers stretched across tight, round—oh good God. 

Ianto swallowed. He had been trying very hard not to mentally wander into far confusing territories he was utterly unprepared for. He had woken up that night from a particularly heated dream about Lisa, only to find, to his mortification, that he was half-hard and just shy from humping his boss in his sleep.

 _That_ had effectively deflated him and ever since, Ianto had been trying hard to see Jack as just _Jack_ , his employer, his friend, his _male_ friend, and oh, did he mention that he was his _employer_? Ianto didn't think he was gay. He didn't have the least bit of an inkling to snog Owen—thank God—or any other male for that matter but then what about Jack?

And what about _that_ night? Ianto resisted dropping his face in his hands. Despite what Jack thought, it wasn't horrible, it wasn't terrible at all. In fact, he couldn't stop thinking about it. It felt so unfair to Lisa. 

At the thought of Lisa, Ianto's stomach grew cold. Already, it took too long to remember her trailing touches on his skin, her smile when she spoke his name. It'd only been weeks, barely two months since Lisa died. Although, a gloomy voice whispered, Lisa had already been dead since Canary Wharf.

Nausea twisted inside Ianto and he covered his mouth with his hand and fought the urge to vomit.

"You okay?" Jack had paused, looking over.

"Not really," Ianto muttered. 

"What?" Jack looked at him perplexed, the handgun in his extended hand.

Ianto hastily recovered by grabbing the weapon. He could feel his face growing hot.

"Just point and shoot," Jack joked lightly. He gestured to the paper targets. "Only, point that way, please?"

Ianto rolled his eyes, extended out his arm and targeted the closest paper bulls-eye. He aimed and fired. "I think I'm wasting your tim—"

The weapon jerked and it felt like someone _pushed_ him, shoved him really. The recoil surprised him and he lost his footing. Ianto fell back with a yelp.

Jack's hands caught him by the arms, his chest warm against the small of Ianto's back.

"Careful." Jack's throaty voice rumbled in Ianto’s ear and sent shivers down his entire body. "It has a bit of a kick."

"I noticed," Ianto said shakily. He was afraid to turn. He could feel Jack's breath on him and he could feel his heart hammering hard in his chest. Plus, he really, really hoped that was Jack's sidearm pressed against his lower back. "Perhaps I-I should use both arms then?" Ianto stepped away and handed Jack the weapon. "A little demonstration first?" He needed to sit down before his knees buckled. Jack's body heat had tattooed itself to his body. It felt like the captain had never left. 

As Jack patiently explained positioning—the word choice was going to drive Ianto mad—and how to fire, Ianto took the opportunity to study Jack surreptitiously.

It wasn't that Jack was ugly; even a man would be hard pressed to ignore the fact that Jack Harkness was undeniably attractive. But there was nothing really that stood out to Ianto as the culprit that lured a reasonably _heterosexual_ man—least Ianto thought he was—to have lecherous thoughts about their male employer. 

Ianto supposed, as he watched Jack drawing up the gun to line up with the target, coming across Jack exiting out of the innocuous blue police box might have added an air of mystery that simply made Jack all the more interesting. He was pleasant enough; his torso and legs were well proportioned, shoulders not too broad, nothing too angular. Jack wasn't effeminate either, which would have settled Ianto's misgivings and excused him as simply missing Lisa, but no. No, unfortunately, Jack was _very_ masculine, yet there was something about him that just made Jack appealing. The man was simply a walking advert for sex.

Damn it.

Ianto smiled briefly as Jack explained the recoil. He really should be paying attention for the field operation tomorrow. He suspected the reasoning to suddenly having him on the field was noble rather than practical. Ianto didn't mind. The reliable mind numbing routine he'd depended on after London was lacking and left him feeling too empty. The hollow feeling he woke to each morning was beginning to physically hurt. 

Jack aimed and fired a perfect round dead center to the farthest target. His arms bulged to compensate the recoil, his buttocks visibly flexed within his trousers to prevent any stumbling. When done, he pulled off the dampening headphones and grinned at Ianto with a giddy air of a boy.

It was a good thing Ianto was sitting down, otherwise he would have become a puddle right there.

"Well?" Jack waggled his eyebrows as he walked over and handed Ianto the next handgun to try. "What do you think?"

What did he think? That tomorrow's camping excursion was going to be a _terrible_ idea.

 

**Act II:** _"I hate the countryside. It's dirty. It's unhygienic."_

The camp site reminded Ianto of a spot he and Lisa had once camped at a few years back. The gray-green tall, wild grass and the gentle rolling hills left him with a pang in his chest.

Setting the tents had been easy enough and there was a little mean part of him that enjoyed watching Owen struggle with his tent. Mostly for Tosh's benefit, of course. Harper was too much a prat to notice Tosh's baiting for what it really was. Never mind Owen had been baiting _him_ all day and grating on his nerves.

"Have you been camping before?" Gwen inquired as she handed him a bottle of water.

"Many times." Ianto wiped his brow with his sleeve before he smiled his thanks and opened his drink with a quick twist. "Lisa and I…" He trailed off and Gwen looked a little panicked.

"Sorry," she murmured and winced.

Ianto gave a weak laugh. "It's alright."

"I didn't…"

The awkward verbal fumbling and apologies were just too much. It gnawed at him and he still floundered for a footing against it. 

Ianto smiled tightly. "It's fine," he stressed. "Really. I better check and see if Jack needs any help." Ianto fled, leaving Gwen looking a little flustered, but he was unwilling to stay to try to find a suitable expression to ease her discomfort. The social tiptoeing was tolerable back in Cardiff, but here, there was no Tourist office to occupy his thoughts.

Ianto targeted the tent Jack was in like a boat would a lighthouse in a storm. He strode past the flaps, his elbow brushing one back as he ducked in.

"Jack—" Ianto began. He froze.

Jack was on his hands and knees, his head peering under one of the camp beds.

"W-what are you doing?" Ianto stammered, staring at his employer down on the ground, feeling a little distressed that he found the image before him was making his blood heat up all over. 

Jack raised his head, annoyance clear on his face. "I lost a button."

Oh thank God, _this_ was something he could deal with. Ianto fought the urge to sink down on the nearby camp bed. "Again?"

Standing, Jack gestured down towards himself, distressed. "I didn't realize it was gone until now. I'd hoped I lost it here, but…" Jack scowled at the ground. "Damn it."

Sighing half out of relief for something familiar, Ianto held out a hand. "Just give me the coat."

"It won't do any good," Jack insisted, but he shrugged off his outerwear. "I don't have any extra buttons to fix this."

Jack's pout reminded him of his little cousin and his broken teddy. The child would go up to Ianto, the toy held out to him, the bear's arm dangling by a thread, his cousin's lower lip quivering.

No lower lip, but Ianto had to resist the urge to pat Jack's head all the same when he took the greatcoat.

"I have spares," Ianto tsked, fingering the frayed thread where the button was missing.

"The exact same kind?" Jack sounded incredulous. "You have one?"

Actually, Ianto had a box full hidden in his desk. He didn't know why but he had tracked down as many as he could. Ianto just nodded. He inspected the coat with a critical eye. He gave Jack another nod.

"Shouldn't be a problem. I'll see to it when we get back to the Hub." Ianto tossed the coat back. Jack caught it easily.

"Ianto Jones, I could just kiss you!" Jack sighed, relieved. 

Promise? Ianto's mind plaintively replied. Ianto jerked. Where did _that_ come from? 

 

It was too dark to even see himself yet he could run through this empty, dark and hollow world. His boots rang against a surface powdered with Dalek dust and rotting corpses while the recycled air left a metallic taste in his mouth. 

There was no one. No one at all. He'd roamed among the dead, wondering why he wasn't one of them, feeling as crumpled and displaced as when he had turned around and realized no one was holding his hand and the beaches were now littered with bodies.

Slaughter. It was nothing but slaughter. His father left them here in in the midst of slaughter. _He_ left him in another slaughter.

He couldn't breathe in the slaughter. The dead stole the air, the _life_ of this place. He could only choke in fear. In the void of life, he couldn't hear himself whimper in fear. But out of the darkness, something else could be heard.

_…thrum-thrum…tap-tap…_

Jack jolted awake, nearly falling off a camp bed barely large enough to hold his frame. He lay there, trying to place himself again in the where and when.

A soft muffled murmur and a sleepy mumble grounded him.

Jack turned his aching head. The lump to his right, fidgeted before turning to face him. Owen's pale face was almost luminescent in the dark.

That's right. Jack sat up and scrubbed his face wearily. Owen, after a few failed attempts to get his tent up, was forced to stay in theirs. There was a mix of relief and disappointment roiling in Jack when a very disgruntled looking Owen came in, dropped his kit, and announced there was something wrong with his tent and he was staying with them tonight.

The sheer relief in Ianto's face didn't escape Jack and he couldn't help the bit of resentment towards him. What? Was he a leper now?

Dinner had been awkward. Jack could see Gwen's concern now, sitting across the fire from Ianto. Besides the tight smiles that looked more like grimaces and the noncommittal responses he gave the girls, Ianto appeared to be distracted, deep in thought. Probably about Lisa again.

Jack glanced past Owen to Ianto, whose back was turned towards him. He heard a stray sigh and a broken mumble, but Ianto looked to be sleeping already. Jack's mouth twisted ruefully. At least someone can sleep. It looked like it was going to be elusive for Jack once again.

Quietly Jack grabbed his boots, grimacing because he could feel the cold through his thick socks. This was why he made a good sentry during the wars. Jack didn't need much sleep and was fine watching over the soldiers under the cold sparkling skies of Austria and France. War made sleep a precious commodity for exhausted soldiers. Jack felt it was the least he could do since he couldn't really die alongside them in battle.

Jack looked back at the two, thought of Alex Hopkins' letter about the future. Storms of death, orbs raining down from the sky, he had said. 

It was time to be a sentry once again, Jack thought as he stepped out of the tent. It was the least a man with forever could do. 

 

It wasn't his business. It wasn't. _This_ was what got him in trouble in the first place; trailing after Jack Harkness, drawn to the pain, confusion, and the utter _lostlosthelpmedying_ that bled out of him like a slit wrist. 

Ianto could see Jack's shadow projecting on his side of the tent. It sat there, bowed. Ianto could hear the harsh breathing; a post-nightmare sound that Ianto knew all too well. It stayed with him so many nights like a faceless lover. 

But Jack didn't go back to sleep. Ianto heard the muted rustle of Jack's greatcoat as he slipped between the tent flaps. When Jack left, it felt like the tent exhaled and grew silent once more.

Ianto fidgeted in his camp bed. Jack had always been a bit of insomniac, claiming his immortality was the cause. Sometimes though, Ianto wondered if it wasn't that Jack didn't need sleep, but that he _can't_ sleep? 

Lisa could lull Ianto back to sleep with a feather stroke of her long finger across his brow. Ianto doubted that would work in Jack's case although his stomach churned and his fingers tingled at the thought of trying. _That night_ —forever immortalized in italics in Ianto's mind—had been more about replacing the ache of failure and borderline grief with something more heated, unbridled, and almost animalistic. It felt like he devoured Jack when he sank into his body whereas Jack _tasted_ Ianto with a care Ianto never thought any man could own. 

That weird flutter started up again in his stomach, replacing that hollow emptiness Ianto felt when he would find something of Lisa's in his flat. Ianto fought hard to remember what her skin felt like against his, her mouth on him, her soft curves bumping against him like a gentle tease. Ianto then wondered what it would feel like just to touch Jack. Not a frenzied, frantic, tumble and crash of bodies, but just the slow, contemplative exploration of his body. Would he feel like Lisa?

God, you're a bastard, Ianto thought, screwing up his face and thumping a fist into his bed. Not even a year and already Ianto was thinking of someone else. A man, no less. The one he betrayed Lisa for, too. Can he be any more of a bastard?

Ianto turned on his back and stared at the tent ceiling. It couldn't really be his fault though, right? They had…well— _consumed, licked, thrust, possessed_ —slept together. Could he be blamed for obsessing over Jack? They were friends who had sex. The fact that Jack was male made it more awkward for Ianto, who took a week to decide on buying a new tie. Or so Lisa had often teased. Ianto liked things neat, orderly, logical, and Jack Harkness was simply the opposite of that. Of _course_ , Ianto couldn't stop thinking about it! 

So…should he go out there or not? Ianto bit his lower lip and turned to face the tent wall. Lights from the fire Jack had made flickered.

"For Christ's sake, just go out there," Owen suddenly griped, his voice a sleepy burr.

Ianto stiffened. "Why are you awake?" he hissed.

Owen's shadow sat up on the tent wall. "Who can sleep? First the captain is making sounds like a beaten puppy next to me, then you're tossing and turning. And that stupid chirping outside, what the bloody hell is that?"

"Crickets."

"Well, someone should shoot the lot because between you three, I can't sleep." Owen stretched over and poked his back with a foot. "Look, if you’re that worried, just go out there."

"Who said I was worried?" Ianto snapped, looking over his shoulder.

Owen gave him a smirk. He ran a hand through his hair as he yawned. "You been flipping and flopping since he left. I don't know what's winding you up, mate, but will you just go out there and see to him?"

Ianto glowered. "I think I liked you better when you weren't talking to me."

"Trust me, Jonesy, I’d much rather be sleeping than playing counselor." Owen dropped back onto his cot and threw the covers over his head. 

Ianto sat up and slipped on his boots. "Only because you won't shut up otherwise," Ianto told the lump to his left.

The lump just grunted.

At the tent flaps, Ianto hesitated. Jack might want to be alone. He wouldn't have gone outside otherwise. And what could Ianto do anyway? Offer to lie down next to him on the ground? His face flushed. Not something a bloke would offer his friend. Maybe he should just—

"Are you fucking serious?" Owen groggily complained.

Before Ianto could turn around, he heard the medic get up, felt a foot planted on his rear and with a hard shove, Ianto was kicked gracelessly out of the tent. 

 

At the yelp, Jack looked up. He raised an eyebrow when he saw Ianto stumbling out of the tent, his hand reaching back to rub his behind, and glare at the tent over his shoulder.

"Uh, can't sleep?" Jack asked archly.

Ianto cleared his throat as he crossed over to the fire. He dropped down on a bench across from Jack.

"You could say that," Ianto muttered. He shot their tent another dark look before turning his attention to Jack.

"Told you," Jack said. "I don't need—"

"Much sleep," Ianto interrupted. "Yes, yes, so you keep saying." He stretched out his hands to warm them by the fire. He looked at Jack questioningly.

Jack shrugged. "Cold. And no Weevils to hunt here so I thought I might as well keep watch."

"I wasn't aware we need to be on guard here." Ianto gave the woods around them a mild frown. 

"No," Jack assured. "Things are quiet here. I figured I might as well do something useful."

"If it's so quiet, then why am _I_ here?" Ianto looked over seriously.

Jack dropped his gaze to the fire. He kept his voice casual. "It's been a while since…well, everything and we've all never had a chance to really—"

"To see if Ianto Jones breaks apart with grief," Ianto finished in a flat voice. "So this is some sort of test? To see if I can be relied on?"

Jack's head shot up. "I didn't say that," he protested.

A sigh hung between them. Ianto shook his head. "No. No, you didn't. Sorry. It's just everyone, or at least the girls, have been tiptoeing around me. Frankly," Ianto confessed, pinching a spot between his eyes and heaving a sigh, "I appreciate the distraction and don't say it isn't," Ianto added before Jack could protest.

Jack lifted a shoulder then dropped it. "Gwen wanted us to go out for drinks." 

"Lord no, I'm still recovering from my last alcoholic encounter." Ianto made a face. "Owen might say something that'll earn him a punch, too."

Jack chuckled. "I'd pay to see that."

Ianto offered him a tired smile. 

"Thought you might prefer this," Jack gestured towards the fire. Ianto glowed eerily behind the flames and Jack fought hard not to stare.

"I do," Ianto assured. "I just wish everyone was not so…cautious around me. It's a little tiring putting up a face."

"You shouldn't need to," Jack told him quietly. "At least…not to me."

Ianto looked startled. He gave Jack a strained smile. "That is very generous of you. Considering."

"Considering?" Jack echoed. Jack's mouth crinkled. "Ianto, I told you to bury it. It was just sex."

"Was it?" Ianto stared at him, his eyes unreadable. "Can you really compartmentalize it so neatly like that?"

Jack was glad Ianto sat far away. He fidgeted uneasily. "Yes," Jack said firmly, his eyes elsewhere. Ianto made it clear he was not interested in a more unconventional relationship. Jack should be grateful. No chance to dream or hope. He shouldn't be doing so either. Not until the Doctor fixed him and after he did, Jack was staying with the Doctor.

Wasn't he? 

Ianto looked like he wanted to say something more—what, Jack didn't know—but instead, Ianto just shook his head.

"Would now be a good time to ask you a question?" Ianto asked, changing subjects abruptly and taking Jack by surprise.

Jack blinked. "Uh, sure."

"Why can't you sleep?"

Jack frowned. "Can't? No, I just—"

"That's rubbish." Ianto nodded curtly towards the tent. "That looked more like a _can't_ than a don't." His face softened when he studied Jack.

"Nightmares?"

Jack wanted to deny it, but he found himself reluctantly nodding. "Sometimes," he croaked.

"Tonight?" Ianto's voice lowered, soft and hypnotic. Jack couldn't help but shiver.

"Not really," Jack rasped. 

"More like memories?" Ianto guessed.

Jack's eyes flew to Ianto. The younger man's face seemed older, tired with weary understanding.

Jack dropped his gaze. "Yeah," he whispered. His eyes burned. From looking at the fire, Jack told himself. 

"Could you tell me what they were?"

"Wouldn't that be two questions then?" Jack joked weakly, but when he saw Ianto wasn't smiling, Jack's shoulders slumped.

"I can't really remember," Jack lied. He closed his eyes. "Just feelings mostly."

Ianto was barely audible beyond the crackling fire. "What sort of feelings?"

That was three questions, Jack wanted to say, but the words died in his throat. 

"Nothingness," Jack whispered, his eyes clouding. "Just empty…"

_Alone, dark, raw and bare, left behind, was anyone out there, decay and black forever._

Jack wanted to choke. "I can't hear anything," Jack managed out. "Just my voice. Sometimes not even that. But I would always hear…" Jack dropped his head.

"Hear what?" Ianto sounded hushed, subdued.

"I'm not sure." Jack stared at the fire, lost. "A beat…a rhythm…" Rapping in his soul, promising both pain and salvation.

_...thrum…_

"It just surrounds me," Jack drifted, straining to hear it. "Sometimes, it's the only thing that makes sense…"

_...thrum-thrum..._

"Sometimes it just gets so loud, I can't think…"

But it was the only constant. It never changed.

"Like heartbeats…"

_...thrum-thrum-tap-tap…_

"Two hearts…"

_...thrum-thrum-tap-tap...thrum-thrum-tap-tap...thrum-thrum-tap-tap…_

It felt like he could drown in it.

_…filthy…worthless…horrible…tearing him apart…ripping into his body because it wasn't his anymore…wrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrong…oh God, someone help me…_

"Jack!"

Jack started. He found himself doubled over on the bench, his hands clutching his head. He was shaking. Hard. He couldn't stop. And it was so cold. How did it get so cold?

Ianto was crouched in front of him, his hands over Jack's, as if trying to stop him from crushing his own skull.

"You with me?" Ianto demanded breathlessly. "I called and called. _Christ_ , I was going to get Owen!" Ianto sat next to him, his arms around Jack. It was the only thing keeping Jack upright.

"Jack?" Ianto was giving him a shake, his eyes huge and scared. "You with me? Answer me!"

It hurt to move his head. Jack looked at Ianto. 

"Do me a favor," Jack croaked.

It was almost comical how fast Ianto nodded. Almost.

"D-don't ask anymore," Jack rasped. 

Ianto looked frightened for some reason. He swallowed with some difficulty and stammered. "Alright. No more questions."

"Thank you." Jack rested his forehead on Ianto's shoulder, feeling like he'd been beaten within an inch of his life.

"Sorry," Ianto murmured. "Sorry. No more questions. Here…rest out here." 

Hands prodded Jack to lie on his side, across the bench. He mumbled a protest. He didn't want to be found here.

"I'll wake you before the others get up," Ianto promised. He tugged Jack's coat closed, his fingers deftly buttoning up the greatcoat to his throat. 

Jack nodded, too weary to argue, too exhausted to ask why Ianto sat on the bench and pulled his head into his lap. There were a number of reasons for both of them why Ianto shouldn't do that, but right now, Jack couldn't remember why.

It was too much work trying to remember the reasons. Jack just stared at the fire, felt Ianto's hands on his shoulders and drifted into some facsimile of sleep and waited for sunlight or Ianto's promise to wake him. 

 

**Act III:** _"Sorry she's dead or sorry you mentioned it?"_

"We should get some more firewood," Owen fumbled, unlike him, but Jack couldn't bring himself to care. He stared at Ianto. When Ianto looked away, Jack grew cold.

Of course, he would say Lisa. He loved Lisa. Ianto was still grieving over Lisa. Naturally his answer would be his girlfriend. But it hurt when Ianto said it, like a personal slap to his face.

Gwen had mumbled something about helping Owen, Tosh stammered something about her tent, and Ianto was taking a really long time gathering up the tin dishes from the card table and scrapping off everyone's breakfast.

"I have to check the SUV," Jack said abruptly. He shot up to his feet, unexplainably angry. Jack didn't wait to see what Ianto would say and stormed off.

It was stupid to be this mad. Jack knew it. The hurt he felt when Ianto gave his answer just didn't make sense. He had looked at Jack as if gauging his reaction and Jack just stared back until Ianto looked away.

It wasn't really a kiss, Jack thought as he roughly yanked out his scanner and checked its charge. A new message from the police came in. Damn it, another girl went missing last night. Elle Johnson. Jack thumped a fist to the driver's steering wheel. Perfect. Just perfect. 

"What's the matter with you?" Ianto's hiss made Jack spin around. Ianto looked confused. 

"Nothing," Jack bit out. He wasn't sure himself.

"Nothing, my ass. You look ready to kill." Ianto frowned. "What's wrong?"

Oh, _now_ he was concerned, Jack thought then stopped. That wasn't fair to Ianto. He calmed and offered what he hoped looked like a genuine smile. "Nothing. Really."

Ianto didn't look convinced. "I mean… _you_ could have said me before but you didn't answer Gwen. I thought…" Ianto threw up his hands. "Did you _want_ me to say it was you?"

Yes, Jack wanted to say but instead he shrugged. "It's your choice who you say."

Ianto looked annoyed. "No, it wasn't. You didn't tell her the truth so I assumed…"

"It wasn't really a kiss," Jack mumbled. 

"Ah." Ianto pursed his lips. "Some sort of alien, time traveling resuscitation technique?"

The exasperation in Ianto's voice was funny. Jack's mouth twitched. "You could say that." He darted a look to the younger man. "Did _you_ think it was a kiss?"

Ianto turned beet red. "No. I-I mean I thought perhaps you thought it was, but I…I mean it wasn't like before…like in London…"

It was Jack's turn to flush. "Oh yeah… _London_." Now _that_ was a kiss! Both times. Jack ducked his head in the SUV.

"Well, like you said before," Jack said as he checked the rest of their equipment. "You're not, uh, gay so it was probably better you didn't name me."

"Ah," Ianto fumbled. "Yes, I did say that, didn't I? It would have been—"

"Awkward," Jack supplied.

"Very," Ianto agreed hesitantly.

The two men looked at each other. 

Jack cleared his throat. "No harm done," he said easily, looking away. "All for the best."

"I guess so," Ianto sighed.

Before Jack could ask what Ianto meant, they heard Gwen and Owen's terse radio call to come into the woods. 

 

**Act IV:** _"Yeah. Time to be bled."_

He could feel the cleaver against his throat. The others around him were cursing and yelling at Evan standing over him. Ianto felt both fury and fear. Evan was going to kill him like a lamb then the others. Monsters. All of them. Jars of their horror surrounded him, like the morbid icebox below had exploded. He could taste drying blood in the air. He could feel disgusting, vile evil clinging to him like an oily film. 

He felt anger for the atrocity. They were all butchers. He'd tried to give Tosh a chance to escape. He had failed. 

The cleaver scrapped under his jaw like a barber's blade. Ianto screamed against his gag. He felt fear when he heard he was going to be bled out first.

He had a stray thought about how Jack would react when he find them when he felt Evan gripping him tighter for the kill. 

Everything was hazy in a cloud of adrenaline. He thought he saw Lisa standing in the corner as the monster yanked his head back and bared his neck to death. She looked like she was crying. Fear and fury evaporated and all Ianto felt was deadened. Perhaps it was for the best after all. She held on desperately to life for him. And the numbness every night, lying awake, would be permanent.

Lisa…

The rumble that slowly shook the farmhouse exploded into a blinding mix of wood, shouts, gunfire…

And Jack's angry shouts.

He was _here_.

Gwen rushed over, bracing Ianto against her. Or maybe she was clinging to him, he wasn't sure. Ianto muttered angrily around his gag, twisting in his binds. His blood was to be spilled. He refused to bow here and be slaughtered like a calf. He could hear voices—friend or foe, he couldn't tell—but he knew a cleaver was near. His eyes blurred. Lisa vanished from his sight. 

"It's okay! It's okay!" 

Dark blue filled his view and Ianto sobbed in relief. He knew this, knew the hands gripping his arms, knew the pale blue eyes wide and riveted to him.

"Jack," Ianto gasped out as soon as the gag was pulled off him.

"You're okay," Jack breathed, his voice cracking like he spoke a prayer. Jack roughly drew him to his chest in a hold that allowed no breath. "It's over. You're okay."

Ianto sagged against him, believing him. He was okay now.

Jack was here. 

 

**Act V**

The bandage itched. Ianto sat on the edge of his bed, resisting the urge to scratch. It was harder to ignore in the dark, but he was too tired to get up to turn on the light.

"Uh…I knocked again."

Ianto nodded to the shadow leaning against the doorway. "I know." His mouth twisted. "I figured you would let yourself in eventually."

Jack made a sound that was almost a laugh, almost a sob. "You should get better locks."

"I'll get it with my new furniture," Ianto muttered, still staring into the dark.

"What are you doing?"

Ianto blinked. It was all he could think of doing. "I'm afraid to move," Ianto murmured. His stomach churned. It was the only thing he dared to admit.

Jack's shadow melted to his towering figure. "Why?" Jack asked, stopping short in front of Ianto as if afraid to touch.

Ianto gave a self-disparaging laugh. "I thought if I don't move I won't feel…" Ianto swallowed carefully. "Their filth's all over me. God, they just…it's like I absorbed their evil under my skin. That cellar…that house…" He was afraid to blink again. "If I don't move, maybe it won't circulate inside me."

"Might be inconvenient," Jack said lightly as he crouched to eye level, "when you need to pee."

"Oh, don't bloody remind me," Ianto gasped, a chuckle escaping to join Jack's. They both sounded harsh, a little hysterical. Ianto clamped his mouth shut as it felt like darkness oozed up his throat.

Jack's hands were warm and reassuring on his shoulders. "'You haven't moved from here since I drove Tosh home. The A & E doctors said you need to rest."

Ianto looked at Jack. "I tried to give Tosh a chance to escape."

"I know. She told me." Jack carefully, like Ianto was made of glass, slipped his arms under Ianto's and hauled him up. "Come on, I think a hot shower might help."

"Boiling water might be better," Ianto muttered. He wanted to scald the horror off his skin. It felt like he'd absorbed death from that place. "Perhaps some acid."

"No." Jack sounded strained as he guided Ianto, walking backwards in front of him. Everything abruptly lightened when Jack turned on the bathroom light.

Ianto blinked painfully at his surroundings. He sat down on the edge of the tub and dully watched Jack turn the shower on. 

"Do you need towels?" Ianto mumbled. "For your shower?"

Jack gave him an arched eyebrow. "The shower's for you."

"Oh."

Ianto blinked lazily as he watched Jack very patiently untie and take off Ianto’s boots and roll off his socks. Ianto wiggled his newly exposed toes and watched Jack very carefully unbutton his shirt. Ianto reached out and tentatively touched Jack's gray braces.

"Where's your coat?" Ianto mumbled.

"It smelled," Jack explained as he pulled Ianto’s shirt off and tugged his tee over his head. "You're okay with the rest of it?" Jack waved towards his lap. 

Ianto roused a little. God, he practically let Jack undress him like a child. He waved his hands feebly at him. "Yes, yes, I'm fine, thank you."

Jack had a pinched look to him when he got to his feet, helping Ianto stand as he rose. "I'll be outside then."

Ianto stood there and watched Jack leave. He didn't know why there was a glimmer of panic seeing Jack shut the door.

He left his trousers and shirts to puddle on the floor and stood under the shower, his arms dangling against his sides. Jack had set the perfect temperature—hot enough to steam around him, but only enough to sting vaguely.

Ianto scrubbed with a washcloth, first languidly, then with a little more vigor. His skin crawled, his blood felt thick oozing inside him like a dark oil that ate his insides. Where was the numbness of before? He didn't want to feel this way; full, brimming with the disgusting evil he saw in the cellar, in Evan and his wife's yellow toothed smile. Suddenly, everywhere Lisa touched erased and all he could feel were the dirty nails digging into his biceps, the cold edge of the cleaver pressing deep to reach his bones.

It was overwhelming, dizzying, and Ianto didn't realize he had dropped to his knees until he heard Jack's voice flowing over him like the wind.

"Hey, hey," Jack croaked. He was soaked, his paper thin shirt plastered to his body, but he was uncaring as hands frantically checked Ianto’s head for any new bumps. Jack's eyes were pale with worry. He held up Ianto with a white knuckled grip. 

"You okay? I heard…I saw you folded over like…" Jack pulled Ianto closer to him and peered up his face. 

"I can't get it off," Ianto said hoarsely. He scrubbed at his arms again.

"Stop that." Jack slapped his hands and the washcloth away. "You're not going to have any skin left if you keep that up."

Ianto stared at Jack. His mouth moved but the words felt too large to come out.

"He was going to eat me," Ianto managed. It finally hit him and his mind reeled. "Shit, he…they were going to _eat_ us. They…they were human!"

Jack's mouth pressed thin. "No," he hissed. "They weren't." Abruptly, he wrapped his arms around Ianto and buried his face into his neck. "I thought I was too late," he rasped. 

"He was about to bleed me," Ianto remembered in a detached voice.

Jack shuddered against him. "I would have killed them all," he muffled.

Ianto realized he didn't think he would have minded and that terrified him. It was like those villagers had corrupted him.

"I can't wash them off me," Ianto croaked. His hands slapped uselessly against Jack, against the slick wet feel of soaked cotton. "I can still feel them inside me." Ianto stared at Jack, pleading. 

Jack wordlessly stared back before silently helping Ianto stand again. He stood, his back blocking the spray, his eyes fixed on Ianto's face. Ianto braced against Jack, oblivious, uncaring that he stood naked before Jack. He wearily rested his head on Jack's shoulder.

"Help me," Ianto whispered. "I think they're drowning me."

Jack lifted his head up with a finger until their gazes leveled. Jack looked deep into Ianto's eyes. What he was searching for, Ianto didn't know. But something shifted in Jack's expression, his eyes softening with compassion and his hands gliding down his body, and he dropped to his knees.

Before Ianto could understand what was happening, maybe piece together the stray sensations of hands trailing down to his hips, Jack's breath was on him. And then, Jack was _around_ him.

Ianto hissed, but not out of pain as he felt Jack blow softly on the tip of his cock, almost a preamble before Ianto completely slipped into Jack Harkness' mouth.

"Oh God," Ianto whispered, his head dropping, his eyes fluttering shut as he felt Jack's hot mouth, his teeth, the dry, raspy feel of his tongue, lightly grazing up and down his length. He swelled, filled and _Christ_ , it seemed as if the sensations amplified. Ianto swayed under the hot water searing on his skin. Jack's hands held Ianto's hips, his thumbs making gentle circles on the fold where his hip and torso met.

The slow suckling was almost unbearable. Ianto gasped under his breath, hunching over Jack as it felt like the very essence of him was being pulled out of his body. His sight, blurred and hazy with the intoxicating sensation, watered at the sight of Jack, his cheeks hollowed out, embracing Ianto like an altar. Jack’s mouth— _God_ —his mouth wrapped around him with a heat Ianto had long forgotten existed. 

Lisa flashed behind his eyes, her red lips around him, and Ianto sobbed out her name before doubling over Jack like a buoy, his hands tangled in Jack's hair. Jack paused briefly before continuing with renewed intensity and purpose.

Water battered down on them, the steam veiling Jack like a fog, making it all too surreal, too _much_ to possibly be real. Ianto groaned as he fought not to thrust into that wet mouth— _Jack's mouth, Christ_ —but his hips jerked as if tugged and pulled by Jack's greedy suction.

Stop, he should tell Jack to stop, but it had been so long and Ianto didn't know if he was standing or had control of his body anymore. He curled around Jack as if to shield him from the shower. Wet, hot needles of water pricked his skin while Jack's hands branded his skin. Jack— _don'tstopplease, shittheyshouldstop, don'tstopdon'tstop_ —was on him, an extension of him, on his knees in front of Ianto. Jack exorcised all the filth he'd absorbed. And Ianto was aware he was alive, alive, _alive_ , not just numb and living. 

Ianto felt drained, emptied, and refilled with Jack's essence, his spicy, musky scent filling every pore of his body, replacing Evan and his evil brood with something more…just _more_.

When Ianto felt his release pulled out of him with a force that buckled his knees and slammed Jack back, it was Jack's name on his lips and he suddenly couldn't feel Lisa's touch anymore on him. He couldn't feel the cleaver, the blood, the filth.

Just _Jack_.

He wasn't sure if he should weep or rejoice.


	26. "Greeks Bearing Gifts"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning For This Chapter:** uh...I'm afraid this is rather gratuitous as the fic extends the camping one more day. It's more about Janto than the episode I'm afraid. Sorry. 
> 
> **Notes For This Chapter:** Note there are parallels to TW's "Countrycide"

**Act I**   
**Two days later…**

The fact that his phone was ringing now, _now_ , of all times, was either a joke or something to cry about.

He reached out of the duvet, feeling like he was having a bit of déjà vu. It was the only reason why his hand slapped around the table for his cordless and pressed it in the general direction where his ear would be under the thick covers.

But it was _still_ ringing.

Shit, it was his _mobile_ this time. Bloody brilliant.

A sleepy mumble, bare satiny skin brushing against his groin, and an arm next to him warned him if he didn't stop the excessive ringing soon, he was going to have a rotten morning.

A sullen flick of his wrist and the mobile flipped open. He didn't check the number.

"Owen Harper," he grumbled, his eyes still closed.

_"Is this Doctor Owen Harper?"_

Christ, don't tell him he needed to ask Tosh to unlist his mobile, too. Owen cleared his throat and tried to sound more like a doctor, accustomed to being roused at—Owen checked the time and groaned—one twenty in the fucking morning.

"This is Dr. Harper," Owen yawned. Wankers. All of them. It was a conspiracy to interrupt his sleep. 

The audible sigh of relief in the line made him blink. 

_"Owen? It's Marissa. From Heath?"_

Owen woke further, now recognizing his old colleague's voice. "M, how's A & E at UHW?"

_"Busy as usual. Look, I'm sorry to ring at such an hour, but I couldn't find any other number and he kept saying his doctor would fix him and I saw your name on his mobile. Thought perhaps he was a relative or—"_

"Hold up." It was too early to absorb the facts. "Who? Doctor? Relative? What you talking about, M?"

_"Do you know a James Harper?"_

Owen scowled. "Can't say that I do. He claiming to be a relative?"

_"No, not that. He was too groggy to be coherent. It was the name he came in with and we checked his mobile for emergency contacts. I saw your name and assumed—"_

"Wait…what does he look like?"

_"Dark, short hair. Blue eyes, I think. About 1.8, 1.9 meters…"_

Owen groaned. "Was he wearing a strange long coat?"

_"No. A short flight jacket, actually. Do you know him?"_

"Unfortunately." Owen could see his bedmate stirring and he waved a hand in her general direction to shush her. "What's his condition?"

_"I don't know."_

An eyebrow rose. "You don't know?" Owen repeated. "What do you mean you don't know?"

Marissa sounded clearly annoyed despite the tinny quality of the line. 

_"He left."_

"He _left_?" Owen sat up in the bed now. He scrubbed his face with a palm. Typical. Something occurred to him. 

"Where was he coming from?"

Marissa sounded disapproving. _"Caveat. The police were called in to break up a disturbance in the alley behind it. Your friend was brought in and he refused medical treatment. Kept insisting his doctor would come fix him. I checked his mobile and found your number. He had no identification and when I went back, he was gone. Left his mobile with me."_

"Fucking brilliant," Owen groaned. He shook his head.

_"Look, obviously he was well enough to walk out of here. Owen, I don't mean to lecture, but Jesus, Caveat, Owen—"_

"I know, M. I know. Look, I'll drive over and get his mobile. I know where he is. I'll check on him. Thanks for calling me. You're a doll." Owen was reaching down on the floor, looking for his clothes. He wasn't going to bother with a fresh shirt. Not for dragging him out of his warm bed. It wasn't even dawn!

"Is everything alright?"

Owen paused at the sleepy inquiry. He smiled ruefully and twisted around towards her.

"Friend got into a bit of shit," Owen explained as he hopped on one foot, getting a shoe on. "Just going over there. See what he needs." A slap to the back of his head most likely.

"I heard UHW. Was he hurt?" Gwen Cooper sat up, knuckling an eye. "Want me to go with you?"

It was a kind offer, something Owen wasn't used to anymore, so his response was a bit clumsy.

"No. S'alright." Owen patted around his pockets to make sure he had everything. "Just going to go over. Check on him."

"Want me to stay?"

Owen gave it some thought. It would be nice to come back to someone again. His mouth twisted in bitter memory. "Why not?" 

Gwen was already falling back to sleep. Her bare shoulder beckoned him above the duvets.

Owen climbed back over his bed and kissed the round joint of her shoulder. Gwen opened one eye and gave him a sleepy smile.

"Be quick."

"I will," Owen promised, mentally cursing his bad luck and late night calls. "I'm just going over. Check to see if he's okay." He paused by the door and looked back at Gwen.

"Then," Owen muttered darkly. "I'm going to kill him."

Owen closed the door on Gwen's baffled, "What?" 

 

There was no traffic thankfully and Owen managed to retrieve the abandoned mobile, what sparse medical notes there were, and the police reports. He read them, glancing occasionally at them on the steering wheel as he headed for the Plass. It didn't look too serious; he was disoriented when the ambulance was called, but he was coherent by the time they arrived at UHW. No visible signs of any internal bleeding. No broken bones. He was alert enough to charm both the male and female PC arriving at the scene. 

He _still_ was going to kill him though.

Owen didn't want to let him know he was coming—knowing him, he'd find a Weevil to flirt with—so he discarded the idea of using the lift and just went through the Tourist office.

"Jack?" Owen called out as soon as the cog doors opened. He shrugged out of his jacket, tossed it on Tosh's station as he trotted over to Jack's office. "Oi! You in there?"

"Owen?"

Spinning around, Owen caught Jack climbing up the steps from the medical bay.

Jack looked odd in the more updated wear, dressed in jeans and the jacket Marissa mentioned. With his hair combed back, Jack looked like a virtual stranger. Owen had to fight the instinct to reach for his gun.

"What are you doing back here?" Jack frowned as he stood there at the top of the steps, his arms folded in front of him.

"What were _you_ doing in the infirmary?" Owen shot back, nodding to his space behind Jack. 

"You have an alarm for when someone goes in there?" Jack joked. He flicked up a packaged Band-Aid strip as an explanation.

Owen stared at Jack carefully, scrutinizing his captain the way he would a blood sample through a microscope. No visible bruising, or cuts, he decided. 

"You left this," Owen said brusquely, tossing his phone over.

Jack caught it easily and understanding dawned.

"Ah." Jack smiled humorlessly and pocketed it.

"You want to tell me anything, _James_?" Owen drawled, walking over. 

Jack stepped around him. He shrugged as he steered for his office and most likely the living quarters below. "Good night?" he said casually as he passed him. 

Owen rolled his eyes, glanced over the railing and stiffened at the spots of blood he saw on the gurney.

"Hold it right there!" Owen barked, spinning around. A few short steps and he reached Jack, close enough to grab an elbow before Jack could escape into his office. "I want to check you out!"

"Why, Dr. Harper, I didn't know I was your type."

"Save it, Jack!" Owen nodded angrily towards his area. "As if walking out of the A & E wasn't stupid enough, at least let _me_ examine you!"

Jack looked down at Owen's tight hold, then up to his face. The easygoing smirk dropped. "I'm fine."

"My arse, you're fine!"

"Well, you do need to work on your glutes a bit—"

Owen yanked roughly, pulling Jack back away from his office. He knew once their captain went in there nothing short of a nuclear missile would get him out. "Enough with the jokes! Let me just be sure there's nothing more serious going on!"

Jack darkened. "There's nothing! Things got a little out of hand, but nothing a night's sleep wouldn't heal."

Owen scoffed. "Like you would sleep! Do I have to drug you and tie you up before I can exam—"

The punch came out of nowhere.

Owen staggered, but didn't fall. He smashed a hand over his throbbing right jaw. The room actually tilted for a moment.

"Fuckin—What the hell, Jack?" Owen howled, or tried to—ruddy sod nearly broke his jaw—and pulled his fist back. But when his tearing eyes cleared, his fist hung in mid-air.

Jack stood white-lipped away from Owen, his eyes glazed with what Owen could only compare to the wary gaze of a cornered animal. The captain's fists were up, but Owen doubted Jack really saw who was in front of him.

Owen's fist dropped and the wariness—fear, if Owen ever believed Jack Harkness knew fear—crept back.

"Alright," Owen said carefully, taking a step back to avoid another fist and lowered his. He opened his hands up in a show of surrender. "No one's drugging anyone here. Jack, I just want to take a look."

That fidgety position eased back a bit more. Jack relaxed minutely and his eyes cleared. He looked a little confused as to his whereabouts.

The sight left Owen feeling ill. He worked his jaw as he lowered his hands. He kept his voice low. 

"Just a look. Make sure nothing's too bad," Owen approached, his steps minute, his voice low.

If anything, Jack looked bemusedly at him, the previous look gone so quickly Owen wondered for a moment whether he had imagined it.

"You'll do anything to get me naked, huh?" Jack laughed a little too easy. He patted Owen on the shoulder before exhaling a martyr sigh. "Come on. Let's get it over with."

Owen gnashed his teeth at the pat. This is what he gets for being a nice guy. Maybe he should have punched him after all. 

 

Owen had to admit—but never to Jack—that it was just as Jack said. There wasn't any bleeding or tearing—though Owen wondered where the blood had come from—and no sign of any sexual interference. It didn't help matters that Jack kept grinning at him, but even Owen could tell it was only half-hearted; the lines in the corner of his mouth were too deep to be from amusement.

"See?" Jack struggled back into his t-shirt, his head popping through as he continued. "I told them I was fine but they insisted I needed to go to the A & E."

Owen studied him, his mouth pursed. "They said you were dazed in the beginning."

"Hey, I was in the middle of…you know. My attention was elsewhere."

Owen wasn't fooled by the cheeky grin. "At least let me prescribe some antibiotics and take a blood sample."

Jack sobered, his eyes dark when he considered Owen. "They wore condoms, Owen."

Owen gripped the edge of the gurney Jack was on. He didn't like where the conversation was heading. "Jack, did they…I mean were you…forced?"

The startled look Owen received in return assured him. 

"What? You think I…" Jack laughed humorlessly. "I wasn't forced into anything. I was asking for it."

Owen had the strange urge to give Jack a shake. "Christ, Jack. _Caveat_? Of all places—"

Jack gave a shrug as he redid his flies. "Like I said, things got out of hand." He grimaced but didn't offer any details.

"Not a smart thing to do, wouldn't do us any good if the leader of Torchwood was found there." Owen inwardly flinched when Jack stilled.

"I would never compromise Torchwood," Jack said tightly. The smile he gave was strained. "Lost my taste for that place anyway. Don't worry." He hopped off the gurney, gave Owen another pat on the shoulder and went up the steps.

"Wait, I didn't mean…" Owen growled under his breath when Jack left before he could finish. He yanked roughly at the sheets covering the gurney, his face dark when his gaze fell upon the tiny specks of blood again.

"Damn it, Jack," Owen muttered as he fumbled for his mobile.

"It's me. Listen, looks like it might be a bit longer than I thought. No, no, it's fine." Owen checked his watch. He sighed. "Why don't you just go home? I'll see you at work."

Owen ended the call with a bit of regret. He bounded up the steps, giving one last scowl towards Jack's office. He dropped down on the couch with a huff. Owen eyed the office, rolling his eyes at himself. It was pointless to drive back only to head back to work in another four hours. He'd have to get Jonesy to brew him one of Jack's industrial strength coffees.

A groan escaped when Owen remembered. Ianto had left for London last night for a few days. Only instant until Tuesday. Great.

Owen folded his arms, stretched out his legs on the small table in front of the couch. Another grumble—Harkness really owed him—and Owen settled down. He kept one ear open towards Jack's office. 

Just in case. 

 

**Act II**   
**London**   
**Next day…**

The sign at the door simply said "TW1 Memorial". It was an understated title for something so monstrous that barely three percent of the original employees survived. 

It was a three day event—something that reminded him of the recruiting conventions that boasted activities and seminars like it was a joyous occasion—from Saturday to Monday. The unveiling of the large memorial wall that would stand at the base of the tower was today, ending with a visit to the site for a final farewell before the tower was demolished.

It was a mistake to come here.

There was a brief moment of anger that flared up in Ianto's chest as he was handed a brochure when he came up to the registration desk for his pass. The full-color glossy pamphlet listing all the social services and outreach programs for the survivors looked too professional; Ianto crumpled it up and tossed it in the refuse bin before he affixed his label on the dark, somber suit he wore. He felt angry again when he realized he was the only one attired in such fashion; a dark spot in the midst of fashionable colors and tones. But both sparks were brief, momentary bursts of anger that dulled to weary acceptance. It was pointless to be indignant on the dead's behalf. 

The ballroom was large, far larger than necessary for an awkward group of twenty eight people who were virtually strangers to one another. Ianto assumed it was because it was the only available place across from Canary Wharf. He would have preferred another location, someplace that didn't provide a view of the broken remains of Torchwood One. 

Outside, Torchwood stood gray and hollow against the sky. No one could decide what to do with its remains. It was left standing bleak and vacant. The fact that it was also a clear Saturday only made it look worse. 

Ianto stood at the far end of the space, morbidly drawn to the floor to ceiling window like everyone else. He didn't know anyone, didn't care to, and felt oddly numb and more an observer than one of the aimless survivors wandering from table to bar to window. He stood there, watching the proceedings; his stomach was too knotted to take any of the food being circulated around by the catering staff.

"Where were you?"

The soft inquiry drew his eye away from the window and to an unfamiliar face. She was a fair blonde beauty with doe eyes, but the kind one would only notice in passing and never in recollection. 

She had a sticky label adhered to the lapel of her lavender blouse, one of those generic squares that said, "Hello, my name is…" Only it wasn't just her name scrawled on it, but also her former station.

Ianto left his blank simply because he didn't know where he belonged. Archives? MX-CR? It felt odd to list the MX chambers—everyone on that floor, now including Lisa, had died and the thought that he might be the only one left of the science departments was something he couldn't swallow.

He smiled briefly, his gaze drifting to her label. 

"Archives," he said as soon as he read hers. "Just like you." Not really. "Ianto Jones."

"Judith Star," she answered politely, shaking his offered hand. She looked relieved to be talking to someone. "I hid in the A to C vaults."

It was an odd introduction and Ianto didn't follow suit with, "I left my girlfriend to die." He merely nodded, murmured "I see," and turned back towards the window. Judith lingered, more to feel like she wasn't alone than to make conversation, but she left eventually.

The same question came at him a couple of more times and Ianto just answered automatically the same: Archives. No one stayed to talk. No one looked like they wanted to either. And that was fine with Ianto. Everyone wore the same lost look Ianto found he couldn't bear to watch for too long. They wandered from person to person awkwardly trying to make a connection. There simply weren't enough people left to find any common ground. 

Someone started crying as she stood by the window, watching the destroyed tower, and trying to stifle her sniffles by taking a sip of her wine, her tears running off her chin into the stemware. Ianto found himself pressing a hanky into her burn scarred hands, patting her shoulder as she gave up the pretense and wept. It was like a virus; others began looking a bit teary around her. But it was the preamble everyone apparently needed; hands were being shaken, tissues were passed around like they were breaking bread. Stories about strangers were being exchanged now as if were about old friends and groups began forming as they grieved; little guilds of misery.

Ianto didn't join them.

He should feel _something_ , anything. He didn't feel like a survivor, didn't feel like a victim, either. He had lived simply because he had left. Actually, he felt nothing. It was like he was only watching everything in slow motion, ghosts in the daylight with their contrite 'Hello' labels and stunned expressions. It was like he could smell the smoke, hear the alarms, hear Lisa's screams just by looking at the faces of random Torchwood staff, faces he might have previously passed, might have said hello to long ago. Yet all he could feel was a sense of not being here.

"Harkness couldn't make it?"

Ianto blinked and realized someone new had joined him by the window in a crisp, cream colored suit. He straightened.

"Madam Director," Ianto greeted her.

" _Acting_ ," Abigail, formerly Hartman's second-in-command, shook his hand. Her grip was light. Her petite stature was a shocking difference compared to Hartman. 

"And it won't be for too long," Abigail remarked without regret. "By order of the Queen, Torchwood One will no longer exist once UNIT absorbs what we've accumulated."

It should be sad but all Ianto could muster up was a shrug and an "Ah." Ianto averted his gaze. It should feel like a bigger tragedy.

The rare gray hair glinted in her dark locks when the acting director turned to look around her. She sighed, suddenly looking far older than she'd ever had.

"This is all that's left of Yvonne's legacy. This would have killed her to see."

Ianto said nothing. He absently swirled the glass of chardonnay he had been toying with since his arrival.

"How are you, Jones?"

God, always this question. “Good," Ianto returned immediately. At Abigail's look, he wondered if he should have said "Fine" instead.

"We sent notice to all surviving members that services were available in dealing with the events of—"

"It's been difficult," Ianto said quickly, trying not to sound like he was cutting her off. "But we're handling it." Ianto inwardly flinched. Damn, he hadn't meant to say "we."

Abigail looked appeased, however. "How's working with the Doctor's companion then?"

And right there, Ianto wanted to leave. Desperately. She didn't sneer nor smirk like others have and clearly looked sincere, but _Christ_ , the name just grated him.

"It's been fine working with _Captain Harkness_ ," Ianto said evenly. "Torchwood Three suits him."

It was only because Abigail looked genuinely pleased at the news that Ianto calmed down.

"Good, good. I was concerned, but Alex was so adamant in his letter." Abigail gazed out the window. "What a mess. We didn't listen before about that bloody breach, otherwise…"

"Otherwise," Ianto echoed. He glanced over to the window. 

"I can't say I'm surprised he isn't here," Abigail sighed, checking around just to be sure. "I'm sure we didn't endear ourselves to him."

Actually, Ianto had emailed Jack about London before he left and after a day of not replying, Jack had replied he couldn't leave Torchwood. Ianto felt strangely disappointed, yet relieved. They hadn't talked since…well… _that_. He had woken to a cup of tea and a note next to him, Jack explaining there was a Weevil alert he needed to attend to. And now, Ianto wasn't sure where they stood, where _he_ stood, especially after Jack…

It was like he could feel Jack's mouth on him again. Ianto hastily downed his drink and sputtered.

"People," Abigail commented as she handed him her napkin, "usually _sip_ chardonnay, Mr. Jones."

Ianto smiled faintly at her. "I'm not much of a drinker."

Abigail exhaled long and slow, saluted him with her glass, then drained it in one shot. She replaced it with another one off a passing tray.

"Nor am I," she announced, smiling bitterly at him. "But this is going to be a long weekend, Mr. Jones. Exceptions can always be made." She shook her head. "God, what a mess! We're still sorting out the survivors' manifest." Abigail offered a raised eyebrow. "I believe I still have you and Harkness down as part of the dead, in fact."

"As long as we still get paid in Cardiff," Ianto's mouth twisted.

"I received updates on Lisa Hallet's status as well," Abigail looked at him curiously. "From both you, in fact. Bit of a confusion, really. Is she dead or—"

"Dead," Ianto said flatly. "She's dead." He emptied his drink to avoid the sympathetic look cast his way.

"I'm sorry," Abigail said softly.

Ianto looked desperately for another glass of wine.

"We left her name on the plaque," the acting director said quietly. "We'll be reading the names of the dead later; would you like to be part of the queue? I could have you read her name if you like."

He could barely even _think_ of her name without his entire body seizing up like he’d been struck with a thousand knives. Ianto shook his head slowly. "No, thank you," he rasped. 

"You sure?"

Yes, Ianto wanted to shout but instead he merely smiled again, sighing with relief when she excused herself to greet someone from Whitehall.

Ianto sat there, feeling disembodied as they read the names. But after they read Frederick Gorman's name and then moved to the H's, Ianto left.

 

The flowers swayed briefly in the breeze when Ianto set them down on the ground. The memorial plaque still wrapped in its protective tarp stood over him like a mountain. So many names. The wall stood stark and unforgiving against a treacherous blue sky. 

One for each name. Ianto had stood by the flower shop that was across the street from Canary Wharf. The old man with his peppered mustache and gray hair never protested as Ianto stared blankly at the blossoms, wondering what could possibly be appropriate for the dead.

The shopkeeper quietly pointed out the white carnations in the bucket behind the hydrangeas. Everyone brought those, he had said, not meaning it to be a reproach but Ianto flinched all the same.

Ianto set the carnations and a yellow rose for Jack's friend down at the base of the memorial wall. There were other bouquets there, little cards pinned under votives, small teddy bears and even more flowers that filled the walkway that would have led to the front entrance.

He stood there, his own paper wrapped bouquet rustling among fields of grief. Ianto tried to imagine the faces of those who left the flowers. He tried to imagine himself with those same faces. He…he just couldn't. What was wrong with him?

His hands shook as he fumbled for the mobile in his pocket, fingers barely typing the digits. He nearly ended the call after the second dial tone, but it was picked up immediately.

 _"Hey."_ Jack answered as if he knew, but of course he knew, there was caller id on their mobiles, so Ianto's call couldn't have been—

"It's me," Ianto said anyway in a steady voice that surprised even himself. "I uh, just wanted to let you know I won't be taking the personal day Monday."

 _"Oh?"_ Now it was Jack's turn to sound surprised. _"You're not staying for the whole thing?"_

"No." Ianto had a whole list of excuses, but Jack surprised him and never asked for them. "I'll be taking the train back tonight."

 _"Okay."_ There was a pause. Jack's voice returned a little hesitant. 

_"Want me to come over later?"_

There was a well of emotions that crashed over Ianto. After so long standing in a room full of grieving strangers feeling nothing, Ianto staggered. Yes, yes, yes, he wanted to weep out, but the pull to bring himself to tears wasn't there. 

"No." When had he become such an apt liar? Ianto may have escaped the Cybermen, but he still felt converted. "It's alright. Thank you." Ianto suddenly felt like he needed to say something more.

"I mean it, Jack. Thank you."

Jack sounded faintly at a loss on how to respond. _"Uh…"_ He gave a strained laugh. _"Somehow saying you're welcome would make it sound too…I don't know…"_ The shrug was audible even on the mobile. _"I'm glad it helped."_

Ianto smiled bitterly on the phone. It was like they were talking about Jack giving him a lift, his car broken down on the side of the road. Anything but. Ianto crouched until he could sweep a hand across the flowers and stuffed toys on the ground. 

"I may be a vegetarian for a while though," Ianto warned lightly as he fingered one note under an extinguished candle. He tore a small piece of wrapping from his bouquet and relit the candle with the flame of another.

 _"Don't worry. We've been having tofu and eggplant burgers from that new place today,"_ Jack joked back. 

Ianto held the makeshift match until the flame licked his fingertips. Even then he didn't let go, wondering why he couldn't feel anything until his body's own reflex forced him to let go. 

_"Ianto?"_

"Here," Ianto murmured as he watched the paper dissolve to ash. Absently he rubbed his reddened fingers on his jacket. "I'm right here."

 _"So am I,"_ Jack said quietly. 

 

**Act III :** _"The pain's so constant, like my stomach's full of rats."_   
**Torchwood Hub, Cardiff**   
**Monday…**

Ianto was glad to be back even if it was to an atrocious mess. Owen apparently didn't like tofu or eggplant and left every half-eaten burger in all sorts of places: Tosh's station, on the autopsy table, in the fridge, behind the coffee maker. Ianto made a face as he tried to reach behind the large brewer to get the now pungent smelling sandwich.

"Here." A larger hand reached past him and wiggled the refuse out. Ianto turned and found Jack's face pressed to his shoulder as he stretched.

Jack pulled back, the absence of his warmth making Ianto shiver. Jack took an experimental sniff of the captured wad of food and Jack pulled back with a comical face.

"Are you sure it's not from one of Owen's autopsies?" Jack complained as he dropped it in the waiting garbage bag.

Ianto tied it shut, grimacing as he did. "I didn't think vegetables could get this rank."

Jack chuckled, his hands up as if to ward the bag away when Ianto turned. "I'm still not sure it _was_ a vegetable!"

"Good thing I came back today," Ianto retorted as he went to clean off the stations. "I can't imagine what condition this place would be in had I stayed there."

"Why didn't you?"

Ianto stopped in front of Gwen's computer. He didn't look up. "Don't know," Ianto admitted.

"Tosh had the satellite feed from the memorial service. UNIT broadcast it on our secure line," Jack said as he approached Gwen's station. "Gwen tried to call your place to let you know."

Ianto had disconnected his phone, turned off his mobile, and sat in the dark, trying to feel something. He fell asleep in his dark suit when dawn arrived in his bedroom. 

"Sleeping," Ianto lied. He stopped and raised his eyes. "How…how was it?"

Jack shrugged, his own eyes unreadable. "It was a lot of names."

"Yes, it was." Ianto clenched his jaw and finished tossing the old coffee cups and paper scraps out. He moved towards the other stations.

"I—" Jack stopped. He shoved his hands in his pockets. "I'm sorry I didn't come with you."

"You needed to stay here at Torchwood." Ianto glanced over his shoulder, quirking his mouth at the uncertainty on Jack's face. "It's fine." Ianto swept an arm across Tosh's station and all her clutter spilled into his bag. 

"I uh…left a rose there for…for your friend."

Jack's eyes looked suspiciously bright. "Thank you," he rasped. 

Ianto cleared his throat. He felt envious of Jack's reaction, of his ability to grieve yet still stand there whole. "Well, the place finally looks acceptable. I'll be upstairs opening up the office so unless you need anything else—"

"How are you, Ianto?" 

Stop asking me, Ianto wanted to scream. He turned away and pulled a smile that hurt his face.

"I'm fine," he said and left. 

 

**Act IV:** _"I can't stand it anymore, the weight of it."_   
**Torchwood Hub, Cardiff**   
**Monday…**

"Rats," Ianto repeated blankly. 

Tosh nodded tearfully before she dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. Ianto had the vague sensation of being in London again.

"I'm sorry, Ianto." Tosh sniffed loudly. "It just came right through. I never meant to hear that. I knew you've been hurting since Lisa but I hadn't known…" She flinched and looked at him sorrowfully.

"I don't remembering thinking this," Ianto protested faintly. He had felt nothing like this all day. "I…you're mistaken. I feel fine."

" _This_ pendant," Tosh shook it in her fist. Her face screwed up with self loathing. "It goes deep, beyond what you might realize you're thinking. Ianto…I…" Tosh looked at him, her lower lip trembling. "I…we never knew how much you were hurting."

Ianto heard her distantly. She was wrong, of course. He felt fine. He felt nothing. This person she spoke about, the agony, the gnawing misery, that wasn't him. It wasn't. But he nodded as Tosh told him it was alright, everyone here would support him, and they were sorry, so bloody sorry for his loss.

Ianto remembered thanking her, patted her hand and told her he was okay, he understood, and that of course she was forgiven. He didn't feel angry. He just didn't feel.

It was like a great weight lifted off Tosh's shoulders because her eyes shone and her lower lip no longer trembled.

"It'll be okay, Ianto," Tosh promised shakily. She looked like she wanted to embrace him but something she saw made her pause. She offered a wan twist of her mouth and looked like she was going to cry again. She sniffed into her handkerchief and left him sitting in the meeting room feeling like someone had just soundly boxed him. He could sense her leaving, could hear Gwen and Owen outside, and he could hear the whispering outside like spirits scratching the walls. 

Ianto stood up and mechanically began to clean up the table. He left the mugs in the tiny sink in the kitchen area. He stood there, staring at the surrounding counters and realized he couldn't remember if there was anything else he should be doing. He left, not bothering to say good night, not bothering to check if anyone cared.

Somewhere between the garage and on his way to his flat, Ianto found himself turning towards the direction of the church where Lisa was. An hour into the journey, he turned his car back around. He wouldn't know what to say when he saw her.

His fingers shook on the steering wheel, but he didn't know why. His eyes blurred yet they felt dry and gritty. It was probably habit that got him home because Ianto couldn't remember any of the roads he took. He sat in his car. He stared blankly out his windshield until he realized he was getting looks from people walking by. It felt like he was watching someone else lever out of the car, lock it and tread heavily to his building. 

 

**Act V**

Tosh said she didn't realize how much pain he was in. She said he felt rats squirming in his stomach; that there was nothing left. 

Ianto's fingers trembled as he tried one key after another. Nothing would fit.

Tosh cried, saying they were sorry for his loss. Abigail said she was sorry for his loss. There was no loss. Lisa…she died with everyone else; she wasn't alone. He was.

The keys dropped and Ianto wanted to kick the door down. One more try and he tumbled in, slamming the door shut by leaning heavily against it.

There was no one he knew there in London. Everyone left was a stranger. They grieved for people he didn't know.

Ianto's knees wobbled as he walked away from the door, stumbled drunkenly over something he couldn't see. He braced a hand against a wall, took a breath and tried again. His legs shook and he pitched forward.

Someone caught him.

Even in the dark, Jack shone. Ianto, slouched in Jack's grasp, stared up at him.

"What…what are you doing here?" Ianto rasped.

Jack's eyes were cloudy and bright with understanding. "Because I wasn't there in London."

Something crumpled inside Ianto. His head dropped to his chest. He shook. 

Jack merely pulled him up and held him against his body.

The heartbeat under Ianto mocked him, as if telling him he didn't have one, that he was really dead inside, gnawed hollow and empty inside. What Tosh said couldn't be true. There was no pain, no rats scrabbling inside him. There was nothing left.

A strange and painful sound ripped past his throat. "They're all dead." He had left them there. 

"I'm sorr—"

"Don't tell me you're sorry!" Ianto shouted. His fists grasped Jack's coat and he shook him. The other man simply swayed where he stood.

"Don't tell me you're sorry! Everyone says they're sorry! Tosh says she's sorry! They're all sorry! _I'm_ sorry…I'm…I'm…" Ianto began to shake, began gasping as something grew and grew in his throat.

"What can I do?" Jack's low voice was like a distant rumble of thunder. His heartbeat steady under Ianto's cheek.

"Tell me," Ianto rasped, not looking up. He kept his ear against Jack's chest, to remind himself how he should feel. 

"Tell me why?"

Jack's arms circled him, holding him up. "Why?"

Ianto lifted his gaze. "They're all dead around me, Jack and I can't feel anything. Nothing!" Like he was dead too. 

"Tell me why I was left behind."

Jack's eyes bled misery. His arms squeezed until Ianto was crushed against him.

"I…I don't know," Jack rasped.

Ianto choked out a sob. "I never should have left her. I never should have left them." His fists tugged at Jack's coat. "Why? _Why_ did you say yes? Why did you let them use you to open the breach—God…" Ianto's knees buckled but Jack held tight. He half-dragged, half-carried Ianto towards the bed.

"Damn you," Ianto gasped out. "Damn me." He clawed Jack's coat to try and stand. "You should have never come back for me." His body shook so violently, he now clung to Jack, his knees bent.

"I…you should have let me die with her," Ianto cried out, his fists twisting in Jack's coat. "You should never have saved me!"

Jack shushed him, one hand brushing the hair on the back of his head. "Tell me what you need, Ianto."

His eyes burned, his heart clenched. "I don't know!" Ianto could feel the first spark of something scratching his throat. "I just want to feel something that doesn't hurt this much!" Ianto doubled over Jack and felt them fall down onto the bed, Jack underneath him, warm, solid, _alive._

Jack's face was as raw as his insides felt. Jack brushed a knuckle under Ianto's eye and Ianto realized it was tears dripping down onto Jack's face.

"Feel me," Jack whispered. "Feel me, Ianto."

Ianto buried his face in Jack's throat.

It was a blur of hands frantically running across bodies. Cotton gave way to skin, the belt slipping out of Jack's trousers a throaty purr. Ianto felt Jack's hands on his flies, cool night air a shiver on his skin as his trousers pooled around his knees.

There was a stutter, a gasp that sounded like his name as Ianto desperately tasted the living skin underneath him, slick and warm under his weight, his suit. Ianto felt muscle quivering under his kneading fingers, the pulse on a stretched throat thumping loud under his mouth.

Jack's hands gripped the back of his suit when Ianto took him, soft grunts as Ianto tried to sink deeper into the pulsing, throbbing life force that surrounded his cock, his mind, his heart. Jack stretched around him, surrounded him like a second skin. Jack was alive, just like him, skeletal remainders from Canary Wharf left smoldering coldly in the emptiness.

His blood was finally moving inside him, flowing when it felt congealed in his veins before for so long. Ianto could hear the crying again, felt his own eyes finally prick, and something inside him shattered when he came simultaneously with Jack.

His release burst within Jack in jets that baptized him and returned the raw, stinging pain that Ianto now knew never left, but burrowed deep inside him. Something hot burned in his chest. Something uncoiled. A vise loosened. Ianto collapsed over Jack, his suit stained with Jack's cum, Jack's legs falling away from their possessive grip around his middle. Ianto gasped as he tried to raise himself off Jack, couldn't, and dropped back heavily and surely painfully over Jack.

Jack's hands released their claw-like grip on the back of his jacket and settled around his shoulders. The weight was like a hammer, slamming through the thinning barrier around Ianto's chest.

Ianto began to cry.

Hard, violent, ripping sounds clawed out of him like shards of glass. Ianto couldn't stop. He couldn't even try to understand why he could barely breathe, could barely think of why he was covered in another man's cum, his softening cock deep in another body other than Lisa's. The sobs felt like someone had shoved an arm down his throat and yanked them out with the same violence Ianto felt thrusting into Jack.

His eyes flooded, his throat tightened, his stomach churned and vomited out into huge, loud, shameless sobs. They couldn't be from him. They couldn't. No. He was fine. 

Jack rolled them carefully, suddenly cradling Ianto across his lap, his voice a litany yet incomprehensible behind the raw, animalistic noises Ianto couldn't stop making. His hands stroked Ianto's back and Jack's nude body felt like satin against Ianto's cheek. Somewhere amidst the dizzying maelstrom of emotions swarming around Ianto, Jack undressed him, his touch lingering to remind him not everything died. Jack's skin was hot against his; Ianto stripped now physically as well as emotionally. Ianto clung to Jack. He hiccupped out his guilt, his crime; he had survived, he didn't save Lisa, his grief was too inadequate to compensate for being left alive. It wasn't fair. It was so fucking unfair.

Ianto's tears dried not because there was nothing left, but because his body was just too exhausted to continue to squeeze out his misery. Ianto fell asleep against Jack, the duvet pulled over them like a shield.

He woke, eyes swollen shut, body aching, and his head feeling two sizes too big. He could feel Jack's hand languidly going up and down his back.

"Jack," Ianto croaked. 

The hand paused. Ianto could feel Jack's chest rising against him in a reassuring vibration that spread to the rest of his husked out body.

"Go back to sleep," Jack said in a hushed voice.

Ianto closed his eyes and gulped. "I…What I did…"

"I told you," Jack whispered. "Whatever you need, Ianto." His hand cradled the back of Ianto’s head, pushing Ianto closer to his heart as if Jack knew his living beat could fill the silence.

"Go back to sleep," Jack told him. "I can't promise you it'll be better tomorrow, but it _will_ get better."

Ianto wrapped his arms around Jack's middle, felt the velvety skin of Jack's lax genitals against his hip. 

Jack understood. "It's fine," he promised hoarsely. "I'll be here."

Thank God, Ianto thought fervently. He tightened his hold. Thank God, thank God.

Ianto concentrated on every single inch of Jack's skin touching him and drifted back to sleep.


	27. "They Keep Killing Suzie"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Notes For This Chapter:** Note there are parallels to TW's "They Keep Killing Suzie"

**Act I**   
**Next morning…**

It felt strange, being held tightly as if silently asking him to stay. As if he was wanted. 

Jack wasn't used to feeling this way. He might have felt this way before but Jack couldn't remember anymore. 

His hand went up and down a satin back without a thought, more automatic than conscious now as Ianto kept tensing and flinching whenever he stopped. And Jack, never needing much sleep anyway and momentarily disconcerted by the unfamiliar sensation of not being pushed away, sat in the dark with Ianto sprawled on top of him, his bare legs a tantalizing tangle with his.

Ianto mumbled something Jack thought sounded like someone's name. There was a sharp pang in his chest as he suspected he knew whose name it was. Then Jack grimaced at himself. Of course Ianto must be thinking about her. Who else would it be?

But here, in the dark, Jack could almost pretend.

Jack carefully shifted a little onto his back without jarring Ianto so he could snag the duvet that covered the pale buttocks he had a glimpse of before and pull it higher to Ianto's shoulders. The younger man wrinkled his nose, fidgeted, and grumbled something that sounded vaguely like…elephants? Ianto simply rubbed his head against Jack's chest and dropped back over his body once Jack stilled. It was silk upon his skin, sinewy muscles that pressed against him that had always fascinated him as much as the feminine, roundness of a female's body. It was like acknowledging his existence, his worth, when a body responds to his touch. 

He stared down at the messy top of the younger man's head, the right side of his face now planted firmly over his chest where his heart was. For some reason, it touched Jack that Ianto would find it reassuring against his ear. Sleep had loosened Ianto's arms from around his torso, now flopped on either side in an awkward slump.

Ianto was…warm.

His body settled across him, warmer and more soothing than the thickest blanket he'd ever known.

Leave. 

He should leave before Ianto woke up and Jack could see the truth in his eyes when drowsy slumber gave way to whatever horrible realization Ianto would come to. Jack didn't want to see it. Leaving would maintain the pretense for a little longer. He should really go.

As if sensing his thoughts, Ianto's arms curled around him again. 

Jack dropped his head back against the headboard. Ianto's head was a comfortable weight on him. He resisted wrapping his arms around Ianto; it wouldn't do anyone any good wishing. He set his jaw.

Ianto mumbled again, a mild frown, and this time Jack's name escaping like a sigh.

…Maybe just a few more minutes.

Jack tentatively kissed the top of Ianto's head and closed his eyes. He was suddenly very aware of the difference between this darkness and another. His eyes burned. Jack swallowed.

Shutting his eyes—because the difference made the lump in his stomach grow black and miserable—Jack tried to hear the TARDIS hum, tried to imagine it was someone else here, staying the night…

Someone else who'd want him to stay.

 

Someone sneered in his ear. Hot breath that traced his ear, his neck, then down his back and before he could say anything, hands flipped him over. Not that he ever would say anything. To deny him would be to deny the very existence of himself.

Worthless, damaged goods, unnatural and corruptive.

_…thrum-thrum-tap-tap…_

The words took the place of his name. Each biting thrust was the punctuation. All he could feel was himself dissolving away and being put back together wrong and irreversible but there was nowhere else. Nowhere else. There were only empty stations, surrounding corpses, beaches riddled with the dead, everything dying while he stayed the same and leaving him with no one to hear him scream in fear. No one but _him_ and the drumming and the deconstruction of himself, starting with his flesh, then to his soul…

He woke with a violent start before the tearing pain or the agony of ice chiseling into his heart could begin. 

"…easy…alright…"

It was a voice he should know, but all that registered were the hands on his bare flesh and that it was so dark. God, no, Doctor, he couldn't. Please…he couldn't take any more of the cruel parody of love and affection ripping into him.

"…shh…"

He can't. He can't take any more, yet can't deny him, can't walk away, can't…he _can't_.

"Jack…you're alright…"

It took a few seconds, like it always did, until his heart rate slowed and the iron band around his chest loosened. He lay there, feeling a bit lost.

Hands that were gripping his shoulders pulled away and the suffocating feeling of being trapped vanished. 

The darkness was unfamiliar; not as cold though, not as silent and every so often, light streaked across in a thin beam across his face.

Where was he? _Who_ was he? The Doctor's companion? Jack? James?

The dull burn at the base of his spine confused him and for a moment, a peculiar moment, when fear curdled in his stomach—why would he ever fear him—Jack Harkness thought he was back in the muted TARDIS.

His breath quickened and his fingers curled on—wait, this wasn't his blanket. Not the TARDIS then. Jack scrunched up his face and could feel the crisp cotton of a pillow sham against his back. Not Caveat either. They were never hospitable enough to offer rooms with linens.

The two possibilities eliminated, Jack drew a blank. The vapor of a sneer in his ear again. Jack shivered and it went away.

He remembered wool pressing into his skin, grinding into the tender spots of his belly like sandpaper, fabric bunching under his fingers as he held on or reined back from—he still couldn't decide—the body pistoning into him; a relentless pace that cut into him, dry and desperate, and took his breath. It was a sensation too familiar that the lump in his stomach returned sharp and frozen.

Wait, this time it’d felt different though. The desperation, the _hunger_ , the _need_ was mutual. Jack was pulled in instead of pushed away by disgust, loathing, or disdain. He felt embraced, held onto with a possessive grip, filled with something warm he could no longer recognize.

Someone's face came out of the shadows. Ianto's eyes glittered despite the darkness.

"You awake?" Ianto asked quietly, no recrimination, no disgust, just open concern. He was still sprawled over Jack but had propped up his upper body with his arms. 

Jack closed his eyes and swallowed; his throat was so dry it hurt. 

Not the TARDIS. Not Caveat. Not some filthy alley, pressed up against a nameless body. 

Jack grimaced as he pushed himself up by the elbows. Ianto sat up, rolling off, but still kept his eyes on Jack. 

"Morning," Ianto murmured faintly. He sat up on his side of the bed, looking down at him, the duvet messily pulled up to his waist, his hair messy from running his hands through it, his eyes a little red-rimmed. 

"Morning," Jack managed and dropped back down on the bed. So much for the quiet exit. He laid back and found—Rose would have found this hilarious—that he was at a loss for words. Jack looked over at Ianto apprehensively and studied him. The younger man merely stared back. 

"You alright?" Ianto asked low.

Jack laughed. It sounded funny to his ears. "I think that's a question _I_ should be asking _you_."

" _I_ didn't have any nightmares," Ianto said, sounding a little amazed. "For once." He nervously ran his tongue over his lower lip. He pulled the duvet higher around himself until he realized he was pulling it away from Jack's lower body. He stared at Jack’s exposed crotch for a moment, swallowed and averted his gaze.

The eyes that wouldn't meet his reminded Jack of someone else. Ianto couldn't even look at him, took him in the dark, away from his gaze, because he was wrong. This shouldn't be something new, yet his insides tightened and Jack exhaled sadly.

"Listen," Jack began.

"I…I really don't think I'm gay," Ianto blurted out. Then, he looked cross at himself for saying it.

Jack supposed it was better than Ianto panicking or running him out of his flat. 

"I don't think you're gay, either," Jack answered slowly. He struggled to prop himself up again. Jack met Ianto's gaze. He took a deep breath and kept his eyes steady on him.

"Look, it's okay," Jack gave him what he hoped was reassuring smile. "It…doesn't have to mean anything. You don't have to worry about it. It was just…" The words stuck in Jack's throat. It _can't_ mean anything. Ianto sat there looking far too young, far too _alive_ to be anything for him. Human life, Jack had learned, was too fragile and too short to embrace or keep by his side.

"It doesn't have to mean anything," Jack stressed.

For some reason, instead of relief, Ianto frowned. He folded his arms in front of him and despite the fact that his shirt and tie were somewhere in the vicinity of the bottom of the bed, he looked very indignant. 

"I don't think I appreciate you making the decision for me here."

The "huh?" must have been clear on Jack's face because Ianto's scowl softened. He slouched closer to Jack. 

"I don't think I can cavalierly dismiss this." Uncertainty flitted across Ianto's face and his pale pallor reminded Jack of cracked porcelain. 

"I mean…unless you want me to…" Ianto waved his other hand between them.

Ianto's mouth was so close, Jack found himself leaning up towards it. He cleared his throat and forced himself to lie back again. "It'll be easier." 

"Why would it be easier?" Ianto asked, looking sincerely curious. After a second, understanding dawned and he went, "Ah…because we work together?"

Jack snorted and pointed a thumb at himself. "I'm a man."

"Really?" Ianto said dryly. "I hadn't noticed."

Jack shot him an exasperated look. 

"You never showed any itch for…" Jack knew his hand gesturing was getting erratic because Ianto leaned away. "You were having a hard time before and…and…this was a distraction and now you're feeling…uh…grateful, that's all."

"I wish," Ianto said tightly, "people would stop telling me how _I_ feel."

Jack dropped back onto the bed. He covered his eyes with his right forearm. It would have been easier if the sex was horrible or Ianto looked a little imperfect, maybe a wart or two instead of having the lean, muscular grace of a dancer and the face of the universe. It would have made this more convincing. 

For who, Jack wasn't sure.

"What? So now you're suddenly _gay_?"

Ianto's frown was audible. "No, I told you, I don't think so. I don't suddenly have an urge to ogle Owen or any other man." He sounded frustrated. "And I'm not bloody grateful for the sex either."

Jack couldn't help himself; he pouted.

"Gee, thanks," Jack griped, his tone injured.

Ianto scoffed. "You know what I mean." He sighed, dropping his eyes to the bed. He considered Jack under hooded eyes. 

"You know, it would have been a lot simpler if you were ugly as sin," Ianto chided mildly, unknowingly echoing Jack, still sitting like he was wearing a suit rather than being wrapped only with the duvet.

"I…thanks…I think." Jack grinned at him, but it faltered at Ianto's thoughtful look. "What?"

"Can I…" The lilt of hesitation drew goosebumps along Jack's arms; rounded soft vowels that rolled over him like a heat wave. "Can I touch you?"

Jack turned his head and looked skeptically at Ianto. "I think we did more than _that_ last night."

It was strange and disturbing to find the flush on Ianto's cheeks so disarming, so beautiful. Jack's fingers twitched, wanted to brush across the modest stain to see if it was just as warm. 

"I just want to…" Ianto shrugged one shoulder. "Touch."

It occurred to Jack no one had ever wanted to do that. Consumed, devoured, carved pieces out of him bit by bit, or maybe peel. No one ever _asked_ before either.

Jack studied Ianto. He wished he could decipher the look on Ianto's face, wished he could figure out what Ianto was thinking when he first woke up. 

The shy hand that reached over actually scared him, but Jack didn't stop him as Ianto tentatively brushed the back of his hand across Jack's chest. Ianto drew back his hand, his brow furrowing.

"Would it help if I had breasts?" Jack joked.

Sure enough, Ianto's eyes widened and an easy smile spread across his face. Ianto chuckled nervously. 

"God, no. I think you would make a horribly ugly woman, Jack Harkness."

"Hey," Jack protested half-heartedly. 

Ianto visibly relaxed now. He reached over again, this time palm down, and hovered his hand over Jack's chest before settling it on Jack's abdomen. It was automatic; Jack tensed.

"Easy," Ianto murmured and stroked the quivers away with the back of his fingers. He looked intent as his hand followed the ridges of muscle, sweeping up Jack's skin like the topography of a map. 

Ianto had a callus on his right pointer finger. Jack could imagine it handling files, hardening the digit to an unbelievably coarse texture that was both rough and gentle circling his left nipple.

That hand, its travels marked by that callus, trailed back down like a pencil on vellum paper, tracing every contour. Ianto paused every so often, head tilting at each stuttered breath Jack took. 

Jack closed his eyes when Ianto's fingers tentatively brushed across his left hip, across a rigid thigh. His eyes flew open when Ianto's fingers lightly grazed the base of his cock.

The hand paused over Jack's genitals; so close, its heat beckoned Jack. Jack inwardly groaned when Ianto's hand circled his groin like the light step of a spider on a web. Jack bit his lower lip, trying hard not to startle Ianto by thrusting his hips hungrily toward those long, elegant fingers brushing an invisible painting on his skin, but he couldn't hold back the tiny whimper.

"Huh." Ianto sounded mildly surprised. His hand withdrew and left Jack feeling exposed. "Was that good?"

_Very._

"Not bad," Jack managed not to squeak. "I uh…so…um…you?"

Ianto sounded a little breathless for some reason. "Well…uh…it wasn't…I mean…I wasn't… _repulsed_."

It was like a bucket of cold water. Jack scowled up at him. "You know you're really bad with the compliments."

"What do you want me to say?" Ianto huffed. He started to get up, looked down and remembered, then hastily dropped back down on the bed so hard, the mattress bounced underneath Jack.

"Well, I usually don't get referred to as repulsive," Jack griped although secretly, a part of him argued it would probably be better if Ianto _had_. 

"I didn't say that either!" Ianto huffed. "I'm in a bed with a man, a _naked_ man. What do you want me to say; that it was bloody marvelous?"

Okay, Ianto did have a point. Jack clamped his mouth shut. 

Ianto sighed. "And that was a prelude to my hysterics." He gave Jack a rueful look.

Jack smiled faintly. "Believe me, I've seen worse." He dropped back down on the bed and studied Ianto sitting next to him.

"Other than the sleeping with a man part," Jack murmured. "How are you feeling?"

The duvet hid the slouch but it was clear in his weary voice. "I don't know. How should I feel?"

"I thought you didn't like people telling you how you feel." Hesitantly, Jack settled a hand on a bent knee peeking out under the duvet. Ianto, to his surprise, didn't flinch. 

"I feel like I aged a hundred years," Ianto sighed.

"That's not so bad," Jack teased.

Ianto chuckled and gave Jack a sheepish grin. "Sorry. I mean…oh, I don't know what I mean! All I know is I’m _not_ feeling as horrified as I thought I ought to be!" The younger man frowned. "I'm not sure if this is a good thing or not." Ianto darted him an apprehensive look.

"What do you think?"

Jack should tell him he thought this was a bad thing. He should tell Ianto to move on, find a wonderful girl deserving his attentions and have a family; everything that would never happen here. This was just a physical addiction pumping between them, cloaking them from everything. It couldn't last, but the damage, the aftermath potentially could be forever. No, not for Jack though, but for Ianto. He should tell Ianto this. Ianto would listen. 

"I don't know," Jack found himself saying instead.

God, he was a selfish bastard.

Ianto's shoulders dropped. "Brilliant. What's next then? Where do we go from here?" His hands opened and closed in his lap. 

Jack watched those long hands flex rhythmically like a heartbeat, pulsing and opening. He couldn't stop looking. 

"I don't know. See where it takes us?" Jack croaked, feeling his chest tighten. "But…no matter what…I don't want you to see me any different." He wouldn't be able to stand it. 

The sigh was heavy in the darkness. "Of course I'll see you different now."

Bile rose up Jack's throat.

Ianto leaned over Jack, his eyes overly bright. "I _did_ see you naked, you twit." Ianto flicked affectionately at a bare shoulder. "Not really something one can easily forget."

The relief that swept over Jack was overwhelming, to the point he was speechless and Ianto's teasing smile wavered.

"Jack?" Ianto looked nervous now.

Jack recovered quickly. "You've seen me naked _four_ times," Jack joked shakily.

Ianto gave him a disbelieving eyebrow. "I didn't know we were keeping count—Jack!" Ianto yelped when Jack suddenly grinned and tugged at the corner of the duvet. Ianto quickly yanked the thick coverlet around him tighter than an egg roll.

"Come on," Jack coaxed wickedly. "Time to even the sco—ow!" Jack jerked. He gaped at Ianto and rubbed the sore spot.

Ianto's eyes twinkled. "The one advantage about sleeping with another man is I know _exactly_ where it will hurt to pinch."

Jack raised his hands in surrender. "Fine!" he laughed and the room seemed to lighten. "I—where are you going?"

To Jack's amusement, Ianto levered off the bed, the duvet wrapped around his middle, and somehow managed to walk in a very dignified fashion to the bathroom.

"Shower," Ianto said primly as he hitched the duvet higher around himself.

"And you're leaving me without the covers?" Jack couldn't stop laughing and he wondered if it wasn't due to the fact he was still here, still talking to Ianto. "I'm cold!"

"Well," Ianto drawled, "We certainly can't have that."

Without warning, the covers flew over Jack's head like a net and before Jack could scramble free of the duvet, Ianto had safely ducked into the bathroom. 

 

**Act II**   
**Four days later…**

"…or maybe an HSBC? Which one would be cheaper?"

"Marge, the boy wouldn't know—"

"It's an information center, of course he'd know!"

Ianto kept the mild smile on his face as the couple in front of him argued. And argued some more. They'd been here twice before and were just as vocal then. And if he was called 'boy' one more time, he may have to become distressingly violent.

He smiled every so often while idly searching through his email, rolling his eyes at the spam about the upcoming elections. Ianto deleted those quickly. He had enough of politics while he was in Torchwood One. He wasn't interested in whatever platforms a former minister of defense was discussing. 

The couple in front of him were still arguing, completely ignoring Ianto now. Ianto resisted rolling his eyes again as they now switched to whether they should eat by the wharf or at Debenhams. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Ianto saw a tiny window blip open on his computer screen. He could feel himself smiling as yet another IM courtesy of Jack Harkness beckoned. Gwen never should have showed him. The captain had delighted in the instantaneous communication. Although, Ianto admitted as he stirred his coffee, it felt easier talking to him this way. 

In person Ianto found his mind wandering and it was hard to talk to Jack without having ghostly sensations on his skin that made him lightheaded. At their last meeting, Owen had kicked him under the table because Ianto found himself staring at Jack's bum while he stood by the screen to talk about the murders that had been popping up on Mercer and Oakham Street. Ianto doubted Owen did it out of the goodness of his heart and had put salt in his coffee. 

It didn't help that Jack was vacillating between being distant and being the Harkness Ianto knew in London, as if he was waiting for Ianto to make the first move. But what? Ianto sighed, frustrated. 

_'Are those two still up there?'_ Ianto had been complaining to Jack about them earlier.

 _'You should be working on the reports,'_ Ianto typed. He was currently seeking refuge from Owen's wrath in the Tourist office. He took a sip of coffee waiting for Jack's awkward two fingered typing to catch up.

 _'I was.'_ Jack, to save time, was usually short and to the point. _'But.'_

 _'But?_ ' Ianto prodded as he finished his pastry and wiped his mouth with a napkin. The couple was now merely a pleasant buzz in his ear.

 _'I don't think these are the reports on those sightings in Barry,'_ Jack typed slowly; whether due to skill or reluctance.

Ianto frowned. _'What do you mean?'_ He tilted the mug back to finish his drink.

 _'69 position?'_ Jack added a _'?'_ at the end.

Coffee spewed out, past his computer. Marge shrieked. There was much yelling. Ianto barely had time to type 'BRB' before he hurriedly alternated between apologizing and patting his handkerchief on Marge's hat.

 

 _'Ianto?'_ The tiny window had the most extraordinary ability to sound like Jack with its tiny chimes.

 _'Go away,'_ Ianto typed finally after Marge and her husband have stormed off. _'Let me wallow in abject humiliation in peace.'_

_':('_

Ianto sighed, his shoulders dropping. _'Stop that,'_ he typed. _'You cannot guilt me electronically. I'm immune.'_

_':('_

"Damn it, Jack," Ianto muttered. Somehow the remote possibility that Jack was indeed unhappy didn't sit well in his gut. 

_'What?'_ Ianto slowly clicked out the keys.

 _'Please don't tell me you're researching about.'_ There was a long pause before the next line popped in. _'THAT. Do you really have to know everything?'_

Ianto tapped the button to shut the front door. He didn't want anyone walking in and seeing his red face.

_'I was curious.'_

_'OH?'_

Ianto could practically hear Jack's brow rising high. He snorted.

 _'Not THAT curious,'_ Ianto texted. 

_'Still trying to answer that question on whether you're gay or not?'_

Yes and to see what the bloody hell Jack had done that time that made him feel like his blood was erupting and his surroundings white out like that.

 _'Sort of,'_ Ianto replied. _'I'd always thought I was just interested in tab A, slot B, not the other type. This is all very new.'_

No response from Jack.

Ianto waited. Finally, _'Jack?'_

_'I'm too busy laughing. Tosh is looking at me funny. I think I scared her.'_

The thought of Jack bursting out into such laughter made Ianto smile. It warmed his insides to think that he co—Wait a minute.

 _'What's so funny?'_ Ianto regretted not capitalizing it before sending it.

 _'I never heard of sex being referred to as that before.'_ A brief pause and Jack continued, his words crawling across the screen. _'I don't understand why it's such a big issue with you people. What's with the obsession with gender? It's about the soul.'_

Ianto blinked. He shook his head fondly at the screen. 

_'You,'_ Ianto typed, his eyes softening. _'Jack Harkness are a hopeless romantic.'_ Who would have thought?

There was another long pause. Ianto could picture Jack mulling over the words, picking his response.

 _'I think the picture on the fifth page is interesting though,'_ Jack texted finally.

Ianto frowned. He tried to remember what he had printed out. His eyes widened.

 _'THAT,'_ he typed furiously, _'was a picture of a Hindu temple touting Kama Sutra! It's not possible!'_

Ianto could hear Jack's glee as text materialized across the screen. _'No, it's possible. One of them would just have to stand on their—'_

Ianto shut the IM window before Jack finished. He sighed heavily and decided to stay up here the rest of the day. 

 

**Act III:** _"From where I'm standing, you did this, Captain Jack Harkness."_   
**Next day…**

The call had surprised everyone, especially Gwen. No one expected the police to call Torchwood. Not voluntarily, at least. 

DC Swanson was not impressed although Jack did notice a flicker of interest when he returned with a breezy "What, you'd rather me naked?"

"God help me, the stories are true," Swanson had muttered before gesturing them to follow.

Jack scanned the surroundings, noting the house, the lawn, and fence. His scanner picked up nothing as alien, nothing out of the ordinary. He should ask Ianto to—

"I'd always suspected your name wasn't really James."

Jack took a deep breath. Perfect. Just perfect. Jack turned to the DC standing inside the foyer of the house with that damning smug smile.

"Captain Jack Harkness, DC Marvin Stuckler," Swanson introduced reluctantly, annoyed at needing to stop.

"Marvin?" Jack raised an eyebrow, but didn't offer a hand. 

Marvin, or Gavin, merely shrugged.

"James?" he challenged. "Don't see you around anymore."

"Lost my taste for it," Jack returned evenly. "I don't like surprises." Jack motioned the others to go ahead. Gwen gave Owen a perplexed look before following after Swanson. 

"I do," Marvin sneered before shooting him another smirk, an appraising look at Gwen, and slipped past Owen. 

Jack started to turn but Owen caught his elbow.

"Who was that?" Owen made it sound so much like a demand that Jack raised an eyebrow at him.

A mistake, Jack thought, believing he could hear a sneer in his ear. He gently shook off his elbow from Owen's grip. 

"No one," Jack stressed. "We have work to do."

Jack could feel Owen's stare on his back all the way into the bedroom. But as soon as he saw the bloody 'Torchwood', Gavin or Marvin was completely forgotten. 

 

When they were done with the report and heading back for the SUV, it finally hit Owen where he had seen ruddy Marvin before. Without anyone noticing, he managed to slip away.

The DC in question was leaning against the hood of a patrol car, smoking and gesturing towards a girl in the house across the street. Owen disliked him immediately as he laughed low with a PC, their heads together.

"Excuse me," Owen said, forcing his voice to be cheerful when he wanted nothing more than to wipe the leer off the man's face. "DC Stuckler, right?"

"So?" It was the same small, narrowed eyed, hungry look from inside the house that pulled away from their SUV. 

Owen gritted his teeth and stuck out his hand. The smile felt funny on his face. "Dr. Harper, Captain Harkness' personal physician."

Ah ha, there was a flicker of interest. "You're his doctor?"

Owen's face hurt keeping the congenial smile on his face. "Pardon for my bluntness, but are you intimately acquainted with our captain?"

The question did take him aback but then Stuckler smirked. 

"You could say that." Stuckler looked like a lizard when his smile stretched. "Intimately acquainted. Aye."

Wanker, Owen thought darkly but he just nodded. "Mind if I ask you a few medical questions then? Our Captain's just recently recovered from a medical cond—"

"What medical condition?" Stuckler flicked off his smoke and stood straighter. He scowled. "What did that bitch have?"

Oh, Owen was going to go light on the bloke before. Owen spoke carefully before he ruined it. He waved his hands placating.

"Nothing serious, but medication needs to be administered as soon as possible to avoid any permanent dismemberment."

"What?" Stuckler's nostrils went white.

"Have your testicles been itchy lately? Feeling tired? Perhaps muscle aches? Odd discolored discharge?" Owen snickered to himself when the DC blanched. He looked like he was going to faint. "No worries. I have the treatment right here." He pulled out the vial of Retcon they were all required to carry as a precaution. "You just need to take one…no, better make that two to be safe and it'll be all sorted out."

Stuckler studied Owen and he wondered if maybe he was too eager to give Stuckler the Retcon.

"Listen," Stuckler leaned closer to Owen.

Owen tried to look like the concerned physician and leaned in as well.

"I don't know what your captain's been telling you, but it wasn't just me. I…" Stuckler looked to his left and right. He wet his mouth nervously. "I'm going to need three doses, alright?" At Owen's look, Stuckler's words stumbled.

"Look, things got a little crazy and sometimes we drink like a bloody fish without realizing it and we all got a little rough. No harm, but your captain's a bit of a slut, see? Not our fault. We didn't force him. Bet he doesn't even know how many himself."

Owen's fist bunched in his pocket, but he pretended to understand. "Of course, well then considering the circumstances, there may be some mutation—"

"Mutation?" Stuckler's eyes bulged.

"Here, take the whole bottle. You should take three, but not here," Owen added hastily when it looked like the DC was going to pop the bottle.

"Why the fuck not?" Stuckler looked fit to piss all over himself.

"These will make you very sleepy. Plus, you and your friends need to clean up first." At the nod, Owen went on, sounding stern. "Have to make sure you don't have any left on your skin. You need to scrub hard."

"Scrub?" Stuckler gulped.

"Yep," Owen replied cheerfully. "Scrub it really well otherwise there's a possibility of infection, then gangrene and then we'll have to cut it of—"

"Alright!" Stuckler gestured madly to one of the PCs. "Tell Swanson I had to go home immediately. Family emergency!" He hurried, practically running for his car.

"Don't forget to scrub hard!" Owen called out to the car as it zipped by him. A few SOCO members leapt out of the way. He waved, his hand lowering, as the car grew smaller.

"Wanker," Owen muttered darkly, the jovial face dropping into a scowl. He then smirked and trotted back to the SUV.

"Where were you?" Jack asked, annoyed as he approached. "We're ready to leave."

Owen was about to enter the vehicle when he abruptly turned on his heel and stalked up to his boss.

Jack blinked.

"If I _ever_ ," Owen hissed, his eyes narrowing, "hear about you going around Caveat again, I'm going to cut bits off you in your sleep."

The captain looked surprised, enough that he nodded without offering a joke. Owen, satisfied, climbed into the passenger seat.

"And I thought the Daleks were scary," Jack said without explanation. He gave Owen a funny, perplexed frown before driving back to Torchwood. 

 

**Act IV:** _"What about the Risen Mitten? I think it's catchy."_

The first victim, Alex Arwyn, merely looked like he was sleeping. 

Jack doubted he knew anything, most abrupt deaths don't; a mercy since they wouldn't see the end coming. 

The glove felt cool in his hands and he wondered if it was due to its connection to death.

"…so you've never tried it?" Gwen didn't go near the glove. Jack can’t blame her. He looked over to Ianto, tossing his pocket watch across the room, which Ianto caught easily as if he was waiting for it. 

Owen grunted, his arms folded in front of him. He grimaced as he watched Jack tentatively slip it on. "We all tried it, Alex too. Said it gave him the willies. Only worked for Suzie."

"By the time I came in," Jack picked up after Owen, "Suzie pretty much didn't want anyone near it." Now he knew why. Jack stared at Arwyn. He wondered where Arwyn was.

"Jack, you okay?" 

Jack gave a curt nod before he positioned himself by Arwyn's head. 

"Don't forget, the maximum resurrection time was two minutes. That's only 'cause Suzie had practice," Jack reminded them. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ianto poised and ready. The corner of Jack's mouth quirked. He sobered. "The most we're likely to get is 30 seconds, okay?"

At their nods and Tosh chiming in she was ready and recording, Jack exhaled sharply, steadying himself, and settled the glove over Arwyn's head. He closed his eyes.

Gwen was asking questions, for which Jack was grateful as he wandered in a darkness he could see in his mind. Jack searched the vast nothing for Arwyn. Searching…

Something lurked…

Something…followed…

A heartbeat thudded and Jack thought he found Alex Arwyn.

Then, he realized it was his own.

_…thrum-thrum…_

No…Not his…

_…tap-tap…_

_"…Jack?"_

_…thrum-thrum-tap-tap…_

It wasn't his. Wasn't _his_ , either. It…it was something else. Something else in the dark with him.

_"Christ, Gwen, get his hand off!"_

_"Jack!"_

Something…waiting. With a bloody-toothed feral smile.

_"Jack! Let go! Let go of him!"_

Oh God…

The dead were all around him and it approached from the darkness. This was wrong. He didn't belong here. He could feel himself disintegrating like sand, the vortex in him sucked away. 

He's not supposed to be here… 

_…under the Rift, he will come…_

God, someone help him…

_…thrum-thrum-tap-tap…thrum-thrum-tap-tap…thrum-thrum-tap-tap…thrum-thrum-tap-tap…_

_THRUMTHRUMTAPTAPTHRUMTHRUMTAPTAP.._

"JACK!"

Jack gasped like he was brought back to life. His body jerked and his limbs spasmed.

"You're alright. Deep breaths. Just take deep breaths. Shh…"

Ianto's voice soothed over him. His body braced Jack’s back like a wall, his hands on Jack's shoulders from behind, his chin pressed lightly to the back of his head. The pocket watch ticked away forgotten in Ianto's pocket. 

It felt like his skin was scoured. Jack blinked blearily at the three white faces peering down at him like he was in the bottom of a well.

They all looked like they were waiting for him to say something.

"I don't think the glove likes me," Jack rasped, thinking quickly. Everyone relaxed.

"Okay, _that_ never happened before," Owen announced, letting go of Jack's wrist, satisfied with whatever he heard. He rose to his feet. "Guess not everyone falls for the Harkness charm, Jack."

"I knew this thing was evil," Jack joked as he got up. He was surprised to feel Ianto's hand on his elbow.

"Steady," Ianto murmured, close to his ear. His brow was furrowed as Jack leaned back against a tiled wall.

"I'm okay," Jack whispered, quirking a smile which Ianto returned tentatively.

"If you're trying to show off to Gwen," Ianto muttered, "I think you could have done without the fainting, sir."

"I didn't faint," Jack bristled.

"No, of course, you didn't," Gwen assured too quickly.

"You just did a swoon into Ianto's arms there," Owen drawled as he studied the readings Tosh made. He snickered. "I've never seen Jonesy run that fast before."

Ianto looked vaguely embarrassed. "This floor is too filthy to lie on," he muttered to Jack. "Owen keeps a pigsty."

"Oi!"

Jack rubbed his head wearily. "Okay, that didn't work. Owen, you want to give it a try?"

"Never worked for me. Only Suzie. We all tried it."

"I haven't," Gwen spoke up. "Let me try."

 

**Act V:** _"You seem to be stuck."_

_"Who took my place?"_ Suzie rasped, her head rolling as if it was disconnected from her body.

It was morbid staring at Suzie, even just through the CCTV. The view of her skull was bad despite the blue hue CCTV generally gave everything. Fleshy pulp that reminded Ianto of the bloody stumps of bodies he had passed trying to get to the tenth floor and Lisa. 

The moment Suzie revealed where the next victim would be, everyone had bolted to find weapons, make calls, and left Ianto staring at the back of Suzie Costello's head. 

Jack paused from gathering up the crime photos. 

_"Gwen Cooper,"_ Jack said slowly, skeptically, unsure what Suzie was getting at. _"You left quite a vacancy."_

Suzie's laugh rippled goose flesh up Ianto's arms.

"Get out of there, Jack," Ianto murmured, not sure why he felt uneasy about Jack in there. Suzie was a living corpse, harmless.

_"Did she take my place in everything?"_

Ianto, without giving it a thought, shut off the CCTV.

Jack, to his credit, went back to clearing the photos off the table. _"Tosh is going to set you up with a headset. You're going to ID him."_

_"Whatever you say, my Captain."_

Jack ignored her as he gathered up the folders.

 _"Don't you want to know?"_ Suzie said softly.

 _"Know what?"_ Jack asked evenly.

_"If it was all real?"_

Don't answer her, Ianto pleaded silently.

 _"Don't worry, Captain. I'm sure your wonderful, faithful Ianto Jones had turned off the CCTV for you. No need to be shy."_ Suzie sat up, suddenly having no sign of the boneless slump from before. She turned her colorless face towards that camera above them. _"Isn't that right, Jones? The cameras all turned off?"_ Her smile was too twisted, too knowing.

 _"Leave him out of it,"_ Jack said flatly.

Suzie turned back towards Jack, who stood by the stairs with the folders but made no sign of leaving or coming closer. She made a tiny gasp of delight.

 _"I see…Gwen Cooper didn't replace everything, did she?"_ Suzie whispered. She made as if to stand. Ianto tensed but she weakly dropped back into her wheelchair. She laughed; a breathless bark that sounded wispy and gravelly.

_"Christ, you really are the Doctor's companion after all."_

Ianto thumped the desk. "Jack," he breathed.

 _"Now you know why the sex was good,"_ Jack returned coldly, his shoulders stiff, his face hard. His grin was feral, his teeth tinged blue in the CCTV. 

_"And yet here you are; camera shy. You weren't before in Torchwood London. I thought Alex was mad for insisting we leave this to a man he had never met. But after seeing you and Hartman—"_

Ianto twisted around and bolted for the interrogation room.

"…very impressive. No wonder they let you have Torchwood Three." Ianto caught the last scathing words as he burst into the room. The door swung open with a startling crash. 

Jack twisted around, looking up, his face pinched but then it melted to worry when Ianto burst through, gasping.

"Ah, my successor," Suzie hushed, her voice a snake whisper. "Mr. Jones."

Ianto froze. Her dark eyes zeroed in on him, just like when she had pointed the gun to his temple, Jack bleeding on the ground, Gwen stunned behind him. He fought to ignore her, his gaze fixed on Jack instead.

"They're almost ready, sir." Ianto steadied his voice as he descended the stairs in a calmer pace and took the folders from Jack's cold hands. He wished he could give them a squeeze but he dared only to brush a finger across Jack's knuckles as he grabbed the folders.

Something in Jack's eyes eased a fraction. The tight, thin line of his mouth twitched.

"Tell me, Jones. Has he told you that he loves you?" Suzie laughed that breathless harsh sound again. "He never told me. Did he tell you? Or are you just a part-time shag like everyone else?"

Jack frowned, his look darkening to the point that Ianto took a step back. Jack turned around, stalked over to Suzie. He bent over to her ear.

Suzie took a sharp intake of breath. She swallowed, nodded, and then shut up. Jack looked down at her, his expression unreadable, his eyes hard, and walked away. Ianto mutely followed, casting a look over his shoulder. Suzie sat there, a trembling hand to her mouth, mute, her eyes wide with fear.

Stepping out of the room was like taking a breath of fresh air. They climbed up the steps back to Jack's office. Ianto grabbed Jack's greatcoat, opening it. Jack stared at it for a moment before slipping his arms through. He nodded curtly to Ianto. 

"Set up communications for Suzie next to Tosh, but make sure she has no other access," Jack said as he took one last look into the interrogation room through the window that stood above it. Something flitted across his face. He started to leave.

"What did you tell her?" Ianto blurted out.

Jack stopped. He hesitated before he looked at Ianto with defeated eyes. He faced forward again.

"Don't ask," Jack said emotionlessly and left Ianto standing in his office alone. 

Ianto turned back to the window and peered into the room below.

Suzie still sat there, her fingers to her mouth, her other hand worrying the hem of her borrowed shirt. She sensed Ianto's scrutiny and looked up.

And sneered.

Ianto matched her gaze unflinchingly, his jaw set. Suzie broke off contact, but it was Ianto who shivered.


	28. "They Keep Killing Suzie 2.0"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning For This Chapter:** SMUT
> 
>  **Notes For This Chapter:** Note there are parallels to TW's "They Keep Killing Suzie 2.0"

**Act I:** _"Well, maybe I came back for a reason."_

Lucy MacKenzie was crying on Owen’s shoulder, blubbering, and unsure why a forty-something man had tried to kill her. Too hysterical to be comprehensible, too young to be left alone, Owen was left to console her because the usual sympathizer, Gwen, had complained she couldn't stand the loud music any longer. Jack and Gwen stood outside to guard Max, who was slumped senseless in the back of the SUV.

Tosh, her hands full with trying to sort out and divert the rapid-fire 999 calls from the Wolf nightclub, could only nod to Ianto. She mumbled around a pen in her mouth when Ianto offered to take Suzie back to the interrogation room. Even without Jack saying so, no one felt right leaving Suzie in the cells with the Weevils. It was Suzie Costello. Or is. Was.

"Careful," Ianto murmured, feeling a little like his grandmother was hanging onto his arm, with the dark scarf and shaky hands, not a colleague who had tried to kill him a short time before. Suzie grunted under her breath. She didn't look happy about needing help and dropped too roughly into the wheelchair more due to her belligerence than because it was Ianto's fault. She shrugged away his hand and scowled down at the table.

Suzie still smelled vaguely of defrosting, metallic, stale water from the cryo and the vague unpleasant tang of dried blood. Ianto, in a sudden fit of melancholy, had offered Suzie the use of the shower in Jack's quarters.

She had declined; she remembered the water pressure in there wasn't strong enough. She had said it with a small smirk on her face so Ianto never mentioned it again.

The handcuff to her hands looped under the table to the restraint bar that ran under the entire length. Done, Ianto checked around the room—a mental list of Torchwood guidelines in regards to prisoners ran through his head.

"He wouldn't stop talking about you when he first got here, you know." 

Ianto had just finished running through checking a prisoner's pockets—Suzie didn't have any—when Suzie spoke. Her voice was flat, dull, and if Ianto dared say it, lifeless. Despite the lackluster tone, it was still startling and Ianto couldn't help but tense. 

"Did he shag you first in London? Or was it the moment you arrived in Cardiff?"

Never respond to a prisoner, Jack had once advised, even if it was a Slitheen on its way to an execution. Jack never did offer up any details about that. 

Ianto ignored her and peered under the table to make sure nothing was loose or could be kicked out as a weapon. He rang his fingers carefully under the wood. 

Suzie laughed breathlessly, bitterly. "Bad enough Alex back then wouldn't stop talking about the great and mysterious Jack Harkness and about doomsday drumming down into the sky like large black pearls. I think it drove Alex mad enough to suicide at Canary Wharf. Endless yapping. The only way to get him to shut up was to shag him."

Ianto started, looked over the table but caught Suzie staring back and he dropped back under the desk to check the restraining bar.

"I'll admit, I was pleasantly surprised when our Captain arrived; even if he did take what should have been my command after Alex. But our captain? It wasn't about doomsday; it was about you! _Christ_ , it was like shagging the both of you. "

Ianto flushed; he grimaced. Now there was an image he truly could have lived without. He kept his head down, testing one of the table legs.

Ianto walked around to check her chair, noting with grim satisfaction that Suzie jumped when he tested its brakes.

"Pardon," Ianto murmured, backing away. He headed for the stairs.

"He is beautiful though, is he not?" Suzie whispered. "The Doctor's companion."

Ignore her, ignore her, Ianto told himself as he reached the first step.

"You've seen those videos, haven't you?" Suzie sounded wispy, her eyes distant. "From London?"

Ianto's foot hung over the first stair. He lowered his foot and turned towards the smirk. "No," he said evenly.

Suzie stared at him.

"Liar," Suzie laughed again, her voice growing stronger.

"Believe what you like," Ianto told her. He curled his hand on the rail. "We're just friends," he said calmly, taking the first step, not looking at her.

Suzie chuckled as if she got her response. "You can't tell me you never thought about it. The man walks with a 'Fuck me' sign on his back. You couldn't help wanting a piece of him."

"Jack and I aren't like that," Ianto answered sharply. He chided himself at the same time for taking the bait. 

"That face, that body?" Suzie's voice lowered and the air around him seemed to thin. "You're lying to yourself if you're saying you haven't watched those videos and dreamt of bending your captain over and riding him to pieces like that."

Ianto gnashed his teeth and fought the urge to strike her. "We're just good friends."

"That's right," Suzie mused in a tone that made Ianto's skin crawl. "Because perfect Ianto fucking Jones would never do that. Just friends with the companion. Like how Owen and I were good _friends_? How quickly I was forgotten. Little Gwen Cooper was my replacement. Ianto Jones was my successor."

Ianto wanted to deny her, but his stomach was in knots. 

"We were different, Jack and I. He loved me," Suzie said knowingly. 

Now it was Ianto's turn to laugh. "Now look who's lying to herself."

"I promised to find a way to stay forever with him. He needed me."

Ianto's hand slapped the rail and he hurried back down to stand in front of her across the table, his hands slamming hard on the table. Suzie actually jumped and glared at him for that.

"Not that way," Ianto told her heatedly. "He wouldn't have wanted it at the cost of so many lives."

Suzie's expression shifted. "No," she said slowly and suddenly she looked old. "He didn't. _He_ thought the cost was too high. Yet he didn't stop me before." Suzie smiled to herself. "Because deep down inside he hoped I would succeed. He's just as guilty as I am."

Ianto clenched his jaw. "He didn't know you were out there murdering people."

"But it worked." Suzie's smile was dark, triumphant. "And I'm here, aren't I?"

"Yes, you _are_ here." He looked at both sides of the room before facing Suzie again. Ianto lowered his head a little and smiled tightly back.

"But where's Jack?"

If anything, Suzie bleached white, her lips thinned as her eyes narrowed. She snarled and yanked her cuffs until the table skidded an inch. Ianto merely stood up, hands off the table. He gave her a little nod, which seemed to grate her even more. But he ignored her curses as he went up the stairs, taking his time, and out the door.

Once the door shut though, Ianto leaned against it, tipping his head back against it and sighed shakily.

 

 **Act II:** _"But you can't Jack, because I'm the last thing left of Gwen Cooper, can't you see it?"_

Jack stood over her body. Her scornful words rang harshly in his ears like echoes in a long, dark tunnel. He wasn't sure if he should grieve or not. It wasn't Suzie. Not the Suzie he first knew at least.

Or did he _ever_ know her?

"Jack!" Owen was yelling from behind him. "I need to get Gwen back to the Hub!"

That's right. Gwen was dying, dead, now alive. Because Suzie had been trying to obtain forever. 

_"Did it work?"_ Tosh's anxious question drew his eyes back to Suzie's body. 

_"Jack?"_ Ianto sounded like he was standing right next to him and Jack turned numbly to check. The need to see Ianto was inexplicably strong and Jack stood there, confused on the dock.

"Oi! Jack, I need a hand here!" Owen was hollering, struggling to hold up a bewildered and dazed Gwen.

Jack blinked. He needed to get back to taking care of the living.

Jack gave Suzie one last look before he strode to Owen, feeling wooden and numb as he helped Owen take Gwen back to the SUV.

Suzie said something was coming for him in the dark.

It felt like it already had. 

 

The Torchwood SUV was barely respecting the speed limit. Owen was either anxious to get Gwen back or anxious to get rid of the body bag laid out flat in the back. Jack suspected it was both; not that he blamed him though.

Jack drove Gwen's car back, trailing behind them, though he was in no hurry either. 

_"Jack?"_

Ianto's voice came into his earpiece through a private channel. It was quiet, tentative. 

Jack smiled bleakly. "Here. We're on our way back. Gwen's okay."

_"I know. Owen already updated us."_

Jack furrowed his brow. "Oh. Did you and Tosh need to know something else?"

 _"Sort of. Well, not Tosh really, but…uh, I'm sure she would as well if she wasn't too busy trying to double-check our systems to make sure there aren't any more surprises, not that we think there are any more surprises but you never can—aren't you going to stop me?"_ Ianto abruptly said, exasperated.

A glance at the rear mirror revealed he was smiling. "Why?" Jack murmured, his eyes steady on their SUV.

_"Because I'm babbling. You're supposed to interrupt someone when they're babbling."_

In truth, Jack would have, but the rolling vowels had washed soothingly over him and he didn't want to lose that.

"Were you babbling? I thought you always talked that way," Jack teased. He chuckled when he heard Ianto sputter. Jack sobered. "What did you want to know?"

Ianto paused. He could be heard clearing his throat before his voice lowered.

_"Are you okay?"_

The question shouldn't have affected him, but it tightened his chest. Jack took a deep breath. His hands curled and uncurled around the steering wheel. 

"Would you believe me if I say yes?" Jack asked lightly.

_"No, not particularly."_

Jack's musing smile faded completely. 

_"I'm sorry about Suzie."_

Jack knew Ianto was apologizing for a lot more; more than he could bear to think about. "Me, too," he said gruffly. He stared hard at the back of the SUV. He hoped Owen had remembered to tie the body bag down first as Gwen's car bumped over the uneven road. It was stupid, but the thought of Suzie's body jolting and crashing inside the SUV made him ill.

_"Jack, stop thinking about it."_

Ianto's voice cut into his gloom. Jack blinked.

_"There was nothing that could have been done. Gwen was linked to her. It was either Gwen or Suzie. Suzie…she had her chance."_

It was eerie how sometimes Ianto could voice his thoughts out loud, yet it sounded more like he was just echoing Jack’s as well as his own.

"That…" Jack began. He narrowed his eyes and squinted through the windshield. "Suzie wasn't always like that."

 _"What was she like then?"_ Ianto encouraged.

Jack stared at the blue lights on the rear of the SUV. He could see the shadows of Owen and Gwen, their heads close together, possibly talking, comforting, and maybe drawing strength from each other. And then, he thought about Suzie, with the six bullets he'd emptied into her, zipped up in a sterile body bag, about to be put back into cyro. 

_"Jack?"_

"Alone," Jack finally said. "She was lonely. Torchwood doesn't invite many outsiders." 

_"You understood her,"_ Ianto guessed. There was no recrimination in his voice.

Jack nodded to himself until he remembered Ianto couldn't see it. "Yeah," he rasped. She was a kindred spirit.

 _"Didn't mean you could have stopped her,"_ Ianto said. 

Jack squeezed the steering wheel until it hurt. "Her father was dying from cancer. Gwen said I should have taken that glove away from her. I should have thought about what it was doing to her. I might have led Suzie to this."

 _"Gwen was wrong. Suzie killed her father."_ Ianto paused briefly. _"Tosh received the police reports. Someone had yanked out his ventilator."_

Jack darkened. "Suzie."

_"It's almost certain. We'll confirm with Gwen when you get back."_

Jack smiled tightly. It seemed with each new piece of new information, all they learned was how wrong he had been about her. His shoulders slumped.

"She said she did this for us…I mean, Suzie and I." Jack paused. For some reason, it was important that Ianto understood. "I never asked for this."

 _"No, you didn't._ _She thought she did it for a good reason."_ Ianto sounded unusually harsh. _"Made her sound more noble, but she would still be wrong. She was fooling herself."_

 __The laugh tasted bitter leaving his throat. "Asked if I loved her. She said she loved me."

Ianto was quiet for a moment.

_"I think she did. Or, at least, she really thought she did at the time."_

There was a wiggling feeling inside him. Jack tightened his hold on the wheel. "You spoke to her, didn't you?"

 _"I uh…"_ Ianto hesitated. _"I escorted her back into interrogation."_

A chill went down his back. 

"Damn it, Ianto. What do I always say? Never talk to a prisoner. They can screw with your head—"

 _"I know. I'd ignored her originally, but she…"_ Ianto laughed oddly. _"She's very hard to ignore."_

Jack exhaled. "What did you two talk about?"

_"It doesn't matter."_

Jack wanted to hit the steering wheel. "Ianto…before…did you hear what she said to me?" Jack stopped, the words stuck in his throat. He was afraid of saying it out loud, of acknowledging something he couldn't understand himself sometimes; the heady, confusing _thrum-thrum_ banging in his head, so loud he couldn't think until it was too late.

 _"Jack."_ Ianto was a calm sonata that filled his head and quieted the harsh rapping that echoed in his head, his heart. _"It doesn't matter what she said."_

The bile rose to his throat, to the point it was hard to breathe. Jack blinked rapidly. "I see," he managed out hoarsely.

 _"What counts is here and now. The past doesn't matter, only if you let it."_ Ianto laughed nervously. _"That sounds very cliché, but there you have it. Don't think about it."_

Jack swallowed. He keep his foot on the pedal steady even if he wanted to stomp on the gas and veer for someplace where he wasn't known, where his face wasn't distributed everywhere like he was some cosmic joke, where he was a name, not some damn pronoun attached to another. 

_"Stop that. You're thinking again."_ Ianto sounded stern, yet there was little rancor in his voice. _"The very least you could do is participate in a civil conversation with me rather than breathing heavily into the mobile. It's rather annoying."_

Jack grinned weakly. "Get a lot of heavy breathing calls, do you?"

Ianto harrumphed. _"Only from you right now. First you don't interrupt my babbling, then you pant over the line like a pervert. Your telephone etiquette is rather disappointing, Harkness."_

A chuckle broke free, surprising Jack. "Sorry."

"Well…" Ianto made a show of giving it some thought. _"I suppose you're forgiven this time; seeing as you are my employer."_

"You're too kind. Well, what would you have me say here?"

_"Aside from the poor imitation of a canine in summer? Anything."_

The lump in his gut eased. Jack giggled. "Okay, what are you wearing?"

_"Good God, you've graduated to harassment."_

Jack laughed. "Hey, you gave no specifics to the conversation."

Ianto sniffed. _"I was hoping for a bit more substance than just knowing what I was wearing."_

"Fine, who are you voting for in the elections?"

Ianto groaned _. "Even worse. I haven't had the taste for politics since London. Next topic, please."_

"You are so pushy," Jack accused lightly. "Fine. Okay, what are you wearing?"

 _"Again?"_ Ianto complained half-heartedly. _"Besides, you've already seen what I was wearing this morning."_

"True, but that was before," Jack teased. "What about right now?"

_"Very well, right now, I'm currently sitting in your office with absolutely nothing on."_

The brakes screeched so loudly that Ianto heard it on the mobile. The SUV up front slowed to a halt.

 _"…Jack?"_ Ianto fairly squeaked.

Jack waved at Owen, who climbed out of the vehicle with a frown. The doctor gestured, "What?" and stood there, scowling as Jack waved him back in.

Ianto was talking rapidly in his ear, probably frantic when Jack didn't answer right away. His words finally filtered into Jack's conscious when they finally started moving again.

_"…not even my socks! Still clothed completely and nowhere near your office and—"_

"It's all right," Jack interrupted. "It's fine. I uh…had to brake rather unexpectedly. Um…squirrel."

 _"Squirrel?"_ Ianto sounded skeptical. " _You stopped because of a squirrel?"_

Jack bit back the nervous giggle in the back of his throat. "Uh huh."

Ianto hemmed, not quite believing him. _"Must be a very large rodent to make you stop so abruptly."_ Ianto could be heard fidgeting.

_"Jack? You know I'm really not…you know…"_

Jack pretended to sigh. "No? Darn. I'm telling you, the images I saw—"

 _"Don't,"_ Ianto yelped. _"No need to tell me!"_

Jack snickered. "You started it."

Ianto sighed. _"Don't remind me,"_ he muttered mournfully. _"Can we_ please _talk about something else?"_

Jack pouted. "Fine, how about we talk about your current research project?" Jack challenged.

 _"What proj—oh."_ Ianto sounded flustered. 

Jack chuckled. "I don't know whether I should be flattered or intrigued."

 _"Neither,"_ Ianto returned crisply. _"I was—"_

"Curious, I know." Jack smiled tightly. "Just a little extracurricular research."

 _"Well,"_ Ianto joked wanly. _"You know me."_

Did he? Or like Suzie, Ianto saw something in those videos she mentioned and thought—Jack's mouth pressed thin. Did it really matter? It was just sex.

 _"I just wanted to know what I was getting into,"_ Ianto said quietly. _"You must think me a fool."_

Jack smiled sadly. "A fool is not one of the things you are."

 _"Suzie…"_ Ianto hesitated. Jack could hear him take a deep breath. _"Suzie thought we were…well, you know."_

Jack sighed. "Look, she was trying to—"

_"I told her we weren't like that. It was different."_

At the 'we', Jack blinked hard.

 _"Was…"_ Ianto stopped. _"Was I lying to her?"_

Was he? Jack touched the earpiece; he imagined it was Ianto's cheek. 

"I don't know," Jack confessed. "Do you wish you were lying to her?"

 _"I wish you would stop answering my questions with a question,"_ Ianto said, exasperatedly. He paused. 

_"I don't think I want to be lying to her."_

"Oh." A warm glow collected in his gut where that ever-present lump was. It shrank and Jack found it easier to breathe around it.

The line fell silent.

The familiar cityscape rose before them.

"Almost there," Jack told him. "Ten minutes."

_"I see you on the screen."_

Somehow knowing Ianto was watching the screen, keeping an eye on him, even if it wasn't just him, made Jack smile.

_"Jack?"_

"Yeah?"

 _"It really doesn't matter,"_ Ianto told him in a soft voice. _"Not to me. Only what I see before me."_

Jack was at a loss of words. He cleared his throat.

"Almost there," Jack said thickly.

 _"Good."_ There was a satisfaction in Ianto's voice that ran deeper than the acknowledgment that they were coming back to base. Jack's hands loosened around the wheel.

 _"Anything else you want to talk about?"_ Ianto generously offered.

Suddenly, Jack grinned wickedly.

"Sure…what are you wearing _tomorrow_?"

_"Jack!"_

 

 **Act III:** _"Well. Think about it. Lots of things you can do with a stopwatch."_

Eight minutes and fourteen seconds into their agreed rendezvous, Ianto began to sweat. 

Good God, what was he thinking?

Ianto had met the SUV in their garage, taking Suzie's body before Jack could. He was mildly surprised the captain didn't drive the SUV, but then again Ianto empathized as well. 

When Jack came to the morgue, Ianto could see the shadows had crept up on Jack's face. He realized it was a look he didn't like on Jack. Jack's pale eyes were lost in the darkness that hung over him like a shroud.

Perhaps Ianto had thought himself clever, maybe a bit…avant-garde when he suggested the stopwatch. There was a flicker of surprise on Jack's expression and Ianto felt a little swirl of doubt. Was he _not_ supposed to offer? Was he supposed to wait for Jack? 

What are they supposed to do _now_?

Again, Ianto wished there was a manual; a sort of _'Steps for a heterosexual man and…and…Jack'_

Ianto snorted. Jack had no fitting label. The man encompassed his own category and special instructions were needed in dealing with Jack Harkness.

And Ianto hadn't a bloody clue.

The first glove was tossed in challenge. Ianto tried to finish up his work to pass the time and found he couldn't concentrate. He bade the others good night; he declined an invitation to grab a pint with them. When they left, Ianto tried to clean their workstations; Owen had once again made a mess. No good. The computer stations were in front of Jack's office. 

Ianto ended up in the meeting room, hurriedly writing a list. Done, Ianto went back downstairs. He stared at the kettle for a whole minute wondering if it was customary to bring some sort of refreshment.

When he was dating Lisa, Ianto used to bring flowers to her, sometimes a small gift. Ianto couldn't imagine showing up with a bouquet for Jack—no time anyway, only two minutes left—so Ianto did what was second nature for him.

He made coffee.

At ten minutes and ten seconds, Ianto stood outside Jack's door with a tray laden with a coffee pot, a plate of biscuits, some Chinese food he reheated, an apple—Ianto had no idea why he took the bloody thing—and some cake. 

Now it was _fourteen_ minutes and Ianto was still there, his arms aching, the tray rattling. Maybe he should reconsider the Chinese food. That suggested dinner and maybe Jack didn't want to eat first. Maybe no coffee? Diuretic. Couldn't be good for whatever they might be doing. Wait, what _will_ they be doing? Why why _why_ did he have to sound so smug before? Like he knew what he was doing? Stopwatch, indeed! God, he sounded so naff before. Did Jack think that he was considering himself so swish and clever before by the morgue?

The tray drooped as Ianto gnawed on his lower lip.

Maybe he should have made hot chocol—Oh God, no. Chocolate was a known aphrodisiac. Would Jack get the wrong idea? Wait, maybe he was _supposed_ to let Jack think—

The door swung open. Jack filled the doorway as he looked at Ianto.

Jack tilted his head. 

"You know, when we agreed ten minutes, I thought it was in total, not ten minutes by the morgue then ten minutes standing in front of the door." Jack raised an eyebrow towards the tray before him.

"Are we timing how fast I can swallow?" Jack gave him a wicked smile.

"I uh…" Ianto stammered. He stared up at him. "I made a list." Someone shoot him. Or retcon him. 

"You…" Jack looked gobsmacked. "You made a… _list_?"

"Uh, I wasn't sure if there was anything particular you preferred and um…" Ianto fumbled. Jack's expression must have been comical because Ianto had the sudden urge to giggle or scream or babble. 

"Do we…are we suppose to take turns?" Ianto burst out.

Jack looked like he was smacked with a dead fish. "What, I…turns?"

Ianto could feel the flush creeping up his face. "I mean you'd first um…uh…er…in me…" Lord, he couldn't put it into words! "Then, I-I…I was in…uh…you…" It felt like he was set on fire. Get it together, man!

Jack gawped at him, his mouth slightly opened.

"This tray is very heavy," Ianto blurted out.

Jack blinked, finally realizing. "Oops." He grabbed the tray from Ianto and set it on the desk. He turned back around and folded his arms in front of him. Jack sat back on the edge of his desk.

"Are you just going to stand there?" Jack asked skeptically. "I've done it in many odd places, but a doorway would be the strangest, but I suppose I can give it a shot—"

Ianto panicked and jumped a step into the office. He tugged at his tie. He fumbled out the list from his pockets. "Yes, well, I made a list, uh, thought perhaps we could—" Ianto threw up his hands.

"Are you going to help me out here or not?" Ianto complained. "I'm practically flailing here!"

Jack chuckled and walked over. He stopped in front of Ianto and smiled gently. Jack settled his hands on his shoulders. Then, without warning, Jack pulled Ianto towards him and lightly kissed his brow.

"You're sweet," Jack murmured. "But you don't have to do this." Jack cupped Ianto's jaw, gave him a pat on the cheek and went around his desk to sit down.

Ianto stood there, staring, dumbfounded. Jack's lips were warm on his skin, his hands' weight—Hold on.

" _Sweet_?" Ianto yelped. He stalked over to Jack. He set his arms down on either side of Jack on the armrests, turning the chair towards him. 

Jack blinked wide-eyed up at him. 

"I wasn't going for sweet," Ianto scowled. He released the chair and straightened. He ran a hand through his hair. "I was aiming for…for…" He made a face. "Definitely not sweet, for God's sake!" With a huff, Ianto sat down on the edge of the desk. He offered Jack a rueful grin.

"You made me sound like a squishy, yappy little puppy." Ianto made a face. 

Jack's chair rolled until he was in front of him. Jack settled his hands on Ianto's thighs and smiled kindly up at him. 

"I know what you're trying to do and it's very…" Jack paused when he saw Ianto's expression. "Very generous of you, but you don't have to—mmph!"

Ianto decided the only way to make his point was to kiss Jack. His hands settled on both sides of Jack's face and tilted it towards him. Jack at first stiffened in surprise, then relaxed, his lips parting to let Ianto in. As he straightened up, meeting Ianto's mouth, his hands gently massaged Ianto's thighs, delicious pressure coaxing Ianto to open his legs. Jack settled between then, his hands kneading his upper thighs as he offered Ianto his mouth to taste.

They parted with a gasp and stared at each other. 

Jack licked his lips. His eyes darkened.

"That was definitely not…sweet, Mr. Jones," Jack murmured throatily. He lowered his eyes to Ianto's groin meaningfully.

Ianto flushed. He could feel Jack's eyes on his half-aroused state like lips over heated skin. God, it was just a _kiss_. 

Ianto absently ran fingers through the short strands of Jack's hair, aware of the lust-laden gaze on him.

"About that stopwatch," Ianto murmured. "I am looking for some suggestions." Ianto marveled how it didn't feel weird like this with Jack like a statue of silk and gossamer under his fingers, yet his strength could be felt in the warm, hard body sitting between his legs.

Jack sighed. He rested his forehead on Ianto's stomach, his fingers still absently digging gentle circles into the muscles under his trousers. 

"Are you sure about this?" Jack murmured. He sounded hesitant, wary. It hurt to hear.

"Mm," Ianto just said as he glided a hand up and down the back of Jack's head. "Just tell me what to do," Ianto said hushed. "Tell me if I'm doing something wrong."

The fingers still for a second and Jack sighed longingly into Ianto's body. "You're doing everything right," Jack breathed. 

Ianto swallowed. He could feel Jack's breath on his flies, his solid presence beckoning to be unwrapped, tasted, and worshipped. 

"Jack?" Ianto said dazed. "Your hands are doing really funny things to me."

The husky chuckle vibrating against his torso made his skin tingle.

"Are you finding this humorous, Ianto Jones?"

Jack's baritone words quivered through him. Ianto gulped as he hunched over Jack. He stroked the back of Jack's head, his fingers letting short dark hairs run between them like water.

"Oh yes," Ianto answered in a breathless voice. "Very humorous. Can't you hear my peals of l-lau—oh God, Jack," he groaned when Jack's hands moved deeper to cup the swell tenting in his trousers.

"Still funny?" Jack asked archly as he squeezed carefully. 

"Hilarious," Ianto gasped. "I'm rolling on the f-floor, can't you tell?" Ianto found himself thrusting against Jack's hand, that heat pooling in his groin now growing unbearable. 

Cool air caressed him as Jack slowly undid his trousers, humming as he coaxed Ianto to stand. Wool and cotton pooled around Ianto's knees. Ianto lay bare before Jack, standing in front of him, his hands bracing himself upright by clutching Jack’s shoulders. Ianto nearly buckled when he felt Jack mouth his growing erection.

"Jack," Ianto whimpered, feeling that same pressure on his cock that left him drunk and senseless before. His hands curled tighter on Jack's shoulders, his fingers working the knotted muscles he could feel bunching. Ianto threw his head back as the sucking pulled and pulled until it felt like Jack was trying to drink the very essence of him. He came so hard that he fell against Jack in a boneless slump. 

But Jack wasn't finished.

Ianto heard a whisper, felt Jack holding his hips until Ianto was steadier on his feet. Ianto watched, dazed, as Jack popped two fingers into his mouth and after a few moments, his eyes glued to Ianto's as his lips worked around his own digits, Jack pulled them out glistening and vaguely white.

That was me, Ianto thought fuzzily, his cock twitching at the thought. He stiffened when he felt Jack's fingers ghosting over his opening.

"Easy," Jack murmured. Slicked fingers warm with Ianto's own cum traced the puckered opening, before—

"Jack," Ianto moaned as he felt the first finger nudge and prod before Ianto's body accepted it shyly and it slipped in to the first knuckle.

It was nowhere the size of Jack's cock, but Ianto closed his eyes and tilted his head back because it was still _Jack_ inside him, stroking, exploring him in a way no one else had. Tiny jolts sparked through him as Jack touched something deep inside him. Jack's name keened low in his throat and Ianto suddenly couldn't decide if he wanted to push back on Jack's finger or surge forward to Jack's mouth.

Ianto's eyes flew open when he felt Jack breathe softly on him before hot, moist pressure wrapped around him again.

Two fingers—Ianto wasn't sure when that happened—scissored inside him, pressing into him, stretching him as Jack's tongue lapped his cock, flicked across the slit with sly strokes that sent Ianto whimpering.

His knees were practically on Jack's knees; it was the only thing keeping him upright. Ianto's hands grabbed at Jack, then up around Jack's head and he pulled Jack, his mouth—Christ, his mouth—closer, pulling him and wishing fervently there was a way to absorb Jack and the glorious _everything_ about him. 

Jack in him, Jack _around_ him, Ianto gasped, and moaned little sounds that were meant to be words—what, he couldn't recall—and curled his fingers around the back of Jack's head.

The room wavered around him, his bones dissolving in him, and Ianto felt as if Jack was the only thing anchoring him to earth as he was consumed. 

Ianto came once more, his upper body arching back, his hips surging forward and Jack emptied him greedily.

Hands gripped his sides as Ianto wobbled and he felt himself sitting once more on Jack's desk. The wood felt warm under him and Ianto shivered realizing his trousers were around his ankles now.

The anxious look on Jack's face drew Ianto out of his stupor. Ianto blinked heavy-lidded at him before he reached out an arm and hooked it around Jack's neck. Jack yelped as he was yanked forward. Ianto miscalculated and he fell back onto his back on the desk with Jack on top of him.

The two men looked at each other. Ianto found that Jack's chest rising and falling against him felt strangely nice. 

Jack looked a little awed. He reached over and shyly brushed a palm across Ianto's head. 

"Well," Ianto grinned sloppily at him. "That wasn't funny at all." 

Jack matched his smile. His eyes softened and Jack reached down and kissed along Ianto's jawline.

"Mm," Ianto murmured fuzzily. "That's very lovely, too." Jack's hand slipped underneath and squeezed a cheek. Oh. That was unexpected! 

Ianto pressed his flaming face to Jack's throat. "Oh, that was good as well," Ianto babbled. 

"Thank you for the praise," Jack chuckled against his collarbone as he nuzzled Ianto. Jack gave a content murmur that made Ianto's insides melt.

Wrapping his arms around Jack, Ianto rubbed his chin on Jack's temple. This felt nice, too. It boggled his mind how everything with Jack felt right.

" _This_ …" Ianto murmured against Jack's hair, "is very nice." He hugged Jack to him and felt Jack's hands running up to his hips. Ianto parted his legs and, on a whim, rubbed against Jack. His eyes widened when he felt a response. Ianto reached for Jack's trousers. He was fascinated to see Jack’s eyes dilate, his face flush as if fevered. 

Ianto carefully pulled Jack out, gently as if it was spun crystal and began squeezing him gently until Jack's breath caught. Ianto copied Jack with a few experimental pulls and Jack buried his face into Ianto's shoulders. He was whimpering Ianto's name until he shuddered his release. Ianto kissed Jack's temple and decided he liked the salty tang of Jack's sweat trickling down his face. Ianto brushed his lips across Jack's brow, the hollow of his collarbone—which interestingly provoked a toe-curling purr from his captain—and his ear.

Jack straightened, pulling Ianto up, his arms slipping around his middle.

"I think," Ianto murmured, feeling a little bolder, "it's time we consider that stopwatch again." He fumbled it out of his pocket. He wound its chain around his palm and dangled it in front of Jack.

Jack swallowed, his eyes glittering with what Ianto now recognized was lust. A sliver of thrill hummed down his body when he realized Jack was reacting to him and the revelation was just as exhilarating as Jack's touch.

"Where's that list?" Jack rasped.

Well…almost as exhilarating.


	29. "Random Shoes"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning For This Chapter:** SMUT, themes on death, strong language
> 
>  **Notes For This Chapter:** Note there are parallels to TW's "Random Shoes"

**Act I**  
 **Two weeks later…**

It was bad enough to be woken up for early morning questions and emergencies. It was _worse_ to come in voluntarily at the ungodly hour of seven.

Owen roused from his light dose slouched against the cog door as it rolled to his left. He barely registered the Hub as he trudged up the steps. He yawned into his fist. Bloody indecent hour, if anyone asked him. 

The Hub was brightly lit; the pterodactyl cawed above him, and Owen blearily looked around him as he shrugged out of his jacket. He took an appreciative sniff of the air; it smelled of roasted beans and toast. He turned and jumped when something seemed to pop up from the kitchen area behind the counter.

Owen shouted because _it_ shouted, although who shouted first wasn't clear; just that it was very loud and sudden enough that it felt like his insides were now on his outsides. He staggered back, tripped over Tosh's stupid portable CPU or whatever shit she was working on and fell flat on his ass just as he pulled out his gun. He landed slumped against the back of his own chair, his legs tangled with whatever junk was on the floor, and papers spilling over his head.

"Ianto?" Owen blurted out in disbelief when the papers stopped falling.

" _Owen_?" Ianto stood behind the counter looking very much in a state, breathing heavily as if he had been running hard. His eyes were huge, his face white. Not surprising considering Owen currently has a gun pointed at him.

Alien? Clone? Owen's heart hammered and he grabbed at his chest. He gasped. "Christ, Jonesy!" he bellowed. "I think you took ten years out of my life!"

The gun seemed to be forgotten as Ianto got over his shock. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"What am _I_ doing here? What are _you_ doing here?"

Ianto glowered with an indignity Owen was tempted to smack off his face. " _I_ work here!"

"Bulletin, Jonesy, so do I!"

"Not at this hour! You're early!"

"Oi! What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means _exactly_ what you hear! You're early! You're _never_ early! In fact, you're never even on time! You're always late!" 

Ianto had a point—not that he would ever tell Teaboy that. Owen scowled.

Ianto pointed a shaky finger at Owen's drawn weapon. "Mind pointing that elsewhere?"

Begrudgingly, Owen lowered his weapon. "Thought you were a Weevil," he muttered.

Ianto gaped at him. "A Weevil who'd escaped, turned on _all_ the lights, made toast and started brewing Arabica coffee?" Ianto snapped.

…Okay, when Ianto put it that way… 

Owen rolled his eyes. He raised an eyebrow at the light blue shirt, unbuttoned at the collar and, judging from what he can see from where Ianto was slouched behind the counter, it was untucked too.

"Out of uniform, aren't you?" Owen jutted his chin out towards Ianto.

Ianto looked startled, glancing down at himself as if he just remembered. He ran a harried hand through his hair.

"I was cleaning," Ianto muttered, suddenly subdued. He appeared embarrassed to have been caught in something other than his suits. Bloke dressed much too pretty compared to the rest of their lot anyway.

"You know, you're early, too," Owen pointed out. "What? That worried someone was going to try and make coffee with your precious machine?" Ruddy Jack refused to buy one of those automatic ones, insisting the antique was better. Except the only one who could make it work was Teaboy. 

Ianto folded his arms, his mouth pressed thin, unhappy. "Couldn't sleep. Thought I might as well be here and—"

"Make coffee?" Owen scoffed. He frowned at Jones. Come to think of it, Jonesy had appeared a little ragged lately. Even his usually carefully combed hair was a bit wild today and the missing tie gave him an itinerant look.

"Couldn't sleep?" Owen frowned. His girlfriend's death and that eventful sojourn to the countryside wasn't that long ago. He drew closer to the kitchen area, his eyes giving Ianto a medical scrutiny.

Ianto bristled. "Yes, I couldn't sleep, and I'm trying to keep this area clean, so kindly back away from the vicinity!"

Owen's temper flared. "Listen you prat! If you can't sleep, that might be due to a medical condition and guess what? I'm a doctor!"

Ianto stared for a second. "Only you could make concern sound like an insult."

Growling, Owen was half-tempted to pull out his gun again. He turned sharply on his heels back towards the medical bay. "Fine! Just get me a black coffee since you're already there then!"

"You want coffee? _Now_?" Ianto sounded strangled.

Owen threw up his arms. "You know what? I'll get it myse—"

"Ianto!"

Jack's voice echoed through the entire Hub. Ianto blew out a sigh, but Owen didn't turn around to face Jack's office. The door opened a crack and Jack's head popped out.

"What's going on? Does it take that long for coffee?" Jack complained. He blinked at Owen in surprise.

"Owen? What are _you_ doing here?"

Okay, so maybe he was late twice… _three_ tim—alright, a couple of times! Owen glowered at Jack.

"What you mean what am _I_ doing here? _You_ asked me to come in early today!"

" _Jack_?" Ianto, for some reason, yelped.

Jack, or at least the part visible by the door, blinked. "Was that today?" Jack suddenly looked sheepish. Owen, however, wasn't fooled. The Captain was _never_ innocent.

Owen scoffed. "You asked me _yesterday_ to come here and wait for that body from Bradfield." Pointless though. Owen was sure the body had nothing extraterrestrial about it.

The broad grin Jack gave him was suspicious. It faded a little at Ianto's strange low growl.

"Actually, could you drive over there and get it instead?" Jack grimaced. "I don't want a repeat of Newport."

Owen winced as well. Getting the wrong body wasn't bad, but when _their_ body woke up in the morgue and started laying hordes of eggs of carnivorous aliens, _that_ was worse.

"I drove all this way and now you want me to drive some more to Bradfield?"

Jack had the nerve to pout. "Please? Although, if you want, you _could_ stay and help Tosh with the new artifact datab—"

"Bye." Owen did a complete circle, pivoted on his heel and headed back towards the cog door. 

 

The coffee bubbled overhead on the counter as he peered into the cabinets below for clean mugs. Ianto heard the alarms and mechanical whoops as Owen exited Torchwood for the hour drive to Bradfield but he didn't dare look up, even when a shadow crossed over him.

"He's gone, Ianto."

It wasn't the fact that Jack stood over him. It wasn't because he sounded more like he was trying to subdue his laughter than remorse. Nor was it the fact that Owen Harper had just pointed a gun at him. 

It was the fact that it was cold in here. That proved to be completely intolerable. Parts of him were freezing.

"Ianto?"

Ianto tilted his head up and found Jack leaning over the counter peering down at him, his elbows on its surface, his chin propped up with both hands.

"Technically," Jack said lightly, but the smile he offered was contrite, " _this_ was not my fault."

Ianto glowered. "Please tell me you brought my trousers out. It's cold."

Jack pouted, his lower lip lush and begging for nibbling. Ianto refused to be swayed. "What do you need your pants for?" His teeth flashed brilliantly. "I think you have nice legs and pretty feet."

It was embarrassing enough when Lisa commented on his feet. It was too strange when Jack complimented them and called them pretty—was it alright for a man to call another man 'pretty' even if it was just his feet?—that Ianto didn't know how to react except to feel heat creep up his neck and mumble "Thank you." 

Ianto stayed crouched on the balls of his feet— _bare_ feet, mind you—still wary someone might walk in on them. It was very hard to stand there radiating indignation; especially in just your shorts and in someone else's shirt.

"This is the last time I am _ever_ getting you your coffee without getting completely dressed first, Jack Harkness." Ianto craned his neck and gave the cog doors another suspicious glance. "Never ever again!"

"I didn't know Owen was going to waltz in while you were out here!" Jack protested. 

" _You_ told him to come in early!"

"I forgot!" Jack defended himself. He smiled, his eyes smoky as he considered Ianto. "I was distracted."

Ianto flushed. Then, he growled at himself. No, he was mad at Jack; completely and utterly infuriated with him. Besides, it was nice to be able to be mad without fearing upsetting the delicate sensibilities of a girlfriend. Though Lisa often declared she wasn't a soft heart, she had the uncanny ability to turn his frustrations toward her into a bouquet of jasmine and abject apologies. Here—unless Jack burst into tears and he hoped not—Ianto found he didn't need to watch his temper. There is nothing delicate about Jack Harkness and Ianto was finding it strangely thrilling he needn't hold back. 

"Sorry," Jack offered, his blue eyes sincere. 

Ianto grunted, unimpressed. He continued to rummage about the cabinets. Didn't he hide some chocolate digestives behind the utensils? Damn it, Owen.

"Owen never comes in early, even when I _do_ ask, how was I supposed to know he would actually follow orders for once?"

Ianto's head shot up. "Can you imagine what torture he would put me through if he found me like…like…" Ianto gestured towards himself and nearly threw himself off balance in the process. "This…this isn't even my shirt!"

"It looks good on you," Jack offered, the leer audible.

Ianto narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips. "If you're trying to convince me of your remorse, _that_ comment does not bode well in your favor."

"You didn't have to make me coffee."

"You kept poking me awake with your finger to make coffee," Ianto snapped. "Of course I had to make the coffee!" He lowered his eyes to the cabinets before Jack's hangdog impression swayed him.

"Ianto?"

Suspicious, Ianto looked up to Jack's cheeky grin.

"That wasn't my finger."

Ianto stared at Jack for a few eye blinks and felt a flush fly up his face. Ianto ducked his head at Jack's snicker. 

"I'm not talking to you right now," Ianto warned.

"Aww…"

Despite Jack's cajoling, Ianto stayed silent. He bit back a smile as Jack vainly defended himself. Finally, Jack fell into a sullen silence, his fingers absently rapping on the counter in a two-four beat until…

"Ianto?" This time, Jack sounded thoughtful.

Lifting his head up, Ianto spied Jack frowning slightly at something behind Ianto to his left. Ianto followed his gaze to the stasis jars. One jar contained a hand that wiggled hello in the bubbling liquid. 

Damn. 

He'd hoped Jack wouldn't notice yet. Ianto didn't know why he'd moved it. He caught Jack one night sitting on his desk, looking at it, looking lost, looking far away. And suddenly, while Jack took a shower, Ianto took it on an impulse and attached it outside with the other jar.

"Isn't that…" Jack trailed off. 

Ianto hastily turned his head back towards the cabinets. Sugar. Sugar. He remembered they had some sort of sweetener here.

"Thought it might be better out here," Ianto murmured. It was the truth at least. He raised his eyes to Jack's puzzled ones. His stomach clenched. "More consistent power," Ianto said, his gaze steady on him. "There's a dedicated power source running into the column."

Jack glanced over to the column again. His eyes glazed over.

Something strange flitted across his face. "I didn't realize it was gone," Jack murmured. 

Good, Ianto thought fiercely. He paused at his own vehemence. Where did that come from? "It'll be better out here," Ianto repeated.

Jack stared at it wordlessly. His brow furrowed and that uncertainty drifted over his face again.

Ianto didn't know why he hated that look; it was the same look that shrouded Jack in London while he walked behind the damn Doctor's shadow. It wasn't Jack; not the Jack who pressed close to him at night, not the Jack who smiled at him and made him feel like he was all alone in a room with Jack. No, there were many faces Ianto stroked, memorized, kissed, but that was not one of them. This Jack belonged to an alien time traveler; a lofty presence Ianto found himself trying to compete against. 

"You don't have to watch it all the time," Ianto stayed low against the counters because it hurt to see that lost look on Jack's face. 

"I know." Jack gave a weak disparaging laugh. "He might not ever come back."

Would that be so terrible, Ianto wanted to ask. Out loud, Ianto just made a sympathetic sound that stuck in his throat.

"I don't even know if he could fix me," Jack said, suddenly dejected.

"There's nothing to fix," Ianto muttered, getting a scoff in response. 

"You know," Ianto tried to distract Jack because this talk was too depressing. "Tosh may walk in any minute. You might enjoy the view and it would probably indulge the secret exhibitionist I suspect is in you, it will probably shock the poor girl to see me this underdressed." 

Jack blinked, roused as if he had been sleeping. Jack's brow smoothed over and he smiled over the counter at him, his eyes warming to a degree. 

"Well, while I think Tosh could use a little excitement…" Jack reached down a hand.

Ianto begrudgingly took the help and rose to his feet. As soon as he straightened, however, Ianto started.

"Jack! For God's sake, man, get dressed!"

Jack looked down himself. He appeared baffled. "I am!"

"Throwing a shirt over yourself is _not_ getting dressed!" Ianto yelped. No, that was not dressed, not when the thin shirt was giving Ianto generous glimpses of flawless flesh, spots still pink and glistening from his mouth, his hands, his—bollocks. It was suddenly very warm and uncomfortable standing there.

Jack pointedly looked at Ianto's crotch and then leveled his gaze at him. His mouth quirked.

Jack stood back and leaned again one of the railings. He was unashamed of his nudity, his long legs crossed and leading up to a lean, muscled torso, nicely broad shoulders, all narrowing to a bone-meltingly sweet smile. The shirt teased Ianto with peeks of Jack's cock, already matching the interest Ianto's was starting to display in his shorts. 

Unfair. Utterly unfair. He was supposed to be angry with him right now. Very angry. Infuriated even. What witchcraft did Jack cast over him? Only Lisa ever drove him to primal distraction like this. His anger dissipated to another heated emotion. 

Ianto's shoulders slumped. He knew when a battle was lost. He shut off the coffee for now, made his way around the kitchen area and walked right up to Jack.

The delight on Jack's face, the hopeful glint in his eyes was very infectious. 

"You _sure_ you want me to get dressed?" Jack waggled his brow.

Ianto smiled tentatively back. "Nope." He took Jack by the hand and pulled, walking back towards Jack's office, Jack following obediently behind him. He could feel Jack's glee like a heat wave on his back. By the time he shut the door to Jack's office again Jack pounced. 

They never made it to the hatchway. 

 

**Act II:** _"I'm somewhere I've always wanted to be."_

Having sex with Jack Harkness was really no different than with a woman, Ianto decided as he sat in front of his reception desk, for once unmolested by clueless tourists. 

Almost immediately, Ianto made a face.

Of course, Jack Harkness was definitely _not_ a woman.

Unbidden, his fingertips settled against his lips. He smiled to himself. Jack and the others had to dash out to a suspicious—well, Gwen thought it was—traffic incident. Jack pretended to stay behind for directions while the girls went to get the SUV. As soon as the door shut though, Jack had neatly vaulted over the counter, kissed Ianto soundly on the mouth, then asked Ianto with a grin, how the new coffee was Jack had tried before.

Ianto smirked. He had told Jack in a mock stern voice that it would have been more efficient to just bring him up a cup. Jack pouted—he was the only man Ianto knew who could pull off a pout that successfully—called him a spoilsport then gave him another kiss with his hands greedily running through his hair, his tie, and over his body. Bastard. Ianto was sure he looked thoroughly debauched by the time Tosh ducked her head in to declare they had the SUV.

Ianto licked his lips. The coffee _did_ taste very nice though. He'll have to buy more next time. 

The earpiece buzzed in his ear. Ianto tapped it as he pulled up the systems on his computer.

"I'm here," Ianto replied crisply.

_"You know, people usually greet with a 'hello', Ianto."_

The rumble in his ear made him smirk. "Fine. Hello, sir. Everything alright with the RTA?"

Jack sighed melodramatically. 

"Ah," Ianto struggled to keep a straight face. 

_"I need you to follow up with the police and see if anyone goes crying into their station to confess."_

Ianto murmured as he wrote it out on a post-it. "Anything else?"

 _"Coffee?"_ If Jack were a puppy, he would wag. 

Ianto snorted. "Didn't you have enough this morning?"

 _"I can never get enough of this morning,"_ Jack purred, his voice low and saturated with a rolling burr that felt like fingers down his arms. Ianto shivered. How does he do that?

"Please tell me you're alone in the car," Ianto bemoaned. He could only imagine the girls' expressions.

 _"Yes. Why? Oo, are we going to have phone sex?"_ Jack sounded gleeful. _"I’ve never had that!"_

Ianto blinked. "You'd never had—you're joking."

 _"Nope,"_ Jack quipped. _"Telephones were not really regarded as an extension to sex seventy years ago. It's hard to talk knowing a switchboard operator might hear you. Kind of kills the mood."_

Ianto paused. It was easy to forget sometimes that Jack was not of this time period until the rare comment.

Jack fell silently, probably regretting his remark.

"Well," Ianto said, thinking quickly, "I never thought _I_ would have something I could teach _you_ , Harkness."

The carefree laugh on the other line was reassuring. _"I never thought of it that way,"_ Jack mused. _"So can we have the first lesson now?"_

Ianto's smile faded to horror. "Good God, no! What if they come back into the car?"

_"Actually, they're heading back over right now."_

Sputtering, Ianto nearly fell off his chair. "Absolutely not then! No!"

Jack laughed and hung up.

Ianto pulled off his earpiece and scowled at it. He shook his head and couldn't help but chuckle. Mischievous as he was, Jack's enthusiasm was also contagious. 

The post-it was set aside as a reminder as Ianto searched for the information necessary to make contact.

Would that, Ianto mused, have been considered flirting? He frowned as he scanned the search results, absently grabbing his PDA. 

If that was flirting, Ianto thought, then it wasn't any different than with a woman. Then again, for Jack flirting was usually as natural for him as blinking; the man was relentless as a storm yet could persuade a stone to bleed water with his charm. 

Ianto sighed. It really would have been easier if one of them was a woman. At least then he knew where he stood. Jack assured him that everything Ianto was doing was right—actually, he used a more enthusiastic praise—but every so often, Ianto caught Jack staring at him, like a puzzle he couldn't quite decipher. Ianto knew that look. He'd been casting it on Jack as well when he thought Jack wasn't looking.

Touching Jack oddly felt as exciting and provoking as touching Lisa. Ianto wasn't sure why. Where Jack was all hard planes and sleek muscles, Lisa had curves that had captivated him, even hidden under folds of clothing. He shouldn't feel as enraptured with Jack's body. He shouldn't. Yet two weeks later, Ianto found himself more enthralled each day.

There were interesting nooks and hollows and curves Ianto didn't expect to find on a man. But they were there; discovered by Jack's experienced mouth, gentle fingers and the swirl, warm circling motion of his tongue. And the fact that he could get so turned on by a clearly masculine touch—gentle yet with the benign threat of strength—both fascinated and frightened him. 

Jack proved to be a patient lover—the term still made him pause—with Ianto, letting Ianto do his own exploration, learning by mimicking his touch, tracing the same paths on Jack's body. He'd discovered, often by serendipity, other spots that seemed to reduce Jack to a pleasant concerto of moans, purrs, and keens. That in turn proved to be interesting as well. Lisa had a way of twisting his name into a chord of notes as she arched her graceful body and shuddered her release around him. His body also quivered every time Jack uttered his name in breathless release, his name mangled to syllables and moans that vibrated throughout his own body. Just hearing his name on Jack's lips was sometimes enough to bring him to release.

Ianto found while he couldn't do exactly the same to Jack as he would a woman, some of the same rules apparently still applied. For example, kissing the spot between Jack's pecs like he would between the breasts on a woman's body provoked the same happy wiggle of the body, and caused Jack to rub against him in a heady friction. Kissing the ridged flat belly still made the stomach muscles quiver whether the body is male or female. Kissing a furrowed brow still smoothed it out. And the feel of legs wrapped around him as he thrust into a pliant body still spurned him on, still boiled his blood. 

The difference that _should_ have bothered him yet didn't was the fullness of Jack's cock hard and pulsing inside him, touching a spot deep within him that Ianto intellectually knew existed. Two erections crashing together felt a little strange, a little animalistic yet the over-sensitized flesh rubbing against one another ignited the same explosive orgasm as when he buried himself deep inside Lisa. And falling asleep with a steady heartbeat under his ear never felt so reassuring before.

The odd scrape of stubble that felt like sandpaper before his erection was engulfed was also a strange experience yet the unshaven jaw rubbing against his skin was an exotic texture he'd never considered. And it wasn't all rough and coarse skin. There were parts of Jack's skin that was impossibly satin smooth like across his chest, his buttocks and especially that fold where the hip meets the leg and intersects at the equally silken, hot, tight and velvety feel deep inside Jack's as—

"Oi."

Ianto jumped in his seat. He grabbed the edge of the information counter before he became an ungainly heap on the floor.

Owen Harper, looking peevish from his long drive, stood on the other side of the desk.

"Is this revenge for before?" Ianto gasped. His legs wobbled as he struggled to get back on his chair.

Owen smirked. "I should have thought of that, but no." He looked annoyed. "I was calling your name lots of times. Where were you?"

Somewhere between his cock opening Jack up and nipping that surprisingly tasty spot on the back of Jack's neck.

Ianto tugged at his tie. "I didn't hear you."

Owen's brow furrowed. "Not sleeping and now no attention span." His face puckered. "Listen mate, I know you’ve been having a bit of a time since your girlfriend. If you need—"

It was unbelievable, but Ianto was touched. "That's alright. I don't need to talk."

"Who said anything about talking? I was going to prescribe you something to drug you silly."

Ianto scowled, the moment of camaraderie evaporated. 

"Thank you, but I'm fine."

Owen shrugged. "Where is everybody?"

Ianto resisted sighing. "Out. There was a RTA Gwen wanted to check."

Owen grunted. "Christ, RTA? Why are we looking into it then?"

"It's Eugene Jones."

There was no recognition in his eyes.

"He'd show up almost everywhere we went about a month ago?" Ianto prodded.

Owen's eyes widened. "No, shit? Geek boy?" A flicker of regret flitted across his face. "Shame. Always thought he was a weird bloke. Harmless, but weird."

"Jack always thought he might have fancied Gwen," Ianto remembered.

Owen grunted. "Let's hope that's not why Gwen's all hot to investigate this."

"You're a compassionate fellow, Dr. Harper," Ianto said in a dry voice.

Owen smirked and steered for the secret passageway. Abruptly, he snapped his fingers.

"Right, before I forget, need to update that Retcon list."

"Who?" Ianto groaned. He typed in a command on his computer to retrieve the Retcon record. It was always a hassle when they had to Retcon someone. The clean up was always a tedious chore.

"Um, let's see. Ah, Marvin Stuckler and two others."

Ianto glowered. "That is not particularly helpful."

Owen shrugged. "I don't know their names, Jonesy."

Ianto stared. "How could you give two people Retcon and not—"

"Oi, it happens, alright?" Owen then brightened. "Check all the A & Es Stuckler might have checked into. They would have come in with similar injuries."

Baffled, Ianto stopped typing. "What injuries?"

Owen smirked. "Testicle abrasions," he quipped as he ducked into the passageway.

" _What_?"

Owen's head popped back in and he gave a toothy grin. 

"Of unknown origin," Owen added.

Ianto stared at where Owen was. He shook his head and began the search for one Marvin Stuckler.

Testicle abrasions, indeed. Owen was getting stranger each day.

 

**Act III:** _"Okay, fine. Leave it. Forget it. I have."_  
 **Next day…**

It was dark yet the pain wasn't there. The new twist was just as frightening, just as unknown and unfamiliar. He pressed his forehead against one horizontal bar and shivered.

"Jack?"

The voice was unexpected, especially here and now. Jack looked up. His hands automatically curled tighter on the rungs of his ladder.

Owen squinted as he peered down the gloomy hatchway, barely making out Jack. "What you doing down there?"

Trying to get fucked within an inch of my life, Jack thought, frustrated. To his dismay or perhaps relief, the slim build resting warm on his back didn't pull back or out. Instead, fingers slipped under the tails of his shirt, nudging the back of his trousers lower and coyly settled on his now bare hip like resting on the keys of a piano, waiting for a cue. Jack felt light fingertips scratching his skin just out of view, a thick cock deep and deliciously full in his ass, a shy kiss and nibble to the ridged line of his neck where his hairline ended.

"Jack?"

It was amusing to hear Owen go from 'pissed off' to 'Dr. Harper' like that. It's a switch Owen would vehemently deny yet he did it often enough that Jack didn't need to see the little wrinkle between his eyebrows to know it was there.

"Nap," Jack managed. He was proud of himself for managing to keep his voice steady when he just wanted to scream because the cock stretching him was _not_ moving.

"A _nap_?" Owen didn't take the reason at face value and stayed crouched by the open hatchway.

"You're taking a nap at thirteen twenty?" Owen reiterated after a check to his watch.

Jack thought he heard a muffled laugh behind him. He squeezed and the cock inside him twitched. Jack's smug smile faded though when it moved deeper and— _oh, there it goes_ —the blunt tip brushed across his prostate and blew fireworks behind his eyes.

"Need something?" Jack fought not to groan.

"Yeah." Owen sounded annoyed. Jack could sympathize. He would be annoyed too if that wonderful motion into him was rudely interrupted by—oh wait, that's him.

"Tosh has been tracking some weird Rift energy hovering around a local airstrip. Gwen went to return that Eugene Jones' DVD and she isn't back yet. And I don't know where Ianto is." The frown was audible.

"Do you know where he is? You seen him? There was something I'd asked him to do yesterday morning."

"I can honestly say," Jack tried not to squeak as another slow and liquid stroke pulled back then flowed into him deeper than before, "that I have not seen Ianto." He wanted to cry out in relief and in frustration. Relief because movement ignited a slow burn that shimmied down his legs; frustration because it was so _slow_. Jack would clench his ass again if he didn't fear it would elicit a shout.

"Do you know where he is?"

Fingertips dug a little deeper, a bit more of a bite, and a tiny thrust. "Do I know where he is?" Jack gritted out.

Owen snorted. "You hear an echo?"

"I think he's hiding." Jack swallowed a squeak at a tiny push, just enough to want to make his knees buckle and wouldn't that be awkward because then Owen might see that his trousers were barely hanging off his hips and Jack doubted his excuse of Ianto repairing a tear in his clothing would be believed. 

Jack bit his lower lip. He’d created a monster. Who knew Ianto Jones could be such a— _God, that was perfect_ —such a quick stud— _oh pleasepleaseplease, right there again_ —quick study?

The scoff above his head and the tiny one behind him told Jack he better think quickly.

"I think he stepped out to get office supplies." Jack groaned out. Jack clenched his rear tight and Ianto's tapered fingers trembled on his skin. Ha. Then Ianto retaliated with a hand snaking around into Jack’s loosened waistband and— _help_. 

"Office supplies?"

"There's that echo again," Jack joked weakly as he tried to keep his hips from slamming into the ladder as Ianto's hands—such beautiful hands—gently squeezed him. 

"Went to get…" Jack's fingers painfully clutched the ladder in front of him. "…more post-it notes. New color today. Purple. He was really excited about t-that one…" Oh, he was _so_ paying for that one. Ianto's fingers curled around him tighter and—shit, where did he learn _that_ from?—pumped him in time with his frustrating little nudges. 

"Right," Owen said slowly. He paused. "You alright? Not like you to take a nap."

"Long night," Jack babbled—he was sure he was babbling because Ianto was picking up the pace finally. His bold little Ianto Jones, although not really little, Jack mentally smirked. Another thrust nearly made him groan out loud. No, _definitely_ not little.

"Long night?" Owen's voice narrowed. "How long? Caveat long?"

Jack blinked. "Huh? What are you talking about?" Why was Owen bringing _that_ up? 

It was an abrupt change in tone as Owen went from an eerily accurate echo of his Doctor to an almost more affable one. Owen could practically be called pleasant. 

"Never mind," Owen quipped. He slapped his knees loudly, which was perfect because it covered Ianto's muffled groan as he pressed his face into the back of Jack's hair and came in a warm gush that Jack could feel trickling down the back of his legs.

"I should tell Teaboy to switch our coffee to decaf," Owen mused out loud. "First he's having trouble sleeping, now _you're_ taking naps in the middle of the day. Something's keeping you up."

Jack froze when he heard the tiny snicker humming against the back of his right shoulder.

"I doubt it's the coffee," Jack said hastily when Owen paused and tilted his head. 

Owen grunted. "Whatever. Get some rest." He gave a flippant wave over his shoulder and disappeared from Jack's view.

Jack gulped back a moan when Ianto pulled out his softening cock. The loss took him by surprise. It had been slow, painstakingly careful, and nothing like the hungry, cutting strokes he'd gotten used to in the dark. Yet the ache when Ianto was no longer in him was even more devastating. He turned around and stared at Ianto in wonder.

Ianto was hastily tucking himself back in. He fumbled out a handkerchief to clean his hands. "I can't believe I did that," Ianto breathed shakily. He darted a worried look at the hatch. He smiled ruefully as he reached over and straightened Jack's shirt. His palm brushed across Jack’s chest to smooth out the wrinkles and against the tips of his collar as if ironing them out.

"I suppose it's only fair." Ianto smirked quickly before he lowered his eyes. "Owen nearly caught me with my pants down—gone, actually—and now you."

"Ah ha," Jack teased. He gingerly sat on the bed and watched Ianto fix his tie by feel; the sound of silk sliding up to that delectable throat made his mouth water. Ianto fretted, finger combing his hair into submission. He looked rumpled, his shirt partially untucked, his face flushed, his hair mussed.

Ianto never looked more beautiful.

Jack mentally filed that image away for the future he still didn't dare to think about.

"I should have known you had an ulterior motive coming here," Jack continued. He sat back, his hands laced behind his head. He felt too sated to straighten out his clothing yet. Ianto's eyes keep darting over, his gaze drifting down to his trousers then snap back up with a blush. 

Jack reached over and ran his socked foot up Ianto's thigh.

"Stop that," Ianto admonished. He swatted half-heartedly at Jack's foot. "And I wasn't the one who had an ulterior motive," Ianto reminded him. " _You_ told me you lost a button."

Oh yeah. Jack grinned. "But I did." Jack nodded at the hatchway towards the coat hanger. "I lost a button on my coat." Jack scowled. "Probably when we were out there investigating that RTA."

"Hm, Eugene Jones. Pity about him. His mum appeared devastated when Gwen, Owen, and I visited her. And sir?" Ianto walked over and bent over Jack, his arms braced on the wall above Jack's head.

"You told me you lost the button on your _trousers_." Ianto pursed his lips and eyed Jack's lap. " _That_ button, I believe."

Jack grinned up to him, unabashed. "Did I? I'm getting so absentminded."

"Hm…must be old age." Ianto's tone was light and teasing. 

Jack didn't flinch at the unintended jab and just grinned up at Ianto. He didn't want to think about it. "Must be," he agreed lightly. "It's a wonder I can keep up with you kids."

"Oh, you don't look a day over a hundred," Ianto returned with a smile. "Still looking good, my handsome Jack."

Jack hated how his entire body seemed to seize up. It was automatic because what followed after that nickname was something he didn't want to think about. It wasn't the same here. Ianto meant it affectionately, but something must have shown because Ianto's smile faltered.

"What is it?" Ianto asked softly. He sat down next to Jack, his brow furrowed.

"Could you…" Jack struggled to keep his voice steady and fought the urge to cringe. "Could you not call me that?" He smiled weakly. "I'm a little tired of being called that."

"But I never—" Ianto stopped. His eyes lightened. "Ah." 

Ianto just shook his head and watched him sadly.

"One of these days," Ianto murmured. He absently ran the back of his hand along Jack's left upper thigh. Jack savored the feel of the knuckles moving the fabric against his skin. "I'll have more questions for you."

Jack felt a little uneasy. "I'll try to answer them," he told Ianto quietly. Sometimes it felt like he didn't know the answers himself. Jack rested his head on the wall and watched Ianto's knuckles go left and right. 

Ianto nodded and offered him a tight smile. He sat there, his hand idly stroking Jack's leg, giving no indication of wanting to leave.

"Owen's looking for you," Jack reminded him gently.

Ianto gave a delicate snort. "I'm too tired to deal with him right now." Ianto looked faintly embarrassed. "I think _I_ need that nap." Ianto eyed the ladder, his lips pursed. "That didn't look as vigorous on paper."

Jack felt a pang in his chest. This shouldn't have come as a surprise, he told himself. "We went through a lot of stuff from your _research_ huh?" 

Even in the dark, Jack could see the blush. 

"There was certainly a lot of… _ahem_...material." Ianto gave him a sideways glance. "You were very familiar with a lot of them."

There was a knee jerk reaction to say Ianto was fortunate to sleep with a companion like him, but the words were stale in his mouth. Jack didn't voice it out loud. Ianto's words were more observation than accusation. So Jack merely shrugged, feeling oddly at ease when it was left just as that. Ianto simply cocked his eyebrow at him.

"Whatever will we do when we go through all of them?" Ianto mused, more to himself, not really to Jack.

A sharp stabbing grew in his chest. Jack tore his eyes away from Ianto, his leg twitching away from Ianto's hand. Better not get used to it.

"Practice makes perfect?" Jack quipped, his voice hoarse.

Ianto gave him a rueful twist of his mouth. "We've had practice, but I'm not quite sure it's perfect."

It _was_ perfect. That was the problem. _Too_ perfect to believe it could ever last.

Jack covered the discomfort that the lump growing in his stomach was causing by standing abruptly and moving away from a touch he found himself leaning towards. It was too abrupt; Ianto flinched.

"Jack?"

"I think I'm going to grab a shower." Jack flashed him a smile. "My trousers are a little damp," he added with a grin.

Sure enough, Ianto fumbled at the reminder. "Yes, well, I'll uh, go see about what Owen wants." Ianto acted like he didn't want to leave. After taking two rungs up, Ianto paused.

"You sure everything’s okay?" Ianto frowned mildly.

Jack walked over to Ianto and he knew he shouldn't, but he reached over and brushed a thumb across Ianto's lower lip. Jack kissed the closest fist curled around the ladder.

"See you later," Jack whispered before he ducked into his bathroom.

Jack stripped quickly, tried not to think about the hands that skimmed over him and the hands that ripped him. Both sets of sense memory battered him and as the shower warmed, Jack slid down to the shower floor and tried not to think of both.

 

**Act IV**

He looked serene in his coffin, eternally young and beautiful in memory, but he knew that after a few years, flesh would no longer match memory. So was the fragility of life.

When the lid closed he stood there, unchanging, and watched as they hammered it shut, the hammer hitting the nails in a _thrum-thrum-tap-tap_ fashion. Over and over, the hammer struck, sealing Ianto Jones from a lifetime that should have belonged to him and sealing Jack Harkness to a forever alone. Each nail felt like it was pounding into his body. 

_…thrum-thrum-tap-tap_ …

Jack stood alone by the grave. No one came to say goodbye and that was Jack's fault.

Jack jolted awake. Hard. His throat felt closed up, his heart racing so hard it _hurt._ It didn't really happen. It didn't.

"'ack?" Ianto sleepily mumbled. He untangled himself from Jack's body, sandwiched between Jack and the wall. He placed a hand on Jack's bare shoulder. Jack shivered. It felt hot on his cool skin.

"What is it?" Ianto murmured, not quite awake yet. He tentatively kissed Jack's left shoulder blade. "Shh," he soothed when Jack shuddered. "Another nightmare?"

Jack swallowed. The dream felt more like a memory that _will_ happen.

"Jack?" Ianto yawned.

Rolling around to face him, Jack brushed the back of his fingers down Ianto's left cheek. The young man blinked drowsily at him, a lazy smile on his lips.

"'kay?" Ianto slurred, his hand languidly going up and down Jack’s shoulder as if he could iron out the nightmare from Jack's soul. "Okay?"

No. "Yes," Jack said out loud. He felt Ianto bury his face into Jack's throat and there was a moment of crazy thought when Jack thought he could bury _Ianto_ deep inside him, keeping him forever. "Go back to sleep." Jack kissed his forehead, his fingers digging small circles into his scalp.

"'eels nice," Ianto mumbled as he wiggled closer to Jack, his bare legs tucking themselves between Jack's, his head tucked under Jack's chin.

"Don't drool on me again," Jack teased and Ianto mumbled something rude against his collarbone before drifting back to sleep.

Jack's smile faded but his fingers didn't stop. He soaked in the feel of the weight of Ianto's body against him. It wasn't crushing or stifling. It was like Ianto just wanted to be sure Jack was there, his existence simplified to a spark of life, a candle presence by him in the dark.

But Ianto can't hold on forever.

 

_…thrum-thrum-tap-tap…_

The hand wiggled and danced as bubbles frothed around it. 

Jack sat on the ground in pajamas bottoms, knees drawn up, his arms hanging off them as he stared at the jar on the pedestal. Ianto was right; it was cold out here. He could feel himself growing numb. Jack idly wondered if death would feel like that, _real_ death.

"You know, that _still_ doesn't count as being dressed."

It was quiet, but it echoed in the Hub all the same. Jack smiled crookedly over at Ianto, standing a meter away.

"Aren't you afraid Owen's going to walk in here again?" Jack joked weakly. He gestured towards Ianto in his shorts, barefoot once again, huddled in Jack’s greatcoat.

Ianto scoffed as he tucked his hands into the greatcoat's pockets. "Not at three in the morning. Not even Tosh gets up this early."

"I like the ensemble though," Jack continued half-heartedly. "Maybe I should try that for work. What do you think?"

Clever eyes steered over to the jars that stood on the column; they widened a little. Then, Ianto padded over and stood in front of Jack, blocking the jars.

Like a trance, something snapped inside Jack and he blinked, looking at Ianto as if seeing him for the first time; the veil he didn't know was there had lifted. 

"I think," Ianto murmured as he leaned back against the column, the coat parting to reveal crossed long legs, "you were lying when you said you were okay." Ianto's brow crinkled worriedly. "You've been out here for nearly two hours, Jack."

Jack frowned. It didn't feel that long. He tracked Ianto as the younger man went over and crouched down in front of him. 

"What is it?" Ianto rested his arms on Jack's knees. He cocked his head. "Nightmare?"

More like a wake up call. 

Jack drew invisible symbols on the hand curled over his right knee. 

"What is it, Jack?" Ianto murmured, his eyes on Jack's finger. "These nightmares…you keep having them."

"I don't—"

"I'm a light sleeper," Ianto interrupted. He leaned to the left, blocking Jack's view of the column. "No, look at _me_."

Jack leveled his gaze at him and remembered how young Ianto looked against the white lining of the coffin. His stomach churned.

"What did he do to you, Jack?" Ianto whispered, his eyes reflecting Jack, his mouth crinkled downward.

"Who?" Jack asked numbly.

Ianto sighed. "Who, indeed?" He settled, his warm hands nudging Jack's knees. Jack parted his knees and Ianto settled closer kneeling between Jack's legs. He moved his hands down to rub Jack's inner thighs. "You're cold," Ianto mumbled and shuffled closer, spreading the coat. The greatcoat draped over Jack's legs as well. 

It didn't occur to him that he was that cold until Ianto's hot hands kneaded his thighs. Jack shivered.

"Gwen nearly died today."

"Gwen?" Ianto hesitated. "Ah, the car." He swallowed. "This is about Gwen? She's alright, Jack."

Jack ignored him as he went on. "I'd always thought…knew…that this job was dangerous for you all. Aliens, strange monsters through the Rift, I wasn't even really surprised to see cannibals in the countryside!"

A wry smile tugged at Ianto's mouth. "Torchwood isn't an office job," he agreed.

"You don't understand," Jack murmured. He looked past Ianto's shoulder to the column. "What happened today wasn't aliens or the Rift or…"

"It was a car," Ianto finished, nodding slowly. "Just a careless prat."

Jack's eyes felt gritty. "That can happen to anyone, at anytime."

Not understanding, Ianto nodded. "Not all dangers are alien."

Jack grimaced and struggled to his feet, away from the cocooning warmth Ianto and the coat had provided. He went around Ianto and stood by the column, his hands on either side of the jars, on the edge.

"Were you planning to marry Lisa?" Jack abruptly asked.

Ianto looked stunned. "What? Me and Lisa?" Sadness drifted over his face. "Yes," he replied, subdued. "There was a time when we'd talked about it."

Of course they had because that's what a normal couple would do: plan and hope to grow old together.

"Children?" Jack stared at the jar, unable to look at the grief he knew he was putting on Ianto's face.

Ianto sounded embarrassed. "Lisa wanted one. I was hoping for three. We'd never settled on a number."

Jack closed his eyes. "You wanted a family."

Ianto sounded surprised. "With Lisa? Of course." Ianto paused. "Jack, what is this all about?"

The hand in the jar motioned as if to strike him. Jack waited for the blow but it never came. 

"I can't give you that," Jack croaked. He forced himself to look at Ianto. "The growing old, the family, the life you wanted."

Ianto blinked. "Who said I still wanted it?"

"You would," Jack said, sure of this fact, "if you weren't with me." He set his jaw. "If we keep going where we're going. That life? You'll never have it. I can't give you that." And Ianto will hate him for it. Jack turned back to the jar, his body hunched forward. "Unless we end this." Jack swallowed. "Right now before you regret it."

Ianto was quiet. Jack kept his eyes on the hand. It gestured snidely at him, bade him to continue before Jack became a selfish coward. "It'll be for the best."

"No."

The hand seemed to freeze. 

Hands gripped Jack’s wrists and pulled him away from the column with a little force. 

Ianto stared at him with fond exasperation.

"I think I remember telling you that I don't appreciate you making decisions for me." He tilted his head and considered Jack. "I wasn't even sure there _was_ a 'we'." He looked pleased.

Jack tried to tug his arms free but Ianto's grip was tight. 

"There isn't," Jack insisted. He forced the next words out. "This is just sex."

Ianto stilled and his hands loosened.

Jack could have broken free but he couldn't find the strength anymore.

Ianto suddenly smiled. His hands tightened around Jack.

"I think you're sweet, Jack Harkness." Ianto tugged Jack closer and wrapped his arms around him.

Shocked, Jack could only stand there in the circle of wool against his bare skin. He sputtered.

"Sweet?" Jack protested weakly. "I'm trying to be noble here." He pushed at Ianto, backing away a step. 

Ianto blinked. "Noble? Maybe. Stupid? Yes." He folded his arms. "I don't think this is just sex." Ianto looked at him shrewdly. 

"For you either."

Jack gritted his teeth. "It can't be anything else," he insisted. "You should be married, have kids. What if you die tomorrow?"

"Or," Ianto added as he captured a hand and firmly tugged him away from the column and towards Jack's office, "I could live a hundred years as a crotchety bachelor."

"That's not funny."

"Yes, I know," Ianto agreed, still insistently dragging Jack up the steps. "You've mentioned I should never do stand up."

"We need to talk about this." Jack dug his heels in, halting them. "Where are we going?" 

Ianto turned around and walked right up to Jack, his mouth set.

"We are going back down to your quarters and I am going to fuck that silly idea out of your head. Any questions?"

There were none.


	30. "Out of Time"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning For This Chapter:** The slash part of the story here. SMUT. Dark, suicide themes. You were warned. :)
> 
>  **Notes For This Chapter:** Note there are parallels to TW's "Out of Time"

**Act I**   
**Two weeks before Christmas…**

"Christmas?" Jack echoed, his coffee cup stalled in mid-air. He stared blankly at Gwen, who was grinning back with an enthusiasm that gave him an ill feeling in his stomach. They had been talking about the odd Rift activity over the local airstrip when Gwen dropped the bombshell. He'd forgotten about Christmas.

Gwen beamed as she reached over for another pastry as she continued. "When I was a PC, we used to all go out for drinks, exchange gifts and that sort, but since we shouldn't leave Torchwood unmanned, I thought it might be nice to celebrate here."

Jack blinked as a plate of pastries was set by his coffee and…M&Ms? He looked up but Ianto was already moving around the room refilling everyone's cup. Ianto gave Jack an arched eyebrow when Jack poked at the little pile of chocolates, smiling to himself when Jack popped one in his mouth.

"I suppose we could do some kind of celebration," Jack replied, crunching thoughtfully. His eyebrows rose when he tasted something different. He once asked where Ianto was finding them, as all Jack could ever find were Smarties. Ianto would only murmur it was a trade secret. But the next day, there were little piles showing up on his plate and in the crystal dish on his desk that had been left empty since Alex Hopkins.

"You've never celebrated it before?" Gwen looked astounded.

A wiggling feeling curled in his stomach. "I always gave everyone the day off," Jack defended. He wished Gwen wouldn't look so shocked. 

Owen grunted. "Better that way. We all had plans."

"My family always gets together in London," Tosh nodded as she picked apart her Danish. "This year too. Ianto? You mentioned you have family here? Are you seeing them?"

Ianto appeared uncomfortable. "Maybe," he hedged, avoiding Jack's eyes. "They're gathering Christmas Eve. I haven't decided yet."

"Everyone gets the day off and the day after," Jack pointed out. He puzzled over why Ianto appeared disappointed. Maybe he wanted more time off? "Can't spare anymore than that," Jack said to everyone, but his eyes were on Ianto.

Gwen looked like she wanted to ask something, but chagrin crossed her face. She ducked her head, but Jack knew what she wanted to ask.

Jack smiled darkly to himself. Of course he would cover Torchwood, who else would it be?

"You said nothing ever happened during the holidays," Owen griped. He grabbed the last chocolate biscuit before Tosh could. He crammed it in his mouth and grinned at her. "Nothing's going to happen this year either."

"Weevils don't take holidays. Nor does the Rift," Jack reminded him. 

Gwen fidgeted in her seat, guilt on her face. "Maybe we should do shifts or—"

"It's fine," Jack interrupted. "No shifts."

"So you'll be here," Ianto said all of the sudden. "On Christmas?"

Jack frowned at Ianto's somber look. "I was last year. So?" What was the big deal? True, it was difficult being understaffed but it had been uneventful and Suz— _someone_ had kept him company during the nights. The last Christmas he remembered ever celebrating was spent huddling in the trenches. He woke up Christmas day to find that every one of his men had frozen to death. Jack wasn't exactly keen on repeating that again.

"We could do a little supper here," Gwen said brightly. "All of us. Get a tree. Some decorations, too. We could celebrate Christmas with you, Jack."

Jack inwardly cringed. He waved his hands at her. Sometimes, Gwen's enthusiasm and humanity was a bit scary. "That's alright." Jack flashed her a toothy grin. "Maybe I'll hit the bars if I get bored."

Owen, for some reason, growled under his breath. Ianto glowered behind his mug.

Okay, what was the matter with everybody? Jack wanted to throw up his arms. Gwen's brow was furrowed, Owen was giving him a dark look, Tosh kept glancing over at Gwen, and Ianto was frowning as if he wanted to say something.

"If the world isn't ending, we could do dinner outside or something, okay?" Jack rolled his eyes.

"Who's paying?" Owen narrowed his eyes. 

"Torchwood," Jack smirked. Figured that would be Owen's next question. "Pick a place! Ianto, just make the reservations for five, okay?" 

Everyone's strange expressions eased somewhat and they began discussing possible candidates. 

Jack tossed another M&M in his mouth. He could feel Ianto's eyes on him. Jack was confused. Was he supposed to be doing something else? His gut tightened, thinking about Ianto seeing his family. It was for the best, Jack thought glumly to himself as he drank his coffee. Ianto would see his family, realize his mistake with Jack and come to his senses instead of stubbornly holding on to something Jack knew could ruin him. It should only be just sex, damn it. 

Jack lowered his cup. It was suddenly too heavy to hold up. He scowled at himself. If he was going to do this, then he needed to go ahead and do this. Ianto, for the past couple of weeks, had seemed unimpressed by Jack's behavior, the occasional throwaway remarks or lewd stories. One night, he commented to Jack that he didn't think every memory always had something to do with sex, interrupting Jack's recount about the acrobat twins. Before Jack could say anything more to refute him, Ianto _distracted_ him. Very aptly. 

Tosh mentioned her little brother and Jack smiled tightly. There was family waiting for Ianto, too. Jack had read his personnel file; he had to in order to hire Ianto for the Cardiff branch. Jack could imagine the boisterous event. Ianto was so young and there were years before him to fill his own house with family. How could he deny Ianto this?

Jack blinked as he felt Ianto walk behind him to refresh his cup, his fingertips light against the back of Jack’s neck, drawing him out of his gloom before he collected the spent dishes by his right hand. 

"We spend enough time with each other anyway," Owen complained as he wiped his mouth and dropped the napkin on the table. "Now you expect us to spend even more time?"

"Just thought it would be nice," Gwen said defensively. "A little thing to do as a team that didn't involve aliens or work. It doesn't have to always be about work."

"It's Torchwood, of _course_ it's always about work!" Owen grunted. 

"Just a tree, maybe some garland and lights. We could put presents under the tree," Gwen coaxed, her eyes shifting to Jack. "It'll be nice."

"Lovely," Ianto deadpanned. "I'll put a vacuum under the tree. Should be festive enough." He scrunched up his nose and Jack bit back a snigger. 

Owen glanced over to Jack, his lips pursed. "No mistletoe though," he declared. "Don't want to give our captain any ideas."

Jack brightened as he crunched on more chocolate. He remembered mistletoe. Tosh mentioned Owen had kissed her under it as they waited for a cab at the pub everyone had gone to. It also hung by the coatroom of the Astoria ballroom. He helped Estelle into her coat and she had looked up. Estelle had cocked her head at him impishly and—

Bitterness slammed that memory shut. Jack swallowed the sugary chocolate in his mouth. It had turned sour in his throat. 

"See? See?" Owen was gesturing towards Jack. "Bet you he's already thinking about it! He'll have us snogging each other under that stuff." Owen glowered at each of them, his eyes drifting from Jack, then finally to Ianto.

Ianto looked up from collecting the dishes and caught Owen's smirk. He bristled.

"I rather _eat_ the mistletoe than stand under it with you, Owen!" Ianto snapped.

"You're not exactly my first choice either, Jonesy."

" _Jones_."

"Whatever."

Jack frowned to himself. "I thought mistletoe's poisonous."

" _Precisely_."

Jack leered towards them in general. "I don't know, I think it might be kinda hot." He waggled his brows and sure enough, Owen snorted.

To his surprise though, Ianto shot him a look not of disgust, but of amusement. 

"You would, sir." Ianto easily sat back down opposite Jack and lifted his cup up to his lips.

"Aye, he would," Owen complained. "Better watch it," he warned Gwen and Tosh. "He’d probably have you two girls snogging as well." 

Gwen and Tosh looked at each other for a beat, then at Jack.

"Again?" Gwen drawled to Tosh, who merely shrugged.

Both Ianto and Owen sputtered into their coffees.

Jack snickered at Tosh's wink towards him. Owen threw some remark over and Gwen squabbled back. Soon, both the Rift and Christmas were forgotten. 

Jack chuckled at their antics. He felt oddly relaxed listening to them. It reminded Jack of when he was traveling with Rose and him when he was… _different_. Jack once caught the Doctor smiling indulgently at him and Rose as they bickered over whether they should check out 21st century Cardiff or 42nd century Seattle. Rose won with a flip of a Gredarian coin and she looked so gleeful, Jack gladly conceded although he did scoff at her explanation that she needed to go back for her passport. 

"Please tell me it was recorded on CCT—Ow!" 

Owen reminded him of himself at times as he taunted Gwen and Tosh. Jack chuckled as the medic avoided a swat from Tosh. Gwen's, however, didn't miss. Tosh laughed and suddenly, Ianto chuckled. Even Owen snickered, chortling as he ducked another swat. 

God, he missed Rose. He could hear her echoing in the room and for a moment, it was like the past year had never happened and they were on the way to another time and place together. His gut ached watching them yet he couldn't bring himself to look away.

Jack smiled blithely whenever they turned to argue their point to him, not really caring if he agreed or not. Sometimes it felt like they just wanted to fill the room with noise and when the situation wasn't dire, Jack reveled in the human chaotic rambles called life. In this noise, Jack could forget he was not like them. In here, he could forget that he sends them into danger, possibly shortening their lives while he always return unscathed. Here, as they teased and joked with him, Jack forgets about the thing corrupting him inside out and just _lives_.

Sometimes.

Noticing Ianto staring over his cup at him, Jack's smile faded. Ianto had only looked mildly exasperated rather than disgusted with his previous remarks. As the three argued, Ianto sat there calmly having his coffee, his eyes glued to Jack with the same intensity of many nights before. 

Jack had woken up that night with Ianto draped over him, his arms firmly around Jack. He'd surprised Jack—a little voice whispered Ianto must have been doing research again—with the bold exploration of his body and almost possessive thrusts into him. Ianto had declared he was going to get rid of Jack's 'silly idea' and during that night, he almost did. There were points when Jack had grown lost, his mind silent of sneers for once, Ianto's liquid vowels filling his ears as he moaned his encouragement, his pleasure.

Ianto's body had gripped his cock, surrounding Jack as if forbidding him to leave, his body, his hands branding Jack's skin with a mark. It was an invisible tattoo Ianto seemed to be reading from across the table, his eyes unusually dark, disturbingly familiar yet the drumming in Jack's head didn't return. Rather, another odd beat rattled in his ears. It was new, alien, and surprised Jack so much he missed the question directed to him twice. It was only when Ianto lowered his mug, his lips now parted in concern, that Jack realized everyone was looking at him.

"What?" It was disconcerting to see everyone quiet and all frowning towards him. 

"I asked about gifts for a Secret Santa?" Gwen repeated, her expression curious.

"Secret Santa?" Jack repeated, really wishing there was a translator for him at times. That wasn't something he had come across during his time here. Everyone knew the pagan cultural figure so why was he a secret?

"I'm not sure," Ianto suddenly said out of nowhere, "if I fancy randomly picking a name out of a hat to see whom I should buy a gift for."

Oh. Secret Santa. That made sense…sort of. Jack darted a quick smile towards Ianto, who shrugged one shoulder in reply.

"I also don't particularly care," Ianto went on, keeping everyone's eyes on him, "in trying to figure out what to get Owen if I get his name."

"A vacuum?" Tosh snickered.

"Kama Sutra?" Jack suggested with a smirk.

"Oi!"

The laughter around the table washed over Jack and he relaxed back into his chair as Gwen collected names to put in a cup. Jack looked over to Ianto and couldn't explain why the wink sent over his way made his face warm. 

Must be the coffee.

 

It was transparent. 

Ianto stopped himself from rolling his eyes whenever Jack made another lewd remark. But when Jack's smile shifted over to him, it faded to confusion. Whatever Jack was expecting to find on Ianto's face, he didn't find it. It disturbed him that Jack would think that whatever it was he was looking for, it would be found on Ianto's face. It didn't look like it would have been something nice.

After he had found Jack half-dressed and staring lost at the bottled hand that night, Ianto was determined to find out more about their mysterious captain. He wanted to know what or who had put that look there. He wanted to know what he could do to peel away the shadows in Jack's eyes. Ianto could feel Jack's pain, acute and tangible like a blade to Jack's bared throat. Even as Jack trailed hot nips along his body, tasting Ianto hungrily as if starved, there was still a bit of hesitation, as if fearing the consequences of complete submersion. Ianto could feel Jack struggling not to get lost in the writhing, twisting clamor of their bodies every night.

No. Ianto could sense Jack's pining for complete release. Ianto wanted to give him what Jack so willingly gave him every night; bringing Ianto to utter completion then gently gathering the remains, offering a serenity he didn't partake himself. Ianto suspected it was because Jack felt like he didn't deserve it and every time Ianto thought about it, the urge to shatter that ghoulish glass container grew stronger. He could feel Jack trying to slip into the role he thought everyone saw him in, expecting Ianto to pull away.

Bollocks.

He now understood Lisa's answer when he first asked her out; she'd often said Ianto didn't make it easy and thinking back, Ianto realized her visits to the library he studied in, always sitting next to him in class, were what prodded him to ask her out. When he did—just coffee and then a walk back to her dorm—Lisa had smiled teasingly and answered finally.

Ianto watched Jack, bemused as the captain good-naturedly listened to Gwen's impractical suggestions on the holiday. Jack had on a wistful expression that faded to something more haunted when he thought no one was looking. Ianto bit back a frown. The more he saw the myriad of sorrowful expressions swirling on Jack's face, the more Ianto knew he didn't want them on his captain any more.

Jack looked over, his head tilted when he caught Ianto's expression, his brow knitted, perplexed. He arched an eyebrow questioningly, relaxing a little when Ianto smiled and shook his head. Jack gave him a brilliant smile from across the table and Ianto found the room suddenly very warm. He returned the gesture.

Then, as if remembering, Jack broke eye contact and teased Owen about getting him the Kama Sutra.

Ianto resisted sighing. Jack kept looking over to see if it bothered him and frankly, it worried Ianto more than it disgusted him. Captain Jack Harkness seemed quite determined to let Ianto Jones have the apparent 'normal' life Jack thought he wanted.

Well. Ianto was going have to change his mind. Ianto Jones once again had a plan. 

He was going to _court_ Jack Harkness.

 

**Act II**   
**Two days later…**

The bewildered little boy stood there by the lamppost and had cringed when Jack approached. Jack had escaped Gwen and Tosh's decorating frenzy—Owen wisely hid in his area when the girls began looping lights around all the railings—and had been wandering the shops all evening, Tosh's name on a slip of paper clutched in his glove, his mind a total blank when he caught sight of the child.

Blonde, pale grey eyes behind a floppy, golden fringe, the child couldn't have been more than seven, maybe younger. He was ignored, as shoppers were too busy with holiday shopping on the Plass to be bothered with a sniffling child clinging to a lamppost. 

The lost look in his eyes however, was familiar and beckoned memories decades of life couldn't bury. Jack knew the boy's hand must have held a larger one before, trusting that hand to keep him safe.

Jack crouched down to eye-level. "Are you alright?" Jack asked gently. 

The boy nodded bravely, sniffed loudly then slowly shook his head.

"Who were you with?" It was clear the boy was taught to be cautious. Jack kept his distance in order to not alarm the kid. "We can find a PC for you."

The child just sniffed again and hugged the lamppost tighter.

"Mother?" A little shake. "Father?" Tears this time, but still a no. "Big brother?"

It was confirmed with a little whimper and Jack's throat tightened. He tentatively patted the thin shoulder and apparently it was all he needed to assure him of Jack's sincerity. The child flung himself against Jack, arms around his neck, a quivering small mass, hiccupping and sobbing.

"Jack?" 

Ianto's voice was tentative but calm when he drew near, but the surprise was clear in his eyes. He stood there in his dark wool coat and red scarf, his face pink from the winter chill, several bags clutched in his fist. Jack smiled up gratefully at him.

"Seems his older brother is lost," Jack murmured. He pulled back and wiped the chubby cheek with the edge of his greatcoat's sleeve. 

"Ah," Ianto said, catching on. He pretended to sigh. "Older brothers can be so silly, always getting lost. People should tie string around their ankles like sheep."

Sure enough, the child gave a watery giggle.

Jack lifted up the boy's chin with a finger until overly bright eyes stared back at him.

"I was a big brother," Jack lowered his voice as if confiding to him. "I was always walking into doors, tripping…"

The answering timid smile was reassuring. The boy shuffled closer. Encouraged, Jack continued.

"I even walked right into a tree once! I didn't see it!"

"Trees are big," the boy shyly pointed out.

Jack smiled kindly at him. "See? Older brothers can even get lost, too. We'll find him." He patted the small back when the boy pressed closer, little fists to his eyes.

"Sammy!"

The tiny jerk told Jack there was no need to search. Jack dipped his head. "Stupid brother?"

Sammy gave a little nod and a tentative smile.

A man, not much younger than Ianto's age when they first met, jogged up to them. He wore an annoyed yet panicked look, his stride hurried and direct, the bags he was carrying flapped madly against him. He gave Ianto and Jack a wary glance as he stopped short of his little brother.

"Who the fuck are you?" the young man demanded of Jack before he directed his attention to the little boy.

"Sammy, you alright? These men bothering you?"

It was only the sincere concern in the brother's voice that spared him a good thrashing from Jack and from Ianto apparently because Jack could see the other man visibly bristling out of the corner of his eye. 

"You were lost," Sammy said reproachfully, still reluctant to pry himself away from Jack. 

The youth relaxed after his eyes scanned Sammy and determined the boy was unharmed. He reached over impatiently. "Come on, mum's waiting for—"

"Ianto," Jack said, scooping up the boy and with a little, "Whee" and a swing that made the child giggle, set him down in front of Ianto. "I think Sammy's thirsty. Wasn't that a hot chocolate shop over there?"

Understanding dawned and Ianto smiled pleasantly down at the boy. "Let's get something for you and your brother, hm?" He extended out his hand, letting the child lead him away. Ianto looked over his shoulder, lips pursed as they crossed the boardwalk.

The older brother jutted out his chin. Narrowed eyes stared suspiciously at Jack. "Look, mate, you did your good deed of the day, we do—urk!" His grey eyes bulged when Jack grabbed him by the collar with a fist.

"You let go of his hand, didn't you?" Jack hissed. 

The youth sputtered. "M-me? N-no, I held on! H-he…Get off me! What's your problem, you freak?" Rebellion flared and the young man shoved at him. 

Jack gripped him on the left shoulder, at the junction where it met his neck. He _squeezed_.

The young man squeaked and his knees shook. He stared at Jack, aghast.

"My problem is you are not watching out for him like you're supposed to," Jack said calmly, keeping the pressure on the nerve cluster there, still manageable under the man's thick winter coat.

"I t-told him to hold on," the youth protested. "It was crowded! He just weren't there! I held on as well I could!"

Jack's eyes burned. "I held on, too," he hissed. "I thought I had his hand, too. And you know what? You could tell yourself that _forever_ but it won't do any good. It won't make you feel any better!"

"Jack?"

Ianto's voice came like a bucket of cold water. Jack blinked. He saw the stark fear in grey eyes before him. Numb, he turned. Ianto stood there with a cardboard carrier of hot drinks balanced in one hand. The little boy, Sammy, held a fist of Ianto's trousers. He stared up at Jack with huge, scared eyes.

Abruptly, Jack let go and the young man staggered back.

Instead of running, instead of cursing Jack, the brother stumbled a step back. He stared. "W-what happened?" the other whispered fearfully.

Jack leaned in and stared at him. "I let go."

Grey eyes drank in what Jack wouldn't and couldn't say. The young man's eyes widened and the youth nodded, gulping. He flailed back a hand frantically until Sammy's hand slipped in. It was obvious no one was going to let go anytime soon.

"Bye," Sammy managed, before he took his drink, nearly spilling it when his brother pulled him close and hurried them both away. 

Jack waved until the two disappeared around the corner.

"What did you do to him?"

Jack turned back towards Ianto who made a gesture towards his neck.

"Oh. There's a cluster of nerves there." Jack shrugged. It was useful back in his days as a Time Agent. "If enough pressure is applied, it could render a person…" Jack stuck out his tongue, pretending to gag. His shoulders rose again. 

Ianto stared. "So…like a Vulcan nerve pinch?"

"Huh?" Jack screwed up his face. A Vulcan what? With all those tentacles, how could they pinch?

"Good God, you're Spock to my Kirk," Ianto muttered, looking a bit freaked.

"Kirk who? Spock?" Didn't Rose mention a Spock once? Jack was getting more and more confused.

"Never mind," Ianto hastened to say. "Vague telly reference. Very vague."

Jack pursed his lips. "Oh. Okay." Maybe Tosh could look it up for him. 

A cup with a cardboard sleeve floated in front of him, halting whatever Jack was going to ask. Jack blinked at Ianto, who stood there, carrier gone, his bags settled against his legs.

"Didn't look like he was thirsty anymore," Ianto explained as he took a sip of his own beverage.

Jack grunted his thanks before he took it. "Thought you went home," Jack said casually, not mentioning how dull his stomach felt when he looked up and realized Ianto had left for the evening.

"Shopping," Ianto gestured towards his bags. "We work around here, thought I might as well take advantage of the neighborhood." He arched an eyebrow at the bag by Jack's leg.

Jack grinned sheepishly. "Gwen's Secret Santa." Among other things. He'd found some chimes he thought would sound nice when a breeze blew through Flat Holm again. "I'm done now."

"Ah." Ianto blew into his cup before taking another sip. "I was going to ask if you wanted to go with me, but," Ianto shrugged. He looked faintly embarrassed. "You looked rather busy on the phone before."

Jack grimaced. "UNIT." Jack scowled. "They're asking for updated lists of all Torchwood employees. They wanted revised data to debrief whoever's going to be the new PM." The special elections to replace Harriet Jones were a short time away and as time drew closer, Whitehall and the acting director of Torchwood had been calling with increased frequency. Jack sighed as he took another sip of the thick, sweet drink. 

"I figured it was something important." Ianto gave a self-conscious laugh. "Thought it best I didn't bother you with something as mundane as shopping."

It occurred to Jack as soon as Ianto said it that he wouldn't have minded being interrupted for something that _mundane_. The thought of walking around with Ianto doing something as ordinary as shopping didn't sound boring at all. 

Jack cleared his throat before that weird thought could slip out and create more problems he wasn't willing to deal with. 

"What did you buy?" Jack craned his neck and peered at the bags, but everything was already wrapped. Leave it to Ianto to be so efficient.

Ianto chuckled and toed his bags out of the way. "Just a couple of things for some young nieces and nephews. Children are always easier to shop for."

The thought of Ianto surrounded by many young kids seemed fitting yet made his throat ache. Jack's mouth crinkled as he studied the bags and recognized some of the shops' logos for children's bookshops. "Love them?"

"Of course," Ianto sounded surprised at the question. "I'm afraid I tend to spoil them rotten though." He gave a disparaging laugh. "I would like to think I'm their favorite uncle."

"I'm sure you make a great uncle," Jack told him. Ianto would make a great father, too, a snide voice inside him added. 

"Thank you." Ianto flushed with the compliment. He gestured towards his wares with his cup. "Got you something, too."

Jack's brow rose high. "Did you pick out my name for the Secret Santa?"

Ianto huffed. A cloud of icy breath lingered between them. "Jack, the point to a Secret Santa is that it's a _secret_."

Jack's teeth flashed in a cheeky grin. "Yes, but if you got me something—"

"It wasn't because I picked your name. I didn't." Ianto didn't elaborate and just drank his hot chocolate.

Jack's eyebrows knitted. 

"Course," Ianto said slowly. "You'll need to try it on." A lazy curve on his lips spread behind the hot chocolate he was sipping.

Jack's mouth twitched. "Oh?"

Ianto's shoulders lifted briefly. "Just to be sure it fits." The smile he offered sent a shiver down Jack's back. 

His mouth went dry and Jack found himself in the very odd situation of not knowing what to say. Ianto's eyes held a promise in them and that unfamiliar whispering beat echoed in his chest once more.

"When would you like me to try it on?" Jack met Ianto's dark gaze with one of his own. 

The smile was pure invitation. "Tonight?"

 

Ianto kissed the damp skin beneath him before rolling off carefully. The salty tang was just as tongue tingling as on Lisa's glistening body. But there was something to be said about the slick taste of firm muscle, tinged in perspiration, heaving under his mouth, quivering wherever his teeth lightly grazed.

No, Ianto mused, it might have been an acquired taste before but one he suspected he would never tire of.

The quarters under Jack's office were dark, save the lurid blue light of the Rift monitors through the hatchway. It cast an ethereal hue over the rippled planes of Jack's body.

Ianto wasn't sure of the time, but he had woken up before Jack for once. He found himself with the unique opportunity to watch Jack, uninterrupted by the flinches and mutterings that usually visited Jack's often fractured sleep.

His chin propped up by his fist, Ianto laid on his right side, sandwiched once again between Jack and the wall. He had rolled off the bed once and after some fits of giggles, Jack had always made sure Ianto slept on the inside, claiming he was used to sleeping on narrow surfaces.

It was rare to observe Jack sleeping; to watch the lines and haunting shadows melt away from his face. He brushed a hand on Jack's bare left shoulder, noting that while it didn't wake him, Jack's head turned slightly towards him. 

On impulse, Ianto kissed his hair for that. 

Asleep, Jack looked like a different person entirely. He looked like a person who would laugh more easily, accepted joy more easily, and not as inclined to sink into fathomless depths of melancholy. Ianto couldn't help feeling like he's the only one privileged to see this.

Ianto kissed his hair again for that. Another thing he doubted he would ever tire from.

Jack opened his eyes and smiled drowsily at him. Once more, Ianto thought something stuttered inside his chest.

"I wake you?" Ianto whispered, a bit regretful that the moment was gone.

Hands absently wandered up his flank, splayed out as if to measure. Jack gave a gentle squeeze. Ianto could feel the warmth of his hand on him, a gentle brand that would probably stay on him all day. At least, he hoped so.

"You know," Jack mumbled, his eyes half-mast. "When you said I needed to try something on, I thought boxers or pants or…" Jack shrugged. His eyes opened further and a sleepy smile spread.

"Since when do I have to take off my clothes for cufflinks?" Jack fumbled for the small box by his pillow and tapped it on Ianto's nose.

The silver retro airplane cufflinks had caught Ianto's eye despite the fact he had entered the shop to look for something for Owen. Someone above must have been laughing when he drew the medic's name. 

"Did I neglect to say they were cufflinks?" Ianto asked innocently. He smiled cheekily down at him. "Must have slipped my mind."

"So you really didn't get my name for the Secret Santa?" Jack mused. He rotated the box. "So why…"

Something tightened in his chest at the sight of Jack's confused little frown. Ianto ran his tongue across his lower lip. "You know, traditionally, people just say thank you, Harkness."

"Thank you," Jack said automatically before he set the little box behind him by the pillow again. He pulled Ianto to lie halfway on top of him, his lax genitals brushing against the fold of Ianto’s hip. He waggled his eyebrows at him.

"So who _did_ you get for the Secret Santa?"

Ianto flicked at the rebel fringe of Jack's hair that stuck out. Jack laughed. It felt nice rumbling under him. 

"Go back to sleep. It's still very early," Ianto told him. As usual, Jack's own internal alarm clock woke him only few hours later. 

Jack's hands had been exploring spots on Ianto's skin. They paused on his lower back.

"Going home?" Jack asked nonchalantly.

Ianto yawned. "Not tonight." Ianto rested his forehead against Jack’s. "Too knackered to drive. Might end up putting my car up a tree."

"Well, that wouldn't be good," Jack joked lightly but Ianto caught a shadow receding from his eyes. "Who would make me coffee in the morning?"

Ianto scoffed but said nothing. He puzzled over what had flitted across Jack's face just before. True, Ianto often didn't stay the night. He needed to drive home, catch a few hours of true sleep, put on a fresh shirt. But Jack never asked him to stay; he just watched Ianto climb up the ladder, nodding almost patronizing when Ianto whispered to him to go back to sleep.

But if only Jack asked…

In the Ianto Jones' agenda for courting a certain Jack Harkness, Ianto had determined it should parallel Lisa. Well…not that he thought of Jack as a woman—the man was too much of firm muscle and hard planes to ever be mistaken for the female sex—but Ianto found Jack needed to be coaxed into considering this as something more than "just sex". The cufflinks was one. Surreptitiously sneaking in a few clean shirts so he didn't have to drive back to his flat was another. Although Ianto sweated about that one; it was rather brazen of him. 

"Is that the only reason?" Ianto breathed softly against Jack's collarbone. It was an odd erogenous zone he'd discovered and enjoyed revisiting over and over like that ticklish spot behind Lisa's knee. Ianto swirled the tip of his tongue into the hollows created by his collarbone and—Ah! Jack gave a full body shiver that vibrated into his body as well.

"You make really good coffee," Jack babbled. He retaliated with a finger ghosting Ianto's entrance and—Ianto gave his own shiver when it _dipped_. 

"Nice to be appreciated for my skills," Ianto gasped, arching back into Jack's finger, but damn it, Jack pulled it out. 

Ianto's own hands wandered as well, squeezing, touching spots as he relived his favorite parts: Jack's inner thigh, his hip, the swell between his legs, the tender skin at the curve of his neck, the pale skin near Jack's temple that the sun hasn't quite reached. Ianto reviewed these favorite parts with his hands, his mouth when his hands were too busy cupping Jack's genitals, his legs rubbed up and down Jack's strong calves. He could feel Jack flex his foot against him.

"I thought you wanted me to go back to sleep?" Jack yawned. He hummed, his hips surging up to press into Ianto's hands. "I think I'm awake now."

"Obviously," Ianto said archly when he felt velvet hardening to something throbbing hot in his grasp.

Despite enjoying watching Jack sleep, Ianto found he enjoyed watching Jack like this more. Jack thrusting into his pumping hand, his mouth lush from Ianto nibbling his lower lip, his neck stretched in a contradiction of swan grace and strength when cords bunched as he threw back his head.

Ianto's name never sounded so…so…just so much _more_ when Jack groaned out his name. Ianto never thought hearing his name called out by a deep baritone voice could bring such ripples down his spine, yet his fingers trembled when he heard Jack cry out his name like it was God himself. And then when Jack grinned wickedly, his arms wrapped around his shoulders to roll him onto his back, Ianto was very certain he liked Jack awake more.

 

There was that alien tempo again. It beat against his ears like a light kiss to his cheek. It coaxed him to wake; it promised him something other than the darkness and the ugly truth of his existence.

Jack stirred awake just as Ianto levered off him. He felt Ianto's lips on his brow before the other man got off the bed, his warmth painfully absent before it was replaced by the careful tucking of the afghan around his body. Jack kept his eyes closed and listened to Ianto pad quietly into the bathroom.

The muted shower in the dark sounded forlorn. Jack opened his eyes and stared at the hatchway above him. He watched the blue light shimmer like the ocean under the moonlight and thought how he would pass the rest of the night. Asking Ianto to stay the night was at the tip of his tongue, but he knew he couldn't ask. It would have too much meaning and cost behind the request. And if Ianto said yes, Jack knew it wouldn't be the last time. And he couldn't do that to Ianto.

"Going home?" Jack asked as casual as he could when Ianto emerged. He watched the slim shadow pause by his wardrobe. He laced his fingers behind his head.

Ianto's frown was audible in the dark. "Home? Why do you keep asking that? No, I thought I would get the office open soon."

Jack furrowed his brow. "So early?"

Ianto emerged out of the shadows, his hair damp from the shower, a new shirt unbuttoned and hanging open, trousers from before, a dotted royal blue tie dangling around his neck.

"Early?" Ianto echoed. He sat down on the edge of the bed to do his cuffs. Ianto glanced over and smiled in a quiet way as if he was thinking of something funny he'd prefer to keep to himself.

"Jack, it's a quarter after seven." Ianto dipped his head, kissed Jack’s shoulder and straightened. 

Astounded, Jack fumbled for his watch and squinted at the dark face. Sure enough, it was the next day. Jack gawked at it.

"You've slept all night." Ianto looked pleased for some reason. "I don't know if I should be happy for you or insulted that you were able to sleep around me."

Not sure about the first part, Jack offered him a leer. "You wore me out." It was amusing to see Ianto blush.

"Yes, well…" Ianto scratched his jaw with a finger. He wore a sheepish, shy smile Jack found adorable. Ianto then turned and leaned back over Jack's legs.

"Too early for a question?"

Jack tsked. "Only if you answer one of mine first."

Ianto raised an eyebrow.

There were parts of him still tingling in the afterglow of Ianto's touch. "Where," Jack gestured towards his upper thighs. "Did you learn to do _that_?"

"Hm?"

Jack smirked, his fingers slyly wrapping around the thigh closest to him and pressed where he knew the artery thumped under ironed wool trousers.

Ianto's eyes widened. His ears pinked. "Ah… _that_. I uh…" A coy smile and smoky eyes looked Jock's way. 

"I had a very good teacher." Ianto hummed, his fingers grazing the afghan that covered Jack.

Let's hear it for higher education, Jack thought with a daze as he could feel those elegant, talented fingers dance over the parts of him that still vibrated from Ianto's coy touch in the dark. "You were a fast learner."

"Mm, thank you very much. Can I have my question now?"

Jack blinked. He looked at Ianto, waiting.

"I was a big brother?" Ianto repeated from yesterday.

Damn, Jack had hoped that Ianto hadn't hear that part. Jack waved a hand in the air. "Oh. That. In the future, I mean."

"No, I distinctly heard you say was."

Because I screwed up and you only become a big brother once, Jack thought, his throat working. 

A hand settled on his blanketed thigh. Ianto's expression was serious.

"Sorry," Ianto uttered somberly. "Perhaps I should have asked a different question."

Jack offered him a shaky smile. "Telling you who I got for Secret Santa would have been easier," he admitted. Ianto's hand was a comforting weight on his leg. 

"I…I lost him…when we were young." Jack paused. What was he doing? He hadn't planned on saying anything.

Ianto looked just as surprised. His expression softened, his hand now stroking the blanket and Jack's leg underneath.

"You never forgave yourself." Ianto didn't say he was sorry. He didn't offer empty, pointless sympathies. Somehow, it made hearing the hard truth of loss easier. 

"No." Jack sighed. He stared up at Ianto in wonder. "I never told anyone." Well, almost, and not willingly. The only other one who knew was because they were stuck together for five years. That was the last time he was ever going to touch Brehamian brandy ever again. 

The confession made Ianto's eyes a bit brighter. He smiled, lowering his eyes.

"Thank you," Ianto murmured, his lips hovering over Jack's mouth before he pressed them lightly to his. 

"For what?" Jack whispered as he stared at Ianto's mouth. 

Ianto's sad smile shone in the dark. Jack could see himself in his eyes.

"For telling me." Another kiss, this time to his brow and Ianto rose to his feet. His fingers expertly finished up his buttons and his tie. "A little breakfast?" he asked as he smoothed his hands over his suit jacket.

Jack blinked at the spot by the ladder where Ianto was before. What was Ianto thanking him for?

Wait, was that a new shirt?

 

 **Act III** _"She'll know I'm missing by now."_  
 **December 18**

_…thrum-thrum-tap-tap…_

They fell through back to Earth. They didn't go mad seeing a dark star or had their minds destroyed watching a sun burn out of existence. They flew into the Rift and the Rift spitefully returned them physically whole but over fifty years too late.

Jack pinched a spot between his eyes and lifted his head from the newspaper clippings Tosh found in the archives. How ironic that a man from the future would try to rehabilitate lost people from the past. Jack didn't know if he should laugh. When Tosh reported the fluctuation spike over the airstrip, Jack had feared that the _storm_ Alex Hopkins foresaw spilling from a torn sky was today.

He thought this was just as bad.

Jack leaned into his chair and turned the old camera he was given charge of in his hands. He wondered if it would be kind or cruel to develop the family photos. What purpose would seeing his present become the past serve displaced John Ellis?

A bitter laugh and Jack set the camera down carefully. 

"1953."

Ianto stood there, looking still a little stunned from when the three returned with Jack, Gwen, and Owen. He set down a tray of sandwiches and pot of coffee and nudged a triangle towards Jack. 

"Everyone had dinner already before they left." Ianto tucked a napkin into his collar, took a sandwich half himself and took a large enough bite that told Jack Ianto had waited for him. The coffee, however, was still steaming hot.

"And they're fine? No ill effects?" 

Jack recalled how John Ellis shook his hand firmly in the hostel and promised he would look after the girls. He was a man from an era of modern chivalry and responsibility.

"Well, considering everything they knew is now gone, they're doing okay." Jack shrugged. Jack dropped the sandwich back onto his plate; what little appetite he had was completely gone. He waved wearily at the pile of clippings he was going to give them. "So much has happened. I don't know how we're going to get them to the 21st century." Jack lifted his gaze and met Ianto's. 

"I need you to get some papers and background for them." Jack's mouth twisted. "And maybe take them shopping? Get them…adjusted?"

Ianto nodded. "Of course." He sat down on a corner of Jack's desk and wiped his mouth with a napkin. Ianto frowned at Jack's plate and switched his sandwich for another. He pushed the plate back towards Jack again. He nodded, satisfied, when Jack took a bite.

"At least it wasn't another alien spaceship." 

Jack laughed, but it felt funny coming out. He swallowed, but didn't taste anything. "Gwen said almost the same thing. Said it was better since they were human." Jack shook his head, his stomach churning.

"You don't agree?"

The black and white article about the Millennium Stadium stood out on his desk. Jack shrugged. 

"It's not that simple." Jack stared out his office door and its stained glass panes. The tree Gwen had set up by the archway of the infirmary caught his eye. Its shiny tinsel shone through the glass but still looked grey and listless. Oh well, Gwen had tried. She meant well.

"Another question?" Ianto asked softly.

Jack shrugged as he idly sorted through the clippings with a finger.

"Was someone there to help you adjust when you arrived?" Ianto murmured quietly despite the fact no one was in the Hub. "There were files from …" Ianto paused, trying to remember, "1909?"

"I was here longer than that." Jack shrugged one shoulder. "I arrived around 1869 until we met up in 1941." Again, Jack added bitterly. That year seemed to hold a place for him. He met up with the Doctor twice in that year.

Ianto exhaled. "So no one helped you?"

Jack scoffed. "Torchwood recruited me as a freelancer in 1899. They didn't specialize in…temporal displacement rehabilitation at the time."

"That is a mouthful," Ianto commented lightly. He didn't look bothered by the reminder of Jack's long years. "So it was just you?" Ianto sounded sad for some reason.

"It wasn't too bad."

"Are you lying?"

Jack looked up. His smile felt brittle on his face. "Kind of." When Ianto's face fell, Jack hastily added, "But he came back so it was fine."

Again, Ianto didn't ask who _he_ was, but his mouth thinned at the mention and his voice hardened. "So you were here alone for seventy years before he returned. How did you get here? The Rift?"

Death smelled putrid in the artificial air. His calls to a space station completely exterminated went unanswered. 

"You could say that," Jack answered in a dull voice. He rubbed the skin under his leather wrist strap. He could still feel the bindings on him, the tubing that slid painful and hot into his veins, the tearing of the Vortex from him, like flaying strips of flesh off him with barbed wire. Jack choked; he remembered shivering in the dark when dry, hot hands flipped him, breached him as he was told how everything he was doing wasn't enough. He failed, unable to fix himself and was still doomed to watch everything disappear around him…

_…thrum-thrum-tap-tap…_

It was so dark. So cold. So alone. And Jack had wanted nothing more to know he wouldn't be alone again. But everyone leaves. Everyone. It wasn't their fault. It was his. 

_…thrum-thrum-tap-tap…_

The pain had come steady like a regular visitor in his room. The tearing agony marked time as he traveled with a soul who loathed the sight of him yet couldn't tear himself away from Jack's body. And he punished them both by sterilizing their encounters to brute, blunt, animalistic strokes.

_…thrum-thr—_

Ianto's hand cupped the back of his neck. The darkness receded. 

"Come back," Ianto said quietly. His fingers kneaded the stiff muscles that tensed in his shoulders. "Jack, wherever you are. You're right here. Not there…"

Jack took a shuddering breath. He leaned forward, elbows on the desk, the heels of his hands pressed into his eyes. Ianto made no judgments. He didn't mock him when Jack shivered. Nor did he shush him when the sigh he exhaled hardened to something more frightened. Ianto just sat there, his hand around Jack's neck, a warm, soothing tether to here and now.

The hand vanished but before Jack could panic, mentally flailing, a cup was pressed into his hands. Jack gulped down the scalding brew before its burn registered on his tongue. Jack felt the empty cup pulled away, refilled and set down in front of him. 

"Thanks," Jack coughed and reached for the new coffee. He paused when it became a dish of sandwiches instead.

"You haven't had dinner yet." Ianto plucked another triangle from the tray. "Nor have I. The least you could do is keep me company." Ianto hesitated before adding, "There's some M&Ms for dessert."

Jack chuckled weakly but he copied Ianto and bit into a sandwich. "Are you trying to bribe me with candy?" Jack teased. "I'm not a kid."

"I don't know. Despite your age, you have this infuriating talent of not eating at proper times."

"I was busy," Jack grumped. He polished off two halves, suddenly realizing he _was_ hungry. "Besides, it's not like I can starve to death." Been there, _so_ not doing that again. 

"Bony elbows and knees aren't very attractive to me," Ianto quipped. He waggled a triangle at Jack. "Sex is very awkward when you're being poked." At Jack's smirk, Ianto rolled his eyes. "Not by _that_ , of course."

"I knew all you wanted from me was my body," Jack quipped. He grinned wanly, but that last bite was sticking in his throat. That's how he had wanted it to be, damn it. Jack forced another smirk, swallowed hard and reached for his coffee.

"Oh, I want more than that, but I'm very patient." Ianto smiled secretively.

Huh?

Jack gazed up at him, perplexed. Ianto just shrugged. He nodded towards the sandwiches again to which Jack acquiesced with a roll of his eyes.

There was no talking, but a relaxing silence as they ate.

"I uh…" Ianto began after Jack finished another half. He pointed towards the workstations. "It'll take me a while to get their paperwork ready." He looked at Jack, his eyes dark. 

Jack nodded solemnly but the corner of his mouth twitched. "Be too late to drive home then." 

"I think I may need some alternate accommodations, sir," Ianto said in a low voice. He spread his legs apart just a little. Jack slipped a hand between Ianto's legs and watched Ianto flush as Jack massaged the swell in his trousers. Ianto closed his eyes briefly as his hands reached over and carded through Jack's hair.

"I think we can arrange something," Jack whispered as he rolled his chair so he was settled between Ianto's legs. Both hands now kneaded Ianto's upper thighs. He could feel Ianto's breath over his hair as Ianto hunched over him like a living shelter. 

"I was hoping you'd say that," Ianto breathed before he lowered his head and sealed his mouth over Jack's. 

 

 

 **Act IV** _"What, did you fall through time, too?"_  
 **December 20**

The drive back to the hostel was somber. Jack spared John a glance, nothing more as the man sat too still, his posture not inviting any sort of communication.

At the traffic light, Jack slowed down the SUV. He wished he had taken one of the others' personal cars. The equipment, monitors and gauges were intimidating enough to the team when they all had first encountered them. John, the displaced shopkeeper, former businessman, sat rigid in the passenger seat.

As soon as the light changed, Jack switched gears and started up again.

John cleared his throat. "Sorry," he said gruffly.

"For what?" Jack could see John's hand tentatively touch the dashboard.

"Back there. In the pub. I didn't mean to demand you find my boy." John coughed, shifting as if the seat didn't quite fit. Nothing did any more. He couldn't even comfortably smoke his pipe in the pub or in the hostel.

"I didn't mean to let out my frustrations at you," John said stiffly, too old-fashioned to indulge in revealing confidences, yet also too honorable to let his actions go unpunished.

"It's a difficult position to be in," Jack said quietly. "I think you're entitled."

"He's my boy, you see."

Jack nodded.

"Alan was just becoming a man when I left. We were going to have a new life, a better life in Dublin."

Jack wanted to tell John he still can, but he feels it belittles his present/past. Jack blinked hard. None of them were expecting to put their world into the past tense; _was_ instead of _is_ , _had_ instead of _have_. It wasn't fair.

The steering wheel squeaked under his curling hands.

"It's what all fathers want to do," John continued, his voice so gruff, Jack had to strain to hear. "We all just want to watch our children grow up. That's life. And I don't have that, Jack."

It was like Ianto was talking to him, years later down a life Jack might have condemned him to. 

The road blurred for a second.

"I only wanted to see my boy grow up, see what kind of man he becomes, see the girl he marries, hold my grandchildren. That's all. Grow old with my wife. Retire. I never wanted much." John heaved a sigh. 

"I feel like I've been cheated out of my life, Jack. Seeing my boy again…it won't make up for it, but if I can see what a full life he had, it'll be something."

Jack nodded, unable to speak. He sighted the hostel and drove up to the curb. He watched John climb out of the SUV after a few seconds of trying to figure out the latch. Jack didn't help him, smiling briefly when John made a triumphant sound when he sorted it out on his own.

John stooped down and peered through the open window.

"I'll find him," Jack promised, extending out his hand. John gripped it with an intensity that Jack hoped was the strength that would see John through.

"Thank you, Jack." John smiled briefly, hope flaring up in his eyes. He nodded curtly and strode in like he would his own house.

Jack watched for a moment, stared at the businessman's back before he drove back to Torchwood, his stomach cold and heavy, John's words echoing in his ear. He stopped the SUV outside the Millennium Stadium. He rested his forehead against the steering wheel and swallowed convulsively. He fought the urge to throw up.

 

The Hub was quiet when Jack walked through the cog doors. It wasn't a surprise since Jack had deliberately taken a long time, telling Ianto when the younger man had called that it would be too late by the time he returned. Ianto was very quiet over the mobile but agreed, oddly reluctantly, that it would be more practical for him to go home for the night.

Nevertheless, the silence was depressing when Jack scanned the central area. He wearily noted that Gwen and Owen's stations looked untouched and hoped their charges were faring better than John. They were both young women, in Diane’s case with no attachments, and stood a better chance of seeing this as a new adventure rather than a death sentence.

Jack's shoulders slumped and suddenly, taking another step seemed to require too much. The promise he made sounded foolhardy, like the photos Jack had developed for John. The past was proving not to be shoring him up for the future. Instead, it was crumbling the very foundations under John's feet. 

The silver garland and small tree huddling by the infirmary served to only add to his gloom. Some of the presents were already under the tree and Jack stared at the display. He wondered if this was going to be the life of Torchwood; celebrating holidays in the watery, crumbling underground hole. 

"Getting to be bit of a Scrooge, are you?" Jack muttered to himself. This was ridiculous. John's words had settled it for Jack. It was the right decision. He…he shouldn't be standing here…wishing.

_…thrum-thrum-tap-tap…_

No one would thank him for being selfish.

_…thrum-thrum-tap-tap…_

Jack didn't want anyone else telling him he was cheated out of life.

Shoulders slumped as he scanned the Hub. Going down the hatchway didn't appeal to him and sadly the Rift alarms had been silent. Maybe Weevils do take a holiday. 

He spotted the short pillar with the two jars. It had been silent all this time; no Time Lords returning, no one to fix him. Like Jack, that hand would stay unchanged. The bubbling was audible from where Jack was.

Jack hesitated, shedding his greatcoat as he walked over. He could hear the hand tapping the echo in his mind.

Rounding down to the depression where the column stood, Jack stopped short.

There was a post-it on the jar.

Jack's brow knitted together as he leaned over. He blinked at the note.

 _This isn't your bed. Go to sleep_ , it read in Ianto's neat, small handwriting.

Jack stared at it. He smirked wryly. Okay, he wasn't expecting _that_. Jack reached over to peel it off. There was another one underneath it.

 _You're still here?_ _Have you forgotten where your bed is?_ There was a tiny map that marked his hatchway with an _X_ that ended the note. The last post-it had a crude drawing of a stick figure on a rectangle, Zs trailing above. _Now_ , was scrawled in capital letters below it. 

Shaking his head, still smiling faintly, Jack clutched the yellow post-its as he headed for his office, his greatcoat draped over his arm. Jack was surprised he wasn't mad that Ianto had placed post-its on the stasis jar. Owen avoided it now ever since he accidentally spilled coffee on the column, nearly shorting its power source. Jack had yelled long and loud enough that the medic and everyone—except Ianto, in fact—avoided talking to him for the rest of the day.

There was a covered plate with another note—in purple no less—from Ianto; a bold _Dinner_ was scribbled on it with a marker. Taking off the cover revealed some warmed up vegetarian pizza, minus broccoli, extra eggplant.

Jack sat there, eating the pizza, rereading the notes as he chewed. He'd discovered two more notes; one on the ladder as he descended, applauding him for remembering where his bed was, and another on his pillow that read _Good Night_ with a smiley dotting it. 

It was with a chuckle that Jack finally fell asleep, Ianto's post-its tucked under his pillow. He forgot about John, about the whoosh-whoosh of the TARDIS, or the hand sneering at him in the jar.

He didn't dream the entire night and woke up to a tray of fresh coffee and three packets of M&Ms waiting on his desk.

 

 **Act V:** _"John's witnessing the end of his world, the end of his line. And we can't help."_  
 **December 22**

It left a bad taste in his mouth watching John across his desk. The man sniffed loudly, blowing his nose into a handkerchief. 

It was the final straw when John couldn't count out the right change for the bus after the nursing home. In a way, Jack could sympathize, but unlike him, John didn't have Torchwood to bury himself in. 

When people get older, they tend to get colder, more weatherworn. Jack thought watching what was happening with John, with Emma and Diane, would just be like yet another victim of the Rift. It took and it gave back, whether intact or not, on a whim but it was never personal. Hence, Jack tried to treat it as such, as just one more phenomena Torchwood needed to archive or fix.

There was no way to fix this. Just like him. 

Jack watched John take a gulp of the brandy Jack kept in the decanter by his desk. The amber liquid was found in a bottle tucked in a drawer at the bottom. Another artifact from Hopkins' rule. It was already half-empty. 

"What is this Rift?" John spoke finally, looking into the snifter with dull eyes. 

"We're not really sure."

"Why does it do this? Take people away from their world and abandons them in the future?"

Stomach leaden, Jack couldn't think of a good enough response. Jack could see Ianto and Tosh outside, tentatively orbiting around his office, looking both eager and reluctant to come in. Jack gave a mild headshake to them as John finished his drink. The two exchanged a look, lingered a bit longer before finally returning to their stations. Ianto settled his fingertips on the glass, however, his eyes on Jack in a silent moment of communication before he left. 

Jack smiled tiredly. It felt like a hand cupped to the back of his neck again. 

"Can't we just go back into this thing?"

Jack leveled a grim gaze at him. "There's no guarantee you'll return back home. I can't even promise you'll come through alright."

"Well you have all these fancy gadgets and machines, can't they take us back?"

Jack stared at him, never averting his gaze as he replied, "No." It would do them no good to hold on to such hope.

John didn't argue with him after that. He didn't offer another suggestion. His broad shoulders dropped and suddenly he looked very small. John felt small, crying on Jack's shoulder by the bus stop. It was only because he thought Jack was lost like him that John allowed himself this one weakness. But Jack wasn't lost. He was trapped, but it was a distinction he couldn't bring himself to point out. 

"My boy's a fireman," John said all of the sudden with a little pride. "Just like his old man during the war." He smiled, but then it faltered. "Was. He _was_ a fireman." John set the glass down rubbed his forehead. "I never got to see it."

"I read his record," Jack offered. "He saved many lives. You would be proud—"

"I was proud the moment I held him when he was born!"

Jack's mouth pressed thin. "You can't do anything to change the past—"

"That wasn't the past! It was _my_ _life_!" John shot up to his feet. "I would have been dead by now and never known what became of my boy!"

"But now you do," Jack pointed out quietly.

John shook his head. He squeezed his eyes shut. "But I didn't want to know this! I would have died with hope, knowing my boy might turn out…how do I live on knowing what I know now? No parent ever wants to know this!" Anguish leeched the color from John's gaze. He looked so old now. 

"I still see him sitting on my knee, punching the air. That…that wasn't my boy back there. It wasn't! He's…he's older than me now! No wife, no children! He's all alone and I can't tell him his dad is back next to him. I would have gladly taken care of him but he doesn't even know I'm his dad!"

John pivoted and made as if he was going to walk out, but he stopped short of the door. 

"I almost wished you hadn't found him, Jack." John turned around, his eyes glittered overly bright. "I at least had hope before."

Jack lowered his chin and sighed. "Me, too. I'm sorry, John. But this isn't the end. I know it feels like it but it isn't. Not for you."

John laughed bitterly. "So now life goes on?"

"Sometimes, it's the only way," Jack whispered. He eyed his glass of water, tempted to switch. "Sometimes the only thing you _can_ do is to keep living." 

John stared at Jack. "The only way?" he repeated.

"You keep living, keep surviving with what you have."

A bitter twist of the mouth answered. "That what you did, Jack?"

Jack matched the intensity of his gaze. He didn't flinch. "Yes," Jack said firmly. 

It was the only thing he _could_ do. 

 

 **Conclusion:** _"It's just bearable. It has to be. I don't have a choice."_  
 **December 23**

The call, when it finally came in, didn't sound like Jack. 

Ianto had been waiting by his desk, absently straightening, waiting to hear back about his car, his keys, and John Ellis. Time crawled since Jack had bolted out and Ianto was about to dash out for a cab when his mobile beeped.

"Jack?" Ianto didn't check to see who it was. 

_"John's dead."_ Jack sounded weary, defeated. _"I was too late. Sorry about your car."_

Ianto closed his eyes briefly. "Never mind the car," Ianto murmured. "You alright?"

 _"Me?"_ Jack gave a short laugh. _"John killed himself, not me."_

"I know, but—"

 _"I'm already in the garage with the body. I'm coming down with it."_ The line cut off.

Ianto took a deep breath and braced himself for Jack's return.

 

Jack stood there in the medical bay, by the railing, his arms folded in front of him. He watched, with a sense of detachment and lingering lightheadedness from the fumes, while Ianto filled out the clipboard. 

John's body was zipped up and laid out on the gurney for the temporary cold storage. Owen would perform an autopsy after the holidays. It was a waste of time though. Jack could tell Owen how Ellis died.

He was there.

"You smell like exhaust." Ianto was tentative, his eyes barely staying on Jack for too long. Ianto glanced over at the white body bag. 

"Garage," Jack offered. He stared at the profile and couldn't help but feel a little betrayed. _He_ fought, _he_ stayed, why couldn't John? "He stuck a hose into your car from the exhaust pipe. I uh…the entire garage was filled." It was _technically_ the truth.

"You tried," Ianto just said quietly. "You all did."

"Last I checked, Emma was going to London and Owen insists Diane was looking for a job. Neither of them was going to get in a car and asphyxiate themselves."

It first came out as a sigh, but ended in a hiss before Jack realized it. When he saw Ianto flinch, Jack's head dropped. 

"Sorry," Jack rasped. "That…that wasn't about you. I…this just was not how I wanted it to end for him."

Ianto glanced over at the body bag and nodded, his mouth crinkled downward. "I don't think it was how he imagined his life would be either." He looked at Jack steadily.

"I don't think anyone can guess where their life would be going."

Jack's mouth soured. "And some can be so blind as to where they're heading," Jack seethed. "Sometimes someone _has_ to step in for their own good."

"You tried that, Jack."

Startled, Jack's eyes flew up to Ianto, who stared back unblinking.

"It was John's choice to die. Nothing you said or did would have changed his mind."

Jack broke eye contact and shrugged. 

"It was his choice, Jack. A tragic one, but it was his choice."

At least he _had_ a choice, Jack thought bitterly. Unbidden, his eyes burned. He thought about what John said. He did everything expected of life, yet missed out on the most important part of all and never saw his efforts grow and prosper. Would Alan have been this alone had John been there? Would there have been a different path for him had John remained? What life could John have now, knowing about Alan? Would he have had more children? Jack knew it was a fruitless question but one that had haunted John. Whatever answer Ellis came up with wasn't enough to keep him here. Trapped in another time, John Ellis found the one thing Jack Harkness didn't have to escape.

Jack was once again jealous of the dead. 

A shadow crossed his and Jack blinked at the floor before lifting his heavy head. Ianto stood in front of him, his brow furrowed.

"I've been calling," Ianto said gently, his young eyes looking so much older than they should.

Jack's mouth twisted to something of a smile. "I was thinking."

"Uh oh," Ianto teased lightly. "That can't be good. I wouldn't recommend it. Don't think." He sobered. "Really. Don't."

Jack ignored Ianto, veering away from the hand he saw Ianto about to reach out and stood by the gurney.

"Paperwork's done?" Jack asked briskly.

He could hear Ianto's confusion. "Uh…yes. I'll just move him—"

"I'll do it." Smoothly, Jack lowered the gurney to line up the body with chamber two. As the body slid into the compartment, Jack paused crouching by the door before he shut it. He didn't turn around.

"Sorry about your car."

Ianto's sigh held a little frustration. "Sod the car. Jack—"

"I called a rental agency for you," Jack cut him off. "The one outside Ramsey's pub. By the garage where you usually park. There's a car reserved."

Ianto sounded taken aback. "You didn't have to do that…"

Jack now turned around as he rose back to his feet.

"Everyone's off tomorrow," Jack reminded him. "You have family for Christmas?"

Ianto seemed to deflate. "Actually," he confessed, "I still haven't decided. The last time I was there, I was with Lisa."

His stomach seemed to harden; the lump that resided there sharpened and dug into his belly. His guts knotted.

"They don't know?" Jack kept his voice steady.

"No, they know, but I…" Ianto shrugged, his eyes downcast. "Just wasn't sure if I was ready to see them yet without her."

"One thing I learned from this," Jack said, approaching Ianto. He dropped an arm over Ianto's shoulders, "is time is very fleeting for you people. And family …" Jack stopped at the top of the stairs and dropped his arm. 

"Enjoy them while they're still here."

Ianto exhaled and nodded reluctantly. He gave Jack a sideways glance.

"What about you?"

Him? Startled, Jack blinked. "I'll be here."

The answer didn't seem to agree with Ianto. He pursed his lips.

"Would you…ah…like to come with me?"

Jack didn't expect that question and he stared at Ianto for a beat before he laughed, his throat aching.

"'Hi, meet my boss, oh, by the way, I shag him every so often while the coffee's brewing.'" Jack chuckled, shaking his head and stepping back. "I don't think so. Besides, can't leave Torchwood alone."

He could feel Ianto's gaze on his back. 

"Is that what you think?" Ianto sounded a little hurt. "You really think this is just about sex? Still?"

What else can it be? Jack stared at the stasis jar in the distance, blue frothing liquid that gleamed under the Hub's lighting. 

Jack set his jaw and didn't answer.

"Look, why don't you just come with me—"

"Someone needs to be here," Jack barked, not meaning to.

Stubbornly, Ianto huffed. "Fine. We can stay her—"

"Did _that_ not teach you _anything_?" Jack spun around, his arm wildly waving towards the infirmary. He barely missed Ianto. Wide-eyed, Jack stared at Ianto. Slowly, his arm lowered.

"Go home, Ianto. You have family. Be with them. That's what life is." Jack gestured around him. "Not this."

Ianto leaned back against the railing that led down to the medical bay. He sighed.

Jack smiled wanly "See you on Boxing Day, okay?" 

Ianto nodded towards the tree. "Everyone has decided on that restaurant at the end of the wharf for dinner."

They had all sat there: Mickey, Rose, Jack and the Doctor. Jack couldn't even remember what they were laughing about. All he remembered was that he was happy. So happy with life finally, so glad to sit there and have absolutely nothing to do but to laugh, and God, that was so long ago, but barely months to Ianto…

"Jack?"

Jack's face hurt when he smiled again. "Sounds fine. Hear their fish and chips is good."

The smile didn't assure Ianto and a pinched, anxious look was still on his face. Ianto stared at Jack, his eyes glued to him.

"I could stay if you want," Ianto blurted out. He blinked as if that wasn't what he originally wanted to say.

Jack chuckled. It felt like glass in his throat. "Stay?" He approached Ianto and settled his hands on Ianto's shoulders.

"Why would I want you to stay?" Jack smirked; it felt like his face would crack. "Torchwood doesn't pay for overtime." He gave those tense shoulders a pat and stepped back. 

"Go. Be a favorite uncle. I'll see you in two days." Jack nudged and prodded Ianto, who didn't really have a chance to protest as Jack walked him to the invisible lift. 

"I'll have my mobile," Ianto hedged. He raised a foot to the lift, then lowered it. He spun around. "Jack, I really don't thin—mmpf…"

The moment Jack saw Ianto tense, his back straightening, he knew. He walked up and as soon as Ianto turned around, Jack kissed him. 

There was a muffled protest from Ianto before he relaxed into the kiss, his hands dangling at his sides as Jack thoroughly explored his mouth. He stood there blinking when Jack pulled away.

"Mistletoe," Jack murmured against his jaw. He gave Ianto's chin a stroke with a knuckle.

Ianto blinked and peered up at the opening on the surface. The water sculpture sprinkled above them.

"Mistletoe?" Ianto said in a bit of a daze. "Where?"

Jack guided him up the lift, made sure he was sure-footed, then activated the lift. Ianto started as it began to move, but thankfully he righted himself.

"It was in my pocket," Jack shouted out to him through cupped hands.

"That's cheating!" Ianto yelped half-heartedly before whatever else he was going to say was swallowed up above.

The grin on Jack's face vanished as soon as the lift was out of sight. He remained there, his hands in his pockets, the pterodactyl cawing inside its elevated cave above him.

When his back began to ache from standing too long, Jack climbed down the short steps to the central main area. He flipped a salute to the tree before he headed back to his office. And he sat there, not really looking at the files he meant to work on, for how long, he didn't know. But his knees began to grow numb and his back began to bow so he pushed off from his desk and headed over to the one thing that had made sense before.

There was no post-it this time telling him to go to bed. Jack settled down on the floor in front of it, his greatcoat fanned out under him. 

He sat there for what felt like hours, staring at the hand in the jar. He wondered why the rhythm thumping in his head sounded different. It was steady. A single one-two beat that held no message, no taunt. It sounded like…

It sounded like a heartbeat.

Jack settled his hand against his own chest. No. That wasn't it. Jack checked again. His own heart beat sluggishly. Not surprising. Over a hundred years of beating and stopping, no wonder it sounded lethargic. How will it sound like after a hundred more? A thousand? A—

Jack choked. He was afraid to count beyond that. There was no point. The years will accumulate, his damn heart will keep beating, and Jack has no choice in the matter.

A sound, a cross between a sob and choke, escaped despite him pressing his fist into his mouth. Jack sucked in his breath, held it for as long as he could, until he saw spots, until his lungs burned and then…a gasp. His body, unwilling to cooperate, forced him to draw a breath.

It was a natural instinct to draw a breath, to beat a heart, to _live_. Why did Ellis have to go against nature and interrupt it?

Jack tried again. He snarled when once more his body rebelled and jerked his body until his chest filled with air. He rested his face on drawn up knees, coughing as his lungs fought for the air he tried to deny it. His body didn't care if it was around ten, seventy or a thousand years, it wanted to live.

" _Don't I have a choice_?" Jack screamed to the air above. The pterodactyl squawked in surprise. It was the only response. 

Jack dropped his head into his arms, pulled his knees in and fought to keep that lump in his stomach at bay. It had been honed into a sharp stone, gouging and digging from the inside. It struggled to travel out through his throat, out his mouth into a scream Jack knew would never stop, would never be answered. The only one who could had left him in London, possibly to grieve, possibly never to return.

In the back of his mind, Jack could hear it. Creeping, crawling, eating the edges of his mind as it clawed its way back to his conscious.

_…thrum…_

Jack didn't know why it left him in the first place. He even despaired that it sounded muted now; as if it had been silenced before.

_…thrum-thrum…tap-tap…_

Please, _please_ drown out whatever he was feeling inside. Jack bit his lower lip and swallowed the whimper that wanted to come forth. There were longings and John's words, and Ianto's hands on his body that were warring against the four beat drumming in his head. 

John found his choice. He didn't want a bearable life. He didn't see the strength to continue. He said he wasn't as strong as Jack. But Jack didn't feel strong. The option was taken from him.

_…tap-tap…_

Yes. God, _yes_ , come forth. Jack wanted it to fill his mind, block everything else out. He was so tired. He was so fucking tired of trying to stay above whatever was collecting in his gut, the abject loneliness and the feelings he had long forgotten brewing in his chest, demanding to be felt each time he woke up besides Ianto. He wanted to be able to rest. So tired. 

It seemed like the room shrank around him. Jack's ears roared. He breathed harshly as he stared hard at the jar, at the hand waving, gesturing, its blue liquid glowing like the remnants of his Vortex being torn away. Calm came over him, as close to death as Jack ever tasted. Jack thought he could feel his body grow numb limb by limb, the Webley attached to his hip holster burned hot like a poker. Gritty eyes stared at the jar. The cold floor didn't register in his mind. Just the drumming. It seemed to chant to him. _Maybe this time now…maybe this time…_

When the beating in his head filled every sense, every thought, Jack smiled and pulled out his gun.

_…thrum-thrum-tap-tap…_


	31. "Out of Time 2.0"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning For This Chapter:** Very dark, suicide/ self harm themes. 
> 
> **Notes For This Chapter:** Note there are parallels to TW's "Out of Time"

**Act I**   
**December 24**

_…thrum-thrum-tap-tap…_

There was a time when the aliens had invaded the beaches of his home that waking up after believing he had died produced joy and relief.

It feels so long ago. In a way, it has been, or _will_ be. The future was his past and there is no syntax to bracket or pinpoint where he stands. Of course, that's moot if he stays dead this time.

Darkness came then receded sharply. Life ended—in any way he could find—then returned and returned and returned with wretched sharp clarity. 

Pain came begrudgingly to end his miserable life; it snatched him away from everything and nothing. He would weep—whether from relief or from fear, he could no longer tell—but the end came too abruptly, often before he could gather a thought, stop to think about what he was doing. It was automatic now. 

Despair didn't factor into death; choose a way to die, if survive, repeat step one. 

The end brought him to the end. All those questions. All those whys that were never answered. All those echoes of his footsteps banging through an empty space station. All that agony hardening in his stomach into a scream that wanted to come out, was aborted by death. Loneliness ended for only minutes. Just minutes carved out of his forever, barely enough to sustain his sanity, more than enough to feed his despair. He was no longer abandoned because _he_ abandoned life first. Blessed darkness… 

But then the pain came back to revive him once more.

And stayed.

_…thrum-thrum-tap-tap…_

 

"Uncle Toe! Uncle Toe!"

Tea nearly splattered when two little arms, one hand clutching a pink felt rabbit, wrapped around Ianto's neck from behind, the added weight making him lean too far back and almost dethroned him from the ottoman he was sitting on.

"Maygan!" Ianto's older brother scolded his oldest daughter.

"Sorry!" Maygan chirped, as sorry as any eight-year-old could get upon seeing her favorite uncle. She clamored, climbing his lap like she would a tree. Ianto set down his cup and loosely circled his arms around the small child so she wouldn't fall. Dark hair, bright brown eyes, Maygan was sometimes far too intelligent for eight. She reminded him of Lorrie that way.

"Did you bring me presents, Uncle Toe?" Maygan clutched his denim jacket so she wouldn't fall. "Christmas presents?"

"Maygan, don't be greedy." His older brother Bryce sounded stern. Maygan's face fell.

"It's alright," Ianto assured his niece with a tap to her upturned nose. Dark braids danced when she giggled. He smiled, a dull ache in his chest when she smiled up at him. Lisa had mentioned the similarity when they both had come for a visit during the summer but he had never seen it before until now. 

He lowered his mouth to her ear. "They're all under the tree. If you promise not to shake them, you can take a peek."

With a squeal and a hasty kiss to his cheek, Maygan scrambled down his lap to explore under the tree that stood from floor to ceiling in the back of the parlor.

Bryce, who looked more like their father each time Ianto saw him, chuckled. He scratched his bristly chin. His green eyes twinkled.

"You spoil her."

Ianto scoffed. "So you say. Was that a new rabbit she's playing with?" He smirked. "I thought she was into giraffes."

The roll of the eyes showed just how much Bryce was like their father. "She was until she caught one nibbling on some beets in Sioned's garden. Now it's rabbits, rabbits, rabbits all the time." The older man ran a hand through his hair, still dark and thick; that was from their mother's side. Her hair stayed long and thick until chemotherapy aged her. 

Ianto averted his gaze to the other children circling the tall, potted evergreen, playing hide-and-seek with the presents laid out over a carpet of red velvet.

"It's good to see you again."

Ianto turned back to see Bryce looking at him, his eyes sympathetic. 

"I'm damn sorry about Lisa. She was a good girl."

Ianto grimaced and turned back towards the children. This was one of the main reasons why he was reluctant to come. Bryce hadn't been the only one ready to offer his condolences since he arrived last night.

"Wasn't sure if you were going to show up," Bryce continued gruffly. "You didn't last year."

It was a subtle reproach. Ianto only acknowledged it with a shrug and a half smile. He had spent last Christmas watching Lisa's respirator as it had stuttered all throughout the day. He had read to her as the rows and rows of beds of the other partially converted humans slept on behind him, their own ventilators failing. Five more died by Boxing Day and his voice had gone hoarse by the time the sun rose in the UNIT complex. But Lisa had stayed. Ianto then thought it was a good sign.

"I'm here now," Ianto offered. He looked around. He could see his cousins, his great aunt, and uncles all gathered around laughing reminiscing save one.

"Where is that sister of ours?"

Bryce coughed, his eyes on his children and their cousins' children. "Sioned had to run some errands and pick up a few friends."

Ianto turned sharply. "Friends? What sort of friends?"

It didn't matter that Bryce was a brilliant barrister, inches taller, and years older than Ianto. He could still squirm like a boy. Another thing inherited from their mother. They were both horrible liars. She hadn't been able to look Ianto in the eye when she had claimed she was feeling much better with the chemotherapy. 

"Bryce," Ianto groaned.

A large hand rose to placate him. "Hold on. Just a few uni girls who were graduating this year from Sioned's department. They can't fly home for the holidays and Sioned invited them to spend it with us. It wasn't because you were coming," Bryce hastened to say. "For all we knew, you would have sent your greetings and presents through the post again.

Ianto clamped his mouth shut and set his jaw.

"She—we _hoped_ you might show up this year, but she didn't specifically invite them because of that." 

Ianto sighed heavily and took a long sip of his tea.

"I hear they're very nice girls. Sioned said one of them has a really nice pair of—"

Tea sprayed. "Bryce!"

Children paused. Adults strained to see. It felt like even the fireplace held its breath. Ianto smiled wanly at everyone's gapes before turning back to Bryce.

"First editions that might interest you." Bryce blinked before he bared his teeth in that older brother grin that irked Ianto.

"What did you _think_ I was going to say?"

Ianto ducked his head, his face flaming. "Shut up," he muttered as Bryce cackled, thumping him soundly on the back. 

 

He came to staring at a blood stained jar. The pterodactyl crowed above, its wings beating against its cage, its clawed feet noisily scrabbling on the bottom of its dwelling. He rose to his feet and stood there swaying. His body ached, perhaps having aged to finally reflect the years he'd accumulated. 

Limbs heavy, too heavy to move easily, so he slipped off the greatcoat weighing him down on his shoulders and simply let it fall where he stood. He staggered back to the jar, the gun still hot dropped between the stasis containers and watched the hand wave him goodbye. He hunched over, his head resting on top of the jar, his hands balled into fists.

John Ellis didn't find that his life, fifty years past his timeline, was enough to fight for. It wasn't enough to start over. He couldn't convince John Ellis it was enough to stay. He couldn't convince the Doctor to stay either. 

_…thrum-thrum-tap-tap…_

Not enough. Not enough, the bubbling liquid sang to him. He needed to try harder because he hadn't tried hard enough before when the Vortex was peeled away from his body, when the Doctor sank into his body, when he lay there and watched Hartman approach with glazed and hungry eyes, the tubing slithering into his veins. It wasn't enough. It never was. 

When will it be enough? He wanted to ask, scream, but there was no one here to listen. Just a jar. Everyone else was gone; to live their lives like they should or stowed in cold drawers to be forgotten by everyone but him. Memories were all he had, all that will survive of him. 

_…thrum-thrum-tap-tap…_

He pulled away from the stasis jar and staggered past the tree. He nearly tumbled down the steps into the medical bay, but he didn't break his neck, and just landed with his legs awkwardly folded under him. He stared blankly at the cold storage door where a man, a lost and unwilling time traveler, escaped his doom by simply falling asleep and not waking up. He had tried, under noble pretenses of not letting him go into the dark alone. 

John Ellis died. _He_ lived. 

Drawers were messily pulled out under his fury, bottles shattered until he found what he was looking for. Fragile containers were clutched in his fist as he climbed the stairs. 

Let this be enough.

Behind him, within the folds of his coat on the ground, his mobile rang plaintively but he was beyond caring.

_…thrum-thrum-tap-tap…_

 

_Beep._

"Hello. Ah…it's—well, of course you know who this is, you would have my number on your phone, not that I'm saying you should have my number in your mobile, that would be presumptuous of me to assume you would, but of course you would because that's standard for Torch—" Ianto took a deep breath.

"Let me start again," Ianto stammered. "Ignore all that."

"Hello, it's me, I'm just calling to say Happy Christ—damn, I don't know if you celebrate Christmas, I just assume…oh I shouldn't assume—wait, wait, wait, wait, wait! Let's try this one more time."

Ianto opened the door, peered to his left then to his right, but no one had wandered into the foyer or past the opened closet. He exhaled, inhaled, closed his eyes and tried again in a brighter voice.

"Hello, it's me. Just wanted to call an—"

_Beep._

Damn it.

Ianto resisted the urge to toss his mobile. Stupid. He didn't know why he had even called. What if Jack _had_ picked up? 

The kiss had flummoxed him. By the time he had climbed into the car and was down the road towards his family's home, it had occurred to Ianto that he had been aptly veered off topic. Jack Harkness didn't play fair. And it irked Ianto on the way to the house. He still wasn't adjusted to the idea that a man could drive him to distraction like that. 

His father's townhouse was hours from London, but not too far from Cardiff. The difference had been pointed out to him countless times last night, this morning, and not long ago. 

It was why Ianto was making awkward calls to Jack on his mobile, while hiding in the closet. The irony didn't escape him when he had ducked behind damp coats and smelly shoes. He sat there, staring at his oldest sister's fashionable boots, and remembered the last time he had been here, he'd teased Lisa for paying more attention to the children than to her boyfriend. Lisa had blushed, confessing shyly that she adored children and Ianto since that day had imagined what their children might look like. 

Then he remembered how thin and tired Jack sounded standing over John Ellis' body and how his kiss tasted like goodbye. Soon, he was fumbling for his mobile in the dark. His fingers trembled as he punched the speed dial.

Ianto sat on someone's upright carry-on luggage in the back of the closet as he listened to Jack's voicemail. He felt every bit as foolish as when he had shaved Sioned's cat when he was six. Although, that wasn't his fault really. The cat had been content to lie there in the sun while he used father's razor on its tail. 

He should have thought of something witty to say on the mobile. He was, after all, courting Captain Jack Harkness. Male or female, Ianto should have been able to think of something clever to say. A witty phrase on Jack's voicemail would have been ideal. Even a "Hello, thought I would call to tell you chin up" would have sufficed, but no he ended up babbling about absolutely nothing until the system had enough of him and cut off the call.

He wanted to make an excuse to his family and leave to check on Jack, but he couldn't think of any plausible reason, nothing that would circumvent them away from Lisa, her death, Jack or the "hello, I might possibly be gay after all, sorry about the grandchildren!" 

Ianto sighed and dropped his face into his hands. He should have stayed home as he had originally planned.

"Why are you in the closet?"

"Because I'm a bloody coward," Ianto muttered under his breath. He started. He raised his eyes and stared at the little boy standing in the center of the open doorway, so small, his shadow didn't reach Ianto. 

"Are you playing hide and seek?" Too young to understand the concept of leaving well enough alone, the boy stood there, gnawing on the worn, well chewed ear of a teddy bear. Dark hair, sky blue eyes, and looking very solitary by the doorway, the boy eerily reminded him of Jack. Ianto rose to his feet because the sight of the child standing there made his heart ache. As he drew closer, he recognized the little boy as the youngest son from one of his cousins.

Unafraid, the boy looked up at him, still chewing on the toy's ear.

"Drew, is it? Yes, you could say I was hiding," Ianto smiled down at the child, holding on to the hand the boy offered, fully expecting it to be accepted, and followed Ianto out of the closet.

"Cousin Toe?"

Oh bloody hell, it's reached his cousins now. He was going to kill Bryce.

"Hm?" Ianto gritted out from what he hoped was a pleasant smile.

"True?" Drew still pronounced his Rs as Ws.

"What is?"

"That you beat up a thousand terriers?"

Ianto nearly walked into the tree as they entered the parlor. Ianto gaped at the boy. Maybe he misheard.

"I _what_?"

"A thousand terriers." Of course it made perfect sense to Drew, but all it invoked for Ianto was a very disturbing image of him stomping on black and brown miniature canines with a very large gun. 

It didn't help that the rest of the next generation of Jones came bounding up to him in a rapid fire of Welsh and English. Ianto found himself unable to respond. Apparently, he was a great hero for beating up terriers because they blew up Can—oh.

Ianto smiled wanly as he hoisted Drew, who was getting trampled by the clamor of the older children, up in his arms.

"You mean terrorists?" His throat hurt when he answered. He had forgotten that was the cover story Whitehall gave for the destruction of Torchwood. 

"Aye, off with you all. There are cookies in the kitchen. Go stuff your faces silly with sugar with granddad."

Ianto was surprised how reluctant he was to let Drew go as he wiggled down to scamper after the others for fresh, hot treats. Ianto grinned blearily at his brother as Bryce shooed them all away.

"Thought you ran back to Cardiff," Bryce joked, but he looked so relieved, Ianto felt a pang in his chest.

Ianto sank back into the armchair and offered Bryce an apologetic smile. The Christmas tree stood behind him and surrounded him with the clean scent of pine and salty, buttery popcorn. He took a deep breath. He hadn't realized how much he had missed this scent.

"They've all grown up so fast since I last saw them," Ianto confessed. "It's a bit of a shock." Lisa had loved each and every one of them and before the battle in Canary Wharf, had made lists of what she wanted to get them for Christmas. Ianto had kept her lists, tucked her neatly printed notes into the pages of his journal, and used them to guide him on his shopping this year. It seemed appropriate. 

"If you visited more often, it wouldn't be such a shock then," Bryce chided.

Ianto set his jaw and chose not to answer.

Bryce sighed. "Listen, we worry, can't be helped, might as well get used to it. We had to hear about Lisa from the BBC when they released the list of the dead. It didn't help that you were on it either!"

Ianto winced, thoroughly chastened. He should have called immediately. There had been so much confusion then. He remembered the days of windowless rooms, endless questions, and the universal looks of stunned shock from the survivors who milled past him as they were queued up for interrogation.

"There wasn't a chance to call," Ianto repeated the same thing he had told them when he had called his family from the flat he shared with Lisa. He had sat there, roused from his restless doze on the armchair by a siren that went by. 

Like before, Bryce just sighed. It was an argument in which was no point in winning. Ianto had never provided many details about Canary Wharf or his job in Torchwood. Ianto was obliged by duty to keep secrets and frankly he was too tired to endure their worries even if they were well intended.

Bryce cleared his throat. "My office is consulting with Whitehall on the legalities of that Archangel satellite network. We're always looking for—"

"I'm fine in Torchwood," Ianto interrupted. He knew where that conversation always led.

There was an unimpressed snort. "I hope they're offering you hazard pay."

Ianto grunted. "For an office job?"

"Well, it seems to have been the target for terrorists unless your Torchwood isn't quite as mundane as you have suggested. But I suppose it's better than some of the other jobs you've carried before."

Ianto sighed loudly, cutting Bryce off. "Are we going to have this conversation every year?"

"Not really. I was going to last year but you never showed. It's Sioned's turn this year. She'll be talking to you later when she's back."

An arm over his eyes, Ianto groaned. 

"I should get hazard pay for _this_." Ianto waved blindly with his other hand. "Surely there must be something far more interesting to talk about than my career choices?"

"Fine." Bryce paused. "When are giving our father grandchildren?"

Ianto sank lower into the chaise. Fighting a Weevil might have been more fun. 

His brother sounded solemn, too sympathetic for Ianto to swallow. "It's been over a year, Toe."

Was he counting from London or Cardiff, Ianto thought morbidly, but to his surprise, without bitterness. A dull pang ached in his throat. Perhaps it had been a while; long enough that he could think about Lisa dry-eyed.

"I'm fine," Ianto said quietly, lowering his arm so he could look directly at Bryce. "I'm okay," he said in a firm voice that he truly believed.

Bryce stared at him for a beat. Slowly, he nodded. He quirked a smile and turned to watch the young children chatter. They emerged from the kitchen, towing their father, a slight man currently laughing despite being covered in flour, to sit by the couch. Bryce chuckled as he watched his daughter in the other room.

"Children do grow up fast don't they?" Bryce mused out loud. "Time never waits."

Ianto merely looked away and wished he had been able to reach Jack after all. The need was overwhelming and Ianto couldn't explain why. He wanted to hear Jack's voice. 

 

**Act II**

_Beep._

"It's me again. I was hoping I wouldn't get your voice mail again—it's not a Weevil, is it? No, that can't be it. I didn't get an alert on my mobile. I ah…just wanted to see how you were doing. I'm playing favorite uncle, currently getting my spine misaligned because apparently, they all want to ride up on my shoulders, which doesn't really make any sense since my brother is taller and has a much better vantage point aloft his… Sorry, babbling again and I half-expected you to interrupt me…call me when you get this."

_Beep._

 

It wasn't enough to stop his heart immediately. He sat there, staring at the water sculpture that stood below the surface and watched it glow like a kaleidoscope as the drugs and a glass full of wine slowly congealed in his stomach, seeped into his blood and traveled sluggishly up to his heart. It didn't hurt. Actually it was, out of all of them, the most painless death. His body was too numb to register the tightness in his throat.

This combination, however, didn't let him go quietly or quickly. Suzie sat down next to him when the water tower began to burn green then umber; the gunshot that had blown the back of her head off smelled foul and iron-rich. She sat there, talking to him about that Gelth that wouldn't leave the basement of that PC's house. Suzie laughed, placing her cold, bloodless hands on his thigh, then turned towards him so he could see every bullet hole he had graced her body with on the pier.

When he lost all feeling in his legs and his arms tingled, Estelle took over. It was Estelle as he last saw her: white, soaked from an unearthly rain, skin loose and folded from age and death. Her voice, however, was like the young girl who had sat on his lap as he tried to pedal his bike up the slope, the war momentarily forgotten as Estelle laughed and screeched. She'd feared she would fall. She never did. He had always been careful about that. 

She told him the names she was thinking about for their children. Eerily enough, she wanted to name her first daughter Rose. 

Except there was no daughter. 

Only the priest, himself and the restless groundskeeper who had waited nearby with his shovel attended her funeral.

His lungs filled, his throat soured with bile and Estelle left as quickly as Suzie did. Rose came and it nearly broke his heart when she sat there. Icicles from space clung to her once beautiful hair, eyes bloodshot from capillaries exploding when she must have suffocated in the vacuum of space. 

Rose sat there, her head on his shoulders like when they were in Callicus. They had watched the moons set, the Doctor chatting behind them about the atmosphere ionizing due to one of the asteroids slamming into its orbiting sibling. Rose had told the Doctor in a cheerful voice to shut up and the three of them had sat there on a blue grassy hill and watched space entertain them with fireworks of copper, electric blue and gold. They had fallen asleep against each other's shoulders and he woken to find the Doctor leaning against the TARDIS, watching. The Doctor only chuckled when accused teasingly of being a voyeur. 

By now, as Rose reminisced about 10th century Tokyo, it was getting harder to breathe, his lungs hitching and tensing like they were being squeezed. He no longer felt the weight of her head on his shoulder, heard her voice and just as his heart began to slow, Rose left. The next voice…

It was young, untainted, and called his name tearfully. Tearfully because death flew overhead. Aliens howled as a frightening preamble to their destructive arrival. A small hand slipped into his. It was cold, gritty with wet sand and shook as it tried to hold on.

And then child asked him not to let go.

 

_Beep._

"Sorry. It's me once more. Please don't tell me you have your mobile on vibrator again. The purpose of it is not to keep it in your pocket just so you can—Anyway, thought I'd call. I'm currently seeking asylum in my old boyhood room. My great aunt has been having tipples of scotch and is now telling embarrassing stories of my youth to my nieces and nephews. It was either listen to that or my uncle Devon about the elections. He's been going on and on about Saxon and frankly, he's becoming a bore. He's usually far more opinionated and reliable for a good row with my father, but they're both too agreeable about those blasted elect—Are you even listening to these things? Listen, _call_ me. If nothing else at least to rescue me from tales about me and my stuffed tiger Wobby…Long story. Just…I hope everything's alright. Call me."

_Beep._

 

When he returned, it took a few moments to realize they were all gone; the dead no longer queued up to watch him fail. The last bottle from Owen's cabinet and the rest of the wine was forced down his throat as soon as he realized he was alone again. He stumbled towards his office, crashing and spilling papers from everyone's workstations. He fell into his office, glass grounding into his hand, wine spilt and dried like blood. It was unfair. The stain will remain whereas a bullet, a knife gash, bloody vomit would go away.

He crawled, his arms trembling as he braced himself climbing down the ladder and collapsed onto the bunk. He sat, back up against the wall, against the old flyers and yellowed mementos from an era that started it all. He stared up to where his desk would be. He remembered the piles of paperwork fanning out for his attention. He should feel something for the papers stacked high; his responsibility, his duty to the four charged with saving the future. He should feel something for the body in the morgue. He should feel something for…just something other than being hyper-aware of the sharp lump pressing inside him, stirring uneasily, as the rest of him grew colder and colder.

He knew he should feel something other than death. He just didn't know what he should feel anymore.

The familiar out-of-body sensation returned. He slid down onto his side, curled and fetal against the wall. The darkness around him soothed him, like a lover's promise. No one came to sit by him and he could only hope, as lethargy blanketed him, that he would see them again soon.

 

Ianto slipped in between the cog doors, not waiting for them to open completely. Ianto wanted to wait for his sister to return, but after two more failed calls, the little voice inside him had started to scream.

Ianto stood there, his face flushed from the cold air. He huffed from having to run down the Plass, his arm aching from holding one of the bags of treats his father had made him take. It was the only way to appease him, especially after his awkward lie that work had called him in. 

His eyes scanned the central area quickly, feeling a little bit like a hysterical git. If it turned out that Jack was napping on the couch or out on a solo Weevil hunt, Ianto was going to have to hurt someone—immortal or not.

A glance at the work platform to his left showed him no sleeping captains. A peek behind the kitchen area yielded the same results.

He placed the bag on the small table in front of their couch. The Hub was quiet save for the trickle of water cascading down to the pool below their work area. The pterodactyl was cawing loudly above, impatient and trapped in its nest. Odd. Jack, when he was alone in the Hub, usually indulged the creature by letting it fly freely in the Hub.

"Hello?" Ianto brushed his hands on his denim jeans. He grimaced at the crumbs still clinging to him. The children were sticky from raspberry thumbprints, their little fingers stained with ruby red jam and marzipan from the kitchen.

"Jack?" Ianto called out again, but again, no answer. Did Jack go out to the bars after all? Ianto scowled at the thought. 

Something chimed loudly, audible because Ianto was listening for anything. It lay to his right, unseen, but it was loud enough for Ianto to follow.

One ear out for it, Ianto headed towards the work area near their armory. To his surprise, it was coming from Jack's greatcoat, spilled out onto the floor in front of the short column of stasis jars that stood stoically over the coat. 

Ianto crouched and picked up the greatcoat that smelled oddly acrid and smoky. Jack's right pocket shook and Ianto pulled out Jack's mobile. Ianto checked it. Four missed calls. He frowned, weighing the mobile in one hand, the other clutching the greatcoat's collar. He looked up and froze.

The hand waved through a bloody jar.

Ianto rose to his feet and examined it. It wasn't a lot. It was more of a splatter than anything else. Frantic, Ianto eyed the rest of the area and caught sight of another bloodstain, up against the wall opposite the columns, where the greatcoat once was. Ianto steered right for it, his nostrils flaring at the coppery stench of drying blood. He stooped down and fingered the dents in the concrete. He could feel the smashed ends of four bullets embedded in the wall. Ianto swept his hand shakily and felt the raised texture of dried blood and white fragments that looked suspiciously like bon—

" _Jack_!"

Ianto didn't finish his thought, jumping up on his feet and sprinting halfway towards the medical bay before he realized it. His heart hammered painfully against his ribs when over the railing, he caught sight of the mess scattered around the ground. He pivoted around and it was like seeing the Hub for the very first time. 

Papers, pens and shards of a coffee mug—Owen's—lay across the floor like footprints. There was a vague foul odor of old vomit that lingered around the couch area. There was a suspicious dark stain by the furniture, by the steps, and by the water tower.

His throat squeezed tight, threatening to choke him. Ianto's vision blurred as he checked the morgue, the armory, the work desks. The more signs he found, the more it felt like the air was being squeezed out of him.

Jack's coat was clutched tight, like a water diviner that Ianto hoped would lead him to Jack. His voice was hoarse by the time he staggered into the office. There were traces showing Jack was here—an empty pill bottle and broken glass from an empty wine bottle. They all led to the open hatchway.

Ianto could barely manage a reed-thin "Jack" when he spied boots curled up on the bunk. As he climbed down the ladder—he nearly slipped off the rungs—Ianto could see Jack curled fetal and solitary up against the farthest corner of his bunk. 

The dull, unseeing, half-mast stare Jack gave Ianto galvanized him to jump down the last three rungs. His ankles throbbed vaguely as he scrambled up the bunk, his hands anxiously on Jack.

Jack was cool and dry to the touch. He didn't move as Ianto straightened his limbs, his head lolling when Ianto sat him up.

"Jack!" Ianto repeatedly tapped his face, his hands a little more frantic. He stopped when he realized a red patch was showing on Jack's right cheek. "What happened? Jack? Can you hear me?"

Jack mumbled something before his head lolled back. His eyes opened a slit, staring right through Ianto, then slid shut again despite Ianto's calls.

Ianto held Jack tightly against him, his mind mentally flipping through what he could recall. Shallow breathing, cold, unresponsive…Ianto closed his eyes briefly when he remembered the office. 

"God, tell me you didn't," Ianto cracked as he hauled Jack to his feet. "I won't let you do this," Ianto puffed. "Damn it, I should have—I won't let you do this to yourself, Jack." This time, he received a stronger response: a tremor as Jack slumped against him. Ianto grunted, his knees quaking as he fought to keep them both upright. He ducked under Jack's arm.

A moan and a wheeze replied when Ianto staggered into the ladder, but nothing else. 

Ianto nearly dropped him back onto the bunk to wait for Jack to recover, but another moan set his jaw. Undaunted, Ianto half-carried Jack towards the bathroom. 

He would not let Jack go like this. 

 

The space station rang hollowly even when he stood still. The dust and ashes of dead Daleks stirred like sand and for a blink of an eye he thought he was in Boeshane again. Another blink and he saw another dead body perched behind a crate—perhaps thinking she could hide behind it—and time leapt back to 200,100. 

He had called out for any survivors for so long, his voice gave out. There was no one.

_"…to yourself, Jack…"_

A breeze went by him, soothing against his exposed arms. Wait, how could there be a breeze here?

He kept hearing the whoosh whoosh of the TARDIS yet every corner he rounded, there was nothing. He was going mad in this metal tomb.

_"…won't let you die like this…"_

But didn't he already die? 

 

It had occurred to Ianto as he cupped a hand over Jack's clammy forehead that perhaps it would be better if he let whatever Jack took finish him off. His stomach still churned with the unpleasant memory of constantly forcing Jack's head back and pressing two fingers down the back of Jack's throat. The older man had revived enough each time to recoil but was too weak to completely pull away from Ianto's hold around his shoulders. Jack's body jerked, he made a weak half-whimper, half-gagging noise, and his stomach rebelled.

"Easy," Ianto murmured as once more, Jack's body shuddered, huddled over the toilet. Jack's eyes were still unfocused—did he even know what was going on?—as he slumped over the porcelain, his body convulsing as it tried to rid itself of whatever abuse Jack had fed himself.

The sounds of choking misery made Ianto ill as well. He swallowed, his arm braced around Jack's shoulders. Surely, it would have been easier to let Jack die, but frankly Ianto had completely forgotten about Jack's immortality until now.

"What have you done to yourself?" Ianto murmured as he rubbed Jack's back. He could feel every tremor. Jack shook like he was cold. "What were you hoping for, Jack?"

Jack only made a sound that could have been a plaintive "Doctor" but then he tensed and vomited more violently, interrupting himself. 

By now, Jack's skin had warmed to a low-grade fever and when Ianto spotted the droplets of blood in Jack's vomit, he stopped trying to force him to empty the contents of his stomach. He dragged Jack into the shower, not even bothering to shed their clothing or shoes. 

The cold water was a shock. Ianto clenched his teeth as he sank down to the tiled floor with Jack. He deliberately angled Jack's face towards the showerhead and tried not to think about how the water streaming down Jack's face looked like tears.

"Snap out of it," Ianto tried to make it a command but his voice quavered too much. How long had Jack been like this? Since last night? _Jesus_. 

Jack stirred. He violently shuddered and made a feeble attempt to escape the deluge, but Ianto's grip was firm. Jack sagged and uttered one more defeated syllable that simply broke Ianto's heart.

"I'm right here." The thought Jack might die again thinking he was alone was too much. "Right here," Ianto whispered. He cringed as pink water streamed down Jack's neck. Dried blood was dissolving from Jack's hair and his throat. Crimson water wept to the shower floor beneath them. 

"'hat…" Jack revived enough that a slit of blue eyes were revealed. Jack pushed at him feebly. His head lolled. "…'on't…"

"You're alright," Ianto soothed or tried to between chattering teeth as the shower continued to batter down on them. He didn't dare turn it off. "I think we got most of it out of your system."

"S-stop," Jack slurred, still trying to wiggle out of Ianto's hold. He slumped against Ianto, exhausted. His hands slapped uselessly at Ianto's arms. "L-leave me 'lone," he gasped. 

Heat flared in Ianto's chest. What could Jack possibly hope this would accomplish? Ianto knew this wasn't directed at him, but the fact Jack would try so hard to…that he would keep trying…

"What are you doing?" Ianto couldn't stop himself from shouting or shaking Jack by the shoulders. Jack jerked. "Did you want to die?"

"'his time," Jack mumbled. 

"This time?" Jack's head bobbed as Ianto gave him a hard shake. "How many times have you tried? How many? What was the point?" The last part came out as a scream. 

Jack's eyes blazed under half-shut lids. "'et go!"

Jack's feet kicked out with surprising strength. Taken aback, Ianto started and Jack wrenched free.

Water plastered their shirts to their skin and now Ianto could see all the dried bloody lines where gashes once were. They trailed behind Jack like red tendrils in the water.

Something roared in Ianto's ears. He scrambled forward, splashing in the flooded shower floor. He yanked hard, harder than he ever meant to and Jack went tumbling back, nearly sending them both crashing into the tile wall behind him.

"No" Jack howled; fists that could barely strike flailed. He bucked.

"Stop it!" Ianto gasped as he tried to wrestle Jack back under the shower. "Stop this! Calm yourself—Jack!" A fist smacked him near his ear. Christ, that hurt! Ianto gritted his teeth and dragged Jack back under the water.

"S-snap out of it!" Ianto chattered. He slapped Jack's jaw over and over.

"Let me go," Jack moaned. Feebly, he batted at Ianto's chest. "H-have to…ha'e to t-try a'ain…"

Ianto wanted to shake him, yell until Jack roused out of his stupor, but he caught the misery peeking out of Jack's face. It muted him. Ianto held Jack's face between his hands.

Jack blinked back blearily, his face gray, his lips cracked.

"L-let 'e go," Jack pleaded. "'elp me d-die…"

Ianto choked and his anger bled away along with the pinkish water beaten out of Jack's body by the shower. He pulled Jack closer, settling him between his legs, and shivered with Jack as ice crashed over them both.

 

_…thrum-thrum…_

He never gave any warning. 

Out of the dark, in his room, the Doctor never waited or bothered to wake him. By the time he roused, it was to the burning agony of the Doctor entering him as nonchalantly as he would enter a room.

It never mattered that it hurt. In fact, the Doctor seemed oddly angered when pleasure wavered alongside hurt after a while and arched his body off the bed. The thrusts became punishing when that happens, to the point that his body would thrash in the dark. 

The Doctor never lingered. Never said a word. This was all he could offer to an abomination; in the dark, with no words or sounds. The Time Lord had pressed a pillow over him once, when his cries became too much. It didn't matter if they were cries of pain or of passion. To speak was to acknowledge and the Doctor's denial could be felt in the muffling strength of his arms braced on the pillow over his face. The darkness would then become real and when he'd revived, the Doctor was gone, his cum and blood drying inside him. 

He was here again, cutting, tearing, lashing out at him from the inside out. His body bucked. God, it hurt. Why did it hurt to be with him?

_"…wake up. You're alright."_

The Doctor's eyes glittered darkly the rare times he looked at him. Agony cut his breath, but he called out to the Doctor. Begged him to stop. He didn't want it like this.

 _"God…he…no…not you…Wake up! You_ have _to wake up!"_

His hands were hot yet dry as they curled around his hips to have better leverage. Stop… _Please_ …

_"Don't do this to yourself. Wake up. Shh…it's over…Shh. You're safe. He can't hurt you anymore. Wake up. God, open your eyes…Please."_

He fought him once. It was a moment of too much time on the dais, frustration that the treatment didn't seem to work and the Doctor's too clinical stare at him the whole time he screamed and sobbed in agony. He had lain there, sick even from taking a breath when the Doctor came. It proved to be too much and even though it was just a punch to the jaw, the Doctor left. He didn't touch him that day.

For five days. It was worse than the treatment; to be treated as less than nothing and ignored every single minute. It was like being on the deserted space station again. Alone among the dead, unheard in the vacuum of space. It was almost a relief when he woke to the agony again.

Hot and bitter, the Doctor's release had constantly filled him before he left him gasping in the dark. The TARDIS never hummed, its silence as cold as his bedroom. He laid there, sheets tangled around him, blinking because he wasn't sure if it was real or nightmare, blinking because it was—raining?

Jack stirred, flinching as he could feel the icy sharp droplets on his face. Someone behind him murmured something and the rain was gone. Jack shivered. It was like the rain had warded away the chills. Now, he couldn't stop shaking. 

Hands pulled at his sodden shirt, his trousers, and Jack simply let whomever it was take whatever they wanted. He was garbage, unwanted by a Time Lord, betrayed by a fellow time traveler and damned to be living and only living, never dying. Why? What had he done that required such an unforgiving punishment? 

When Jack felt a hand on his cheek, he opened his eyes a crack. Jack found himself slouched against a wall on his bunk, his legs stretched out before him. Ianto was smiling in front of him, but his expression was pinched, his lips bloodless like he had seen something that scared him. 

"Welcome back," Ianto rasped, his hand cupping Jack's jaw. His thumb brushed against Jack's jaw and made tiny circles. 

"Did I go 'ome'here?" Jack wheezed. 

Ianto's smile faltered and he swallowed hard. Ianto tried to smile again, but the attempt was gruesome. 

Jack squinted sleepily at Ianto as the young man pulled the afghan up to his shoulders. Ianto took great care to tuck the sides in. 

Jack's eyes fluttered. He jerked at the tap on his face.

"Stay awake for a little longer," Ianto told him. "I'll get you something warm to drink." It sounded urgent so Jack tried to obey. But he was so tired, limbs leaden and unresponsive to his command. Jack fought to keep his eyes open, but it proved to be too much and they slid shut as soon as Ianto's voice vanished from his ear. 

When he opened his eyes again, Ianto was gone. Maybe he was never there.

 

**Act III**

The _bastard_.

Ianto's hands shook as he held the mug over the spout. If the coffee scalded him, he didn't notice. Coffee. He needed to get coffee into Jack, keep him alert while his natural accelerated healing rid Jack of his drug-induced delirium. 

Ianto was shaking despite the fact that he had changed himself and Jack into drier clothes. He would have shored himself up with a bit of scotch, but he discovered the bottle was gone as well as the leftover bottle of wine Gwen had bought over once. 

The walls by the armory were scrubbed clean. Ianto had worked furiously over the spots until the scour pad broke apart. He dug out the bullets and threw them so hard they rang like gunshots into the refuse can.

There was nothing he could do about Owen's area. Ianto cleaned up as much as he could, throwing away the broken glass, but all the prescriptions the medic kept there were gone, some of his scalpels too bloody and dulled from hitting bone to ever be used again.

Ianto could barely stay steady to clean up each bloody spot, each patch of crimson stained vomit. He couldn't stop himself from imagining Jack standing over each spot, pressing the gun to his head, the scalpel to his throat while Ianto sat with his family, eating brandied ham, and arguing with his brother about the qualities of the Aston Martin. 

By the time he was done cleaning up what Jack had wrought, Ianto sat on the couch, gasping, vision blurring, his head hanging between his legs before he could trust himself to stand again. 

The mug trembled too much under the spout dispenser. He set it down and braced himself against the counter with his arms out straight. His head dropped to his chest.

Ianto breathed harshly through his nose. He remembered how Jack's body had jerked in his embrace, his delirium trapping him in a nightmare—Ianto was afraid to call it a memory—Ianto couldn't get him out of. Each cry, each confused call to the Doctor while the Doctor—

Heedless of the hot liquid, Ianto slammed a hand against the ceramic and it flew in a fury of steam and coffee.

"Oh God, Jack," Ianto gasped out, standing there, holding his burning hand. Something equally hot pricked the corner of his eyes. "The bastard…that son of a bitch…"

Ianto folded over the counter, his fists supporting his head as he raged incoherently. The coffee maker fizzed and hissed by his ear, but his garbled, choked sounds of rage, grief, and echoed agony for Jack rendered him deaf to everything else.

Ianto had suspected, had wondered about the Doctor and Jack. Even if he had avoided the videos passed around like rumors in London, he could still hear the filthy speculations. It was a relationship he had to admit that he would never understand; that Jack was willing to—No, _that_ couldn't be of his own free will. 

"Jack," Ianto sobbed angrily. He sank down to his knees, his legs no longer supporting him, his fists dragging down to pound at the bottom cabinets. 

Dishes rattled inside under his assault. Ianto didn't feel the bruising in his knuckles as he thought of every time he saw the Doctor with Jack, every look Jack gave the damn jar, every nightmare that shook them both awake whenever Ianto spent the night.

It was only when his scalded hand began to throb that Ianto stopped. He raised his heavy head and sniffed loudly. He turned his injured hand in front of him. The back of his hand was red, like a bad sunburn but it wasn't blistered. He rose to his feet, knees aching. Ianto soaked a flannel in cool water and wrapped it around his right hand. The coffee no longer mattered. He needed to be with Jack.

Clutching his sore limb, Ianto strode for the office but something caught his eye. Stopping and taking a step back, Ianto could see a lone figure sitting on the floor of the morgue.

"Jack?" Ianto approached carefully, his voice soft. "What are you doing here?"

Jack never turned around, still facing the wall of drawers that stood from floor to ceiling. 

Another step and Ianto tensed when he caught sight of the Webley in Jack's lap.

"Everyone's dead."

It didn't sink in for a moment that Jack had spoken. Eyes still on the Webley which Jack stroked idly, caressing it with the same care as Ianto's hip, Ianto murmured a distracted "What?" in return.

"Everyone." Jack sounded distant, far away, as if he was talking to himself. "I loo'ed. I'm the only one lef'." Jack shivered. "Everyone's 'ead." The last part was barely audible.

Ianto inhaled sharply and made his way around to sit down in front of Jack. He didn't dare reach for the gun. He stared at Jack, but the gaze wasn't matched.

"Where are you?" Ianto asked in a hushed voice when he realized Jack wasn't here. His eyes were dull and looked past Ianto's shoulder. Damn. Ianto wished he knew how long it would take; if this was normal—for Jack at least. 

Jack looked around, feverish eyes not seeing the morgue. "Where is he?" 

"Who?"

"He…he lef-ft me be'ind." Jack's breathing stuttered. Jack looked like he focused for a brief second. "Why?"

Ianto closed his eyes briefly. Jack sounded so lost. Ianto opened them again and carefully reached over. He settled his hands on Jack's knees. He shuddered on contact.

"Jack," Ianto tried. "Jack, look at me."

Jack blinked, staring past Ianto's ear. His hands twitched over the antique pistol. "Everyone's—"

"No," Ianto said firmly. He rubbed his hands up and down Jack's thighs. "Not everyone. Whatever you're seeing…" Ianto grabbed Jack's hands by the fingers, halting them over the gun. He tugged them to his chest, pressing Jack's right hand over his heart, the left hand interlaced with his.

"Not everyone's dead," Ianto repeated. " _I'm_ here."

Jack gave a short laugh. "You're not 'ere. L-left." A strange look flitted across his face. "You're just…t-too 'uch alcohol and…and…" Jack frowned to himself. 

"What did I take?" Jack muttered. He fidgeted as if searching. "I had the bottle. It was…" Jack frowned when he didn't see it.

Ianto remembered seeing the amber colored bottle rolling empty under Jack's desk. It didn't occur to him to check. Not that it would have mattered. He wasn't about to call Owen or take Jack to an A&E either.

"You're not really here," Jack insisted, his voice a little stronger now. He weakly pulled at his arm but Ianto held fast.

"Yes I am." 

"No." Jack swayed where he sat. "You're 'ere now but you'll go away like e'eryone else. Then it'll be Suzie again, Estelle, G-grey…" Jack tried to get his hand back, growing agitated when he couldn't. 

Ianto pressed Jack's hand harder over his heart. "Feel that?" Ianto whispered, his grip steadfast. "I'm not going away."

Jack's fingers twitched underneath Ianto's hand.

Encouraged, Ianto kept talking, his voice even and low, saying nothing in particular: a new coffee blend he wanted to try, Maygan's new fascination with rabbits, the tie he had bought Owen in jest, the frivolous lid he considered buying for his mug. His voice eroded to a rasp but he didn't stop talking about anything worth mentioning. He kept Jack's palm over his heart, squeezing the lax fingers he held in his other hand, silently willing Jack to somehow hear him.

Ianto didn't know how long they sat there, knees touching, his whispers filling the cold morgue walls but at some point, Jack blinked. Jack raised his head and looked at Ianto with something akin to wonder. 

"You're real." Jack sounded awed. His hand intertwined with Ianto flexed.

Jack frowned. "I didn't 'hink you were real."

"I am," Ianto reassured him. 

Jack suddenly smiled, looking like his old self. "B-buy you a drink?" Jack's head rolled lazily as he looked around him. "It was right 'ere. Dri'k…" Jack's head bobbed forward then jerked back. "We could go dancing later…," Jack said, laughing strangely. 

"I think you had enough to drink," Ianto joked weakly, not relinquishing his hold over Jack's hand.

"Wasn't enough," Jack mumbled. His shoulders sagged. He deflated.

Ianto lowered his hand from covering Jack's on his chest. Cautiously, Ianto stretched his hand over and curled his fingers around the cool barrel of the Webley. Inch by inch, Ianto pulled it over to his lap. When he looked up again, Jack was gazing back at him, his mouth crinkled downward. 

Jack's eyes were now indescribably sorrowful, weary, and ancient. There was a moment when it felt like the room darkened. Jack's gaze drifted to Ianto's lap. Ianto squeezed the gun closer and tucked it into the back of his jeans.

"I tried," Jack rasped, his words still unsteady. The disappointment was still clear in Jack's words. "John just s-slept, but I kept wa'ing up. The gun…" Jack nodded towards it but didn't try for it. His hand remained over Ianto's heart. "It didn't work. 'othing did." 

"You're stronger than this," Ianto told him, but Jack wouldn't tear his eyes away from the gun now in his custody. "Jack, you're stronger than all of this. What you've been through…" Ianto's voice caught. He could still hear Jack's pained delirium. 

Jack scoffed. "The 21st cen'ury is 'here everything c-changes," he quoted. "I'm suppose to get you ready for the storm." Jack waved his right hand in the air. "Your great, fearless leader."

"You are our leader," Ianto squeezed Jack's left hand. "You lead us in the 21st century."

Blue eyes suddenly bleached with anguish. "I lead you to death."

Ianto swallowed. "It's our choice."

A bitter laugh erupted from Jack. He pulled his hands away.

"Go home," Jack said, his voice dull and flat. "I'm fine now."

It was his mistake to believe Jack the first time. Ianto reached over and grabbed both his hands. He wanted to tell Jack he _was_ home, that he didn't think Jack was fine, doubted he ever was. But Ianto suspected Jack wasn't ready to hear it. Instead, Ianto just sandwiched Jack's hands with his and sat there with Jack's hands on his lap.

Pale blue eyes, dull and almost colorless, lifted up to Ianto's face. 

"I'm tired," Jack cracked. Something in his face gave and Jack averted his gaze.

Ianto looked around them; the dead compartmentalized into numbered lockers. He wondered how many Jack knew. And suddenly Ianto couldn't bear the thought of Jack here with all the dead.

"Come on," Ianto whispered as he rose to his feet, hauling Jack up. "Let's get out of here then."

 

**Act IV**   
**Christmas Day**

Ianto absently stroked Jack's hair, feeling and reveling in the warm, patterned exhales against his throat. He sat there, his back against the headboard of his bed and watched the lights go by the blinds in his window.

Jack had been frightfully complacent, guided out of the Hub with only a tug from Ianto like a toddler. He looked confused when they reached the surface, but he eased himself into the rental with some gentle coaxing and was quiet the entire ride back to Ianto's flat. Jack curled up in the passenger seat, his greatcoat drawn up to his chin, eyes staying on Ianto. He didn't speak. Ianto was afraid of what he would say. 

Almost immediately upon entering the bedroom, Jack sank into the bed without protest, his eyes sliding shut before Ianto could urge him to try and stay awake. Jack was still too lethargic to struggle; too careworn and mentally thinned to even try to wrap his mind on the fact that Ianto was slipping his shoes off, undressing him and tucking him in like a child.

The sight of Jack curled under his duvet with only a dark thatch of hair visible tugged at his chest, the same ache he felt each time he used to visit Lisa down in the vaults. 

Ianto discarded the idea of making something for them both to eat. Ianto doubted that either one of them would be able to stomach even broth right now. Ianto grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, toed off his shoes, shed his jacket, and crawled into bed next to Jack. Next to the clean soapy scent and Jack's own warm unique smell, Ianto settled in with Jack pulled up against him, his arms around Jack's shoulder. That way, if Jack tried to wander off again, Ianto would wake.

Except, he didn't sleep. 

Even now with exhaustion drawing lines deep into his face, Jack dreamed or else remembered. Ianto spent the night alternating between shushing the barely audible moans to planting feather light kisses along Jack's brow and hair to soothe him when Jack jerked in his embrace.

There were times when Ianto wanted to escape into the bathroom; nausea rose with each pained whimper Jack made, his arms and legs twitching and spasming under the assault of an invisible abuser. Ianto knew whom Jack called out for, his head thrashing against Ianto as if searching. Jack was frightened at times, angry at other times, confused and grieving in between. As Jack's body fought the remaining toxic mix of unknown pills and alcohol, his mind haunted him. Ianto could hear names he knew, names he didn't. Rose came up every so often, almost as much as the Doctor. 

"Shh, shh, shh," Ianto hushed as one memory twisted Jack violently, nearly convulsing him out of Ianto's embrace. Ianto wiped the perspiration off Jack's face and neck with a corner of his shirt. He silently chided himself for the lack of foresight in getting a cool flannel first.

"It's alright. You're fine," Ianto murmured despite the fact that he knew, like before, that his assurances wouldn't breach through Jack's drugged hallucinations. Jack's lingering fever rose as if his body was fighting to burn off the poison inside. Ianto sweated next to him but he didn't move away.

"Stop," Jack groaned. His hands flailed as he tried to push something or someone away.

"Wake up. Don't do this to yourself," Ianto pleaded, nearly getting his chin knocked when Jack threw his head back, fighting something Ianto couldn't see and was afraid to know. 

Ianto braced Jack against him, his shoulders rounded over his captain.

"He won't come near you ever again," Ianto whispered fiercely into Jack's ear as his vision blurred. He felt something hot dribbling down his nose and into Jack's hair. "I swear it on my life. I won't let him hurt you. I'll kill him first."

Jack seemed to quiet after that. Ianto kissed his damp hair. He could feel Jack slump against him like all his air had escaped his body. Ianto panicked at this sudden action until he could feel Jack's breath against his collarbone, his fingers tentatively rubbing at Ianto's cotton shirt, checking he was there. Ianto sighed, took it as acceptance and tugged the covers over them both. Jack's face settled against the hollow of his left shoulder, his body turned towards him, legs tangled with Ianto's. 

Even now, with the weight of Jack's body on him, it felt like Jack was fading away, slowly burning into nothing.

Ianto wrapped his arms tighter around Jack, who merely murmured something before sighing. Ianto settled his chin on top of Jack's head, determined to anchor Jack here with him.

 

Ianto started awake after he dreamt of Jack being bound on that damn dais again, his vacant eyes staring up at the ceiling, the Doctor's bloody hand caressing Jack like a pet. He sneered at Ianto, who could do nothing more than stand there and watch, unable to move, unable to scream. 

Ianto lay there, gasping in the dark until he realized that Jack felt too rigid, too tense against him to be asleep. He looked down and found himself under the scrutiny of half-mast cloudy cerulean eyes.

"Morning," Ianto smiled, or tried to. It hurt. Even his gritty eyes ached in the attempt. "Sorry, did I wake you?"

Jack's tongue swiped across his lower lip and he coughed. He squinted at Ianto.

"I'm real," Ianto told him. "You're in my flat, in my bed actually." He waited for it to sink in.

Perhaps the noxious cocktail was still churning inside Jack or what little humor and innuendo Jack had had died early last night, since Jack's only response was a blink.

"You…" Jack rasped. He looked surprised at the roughness of his voice. Jack moved a little, trying to place himself.

"I thought you 'ere…" Jack's eyes struggled to stay open. "…'oing 'ome for Chris'mas."

A sharp burn stabbed in his chest. "That was almost two days ago, Jack," Ianto's voice was unsteady.

Jack didn't seem to react to the revelation. He fidgeted, appearing to only now be aware of the fact he was huddled across Ianto. His brow furrowed.

Ianto struggled to sit up. He reached over for the water bottle sitting on a ring of condensation on his end table. 

"Before you say anything else," Ianto told him, aware of Jack's eyes tracking him. Ianto uncapped the bottle. "Here. Drink first. You must be parched. Slowly now," Ianto murmured as he watched Jack slowly finish half the water.

"Are you hungry? I could make something." Ianto's face fell when Jack shook his head slowly. "A little broth perhaps?" Jack shook his head again. Ianto sighed. He rested against Jack's shoulder and felt Jack's hair tickling his temple. 

"Later," Ianto decided out loud. "I know you haven't eaten for days."

"Not hungry," Jack rasped, sinking deeper into the bed next to Ianto. 

"I didn't ask if you were hungry," Ianto chided.

"Bossy," Jack laughed hoarsely. "Who knew?"

Ianto rubbed his cheek against Jack and said nothing.

The light outside the window grew brighter. The sullen sky of pre-dawn was going away. Ianto could feel the sun between the slats.

Ianto felt Jack turn a little to rub his abdomen, his bare legs cool against his and Ianto pressed closer. He felt more than he heard Jack sigh.

"You shouldn't be here," Jack exhaled. His hand massaged Ianto over his t-shirt, his fingers pressing into muscle, like he was still checking if Ianto was there.

"Mm," Ianto murmured his approval at the deep circles Jack made on his torso. "May I point out I _live_ here? Of course I can be here."

"Okay, _I_ shouldn't be here." Jack didn't pull away though. "I should go."

Ianto chuckled under his breath.

"What?"

"I would like to see you try in just your shorts. I'm holding your trousers hostage, Harkness."

The duvet rose as Jack took a peek. "Huh," Jack digested. "Taking advantage of me in my sleep, Mr. Jones?"

Ianto flinched. "Never," he hissed, unable to stop himself. "I'm not him. I would _never_ do that to you!"

The hand on his belly paused. Jack tensed when Ianto abruptly pulled him in close. 

"Ianto," Jack sighed tiredly. He shuddered before relaxing into the hold.

"What were you thinking?" Ianto whispered brokenly. "I—God, when I came back there…" He buried his face into Jack's hair. Jack patted the small of his back hesitantly. Ianto gulped.

"What if I hadn't come back early?", Ianto asked, choking over the thought of Jack dying again and again, alone. "Why? Why on earth did you—" Ianto couldn't finish. He couldn't understand the waste of life like that. He just couldn't. 

There was a loud sniff, then nothing else.

"I can't die."

It was like Jack was turning to ice. Ianto rubbed Jack's back when Jack's arms dropped to his sides. He didn't know what to say to that.

"I'd lived for decades," Jack mumbled. "What if I live for centuries? For m-millennia?" Jack shook.

Ianto felt cold as well. It was something he hadn't thought about; it never crossed his mind. What they were doing, where this could lead, they were the only things that occupied his mind. 

"It's too hard sometimes," Jack rasped. His sigh was long and weary. 

"You don't have to do this alone," Ianto whispered, his hand going up and down languidly.

A strangled laugh. "But I _am_ alone. I'll always be the only one left." A muffled noise that sounded suspiciously like a sob escaped. "I can't do this anymore. I just want it to stop."

Ianto traced the knobs along Jack's spine under the worn T-shirt. "By killing yourself?" Ianto returned softly. "Even if—"

"I can't die?" Jack made a harsh sound Ianto suspected was supposed to be a laugh. "Pointless, right? How fucked up is that?"

"Shh…" Ianto heaved a sigh. 

"I can't die," Jack quavered, his voice bordering anger and tears. "I can't. This is _it_ for me."

Ianto wondered sadly if Jack ever allowed himself to think about it. Then again, who would want to dwell on it? As a child, like everyone else, there was always a fantasy about living forever, to see everything, do everything. But there was never a thought about the repercussions. 

Jack trembled, shuddering in Ianto's embrace. He never looked up. He clung to Ianto like a buoy in a storm.

"He wouldn't even try. He just gave up after days. Said his life was already over. I held on for years. _Years_!"

Ianto winced. Jack's grip grew claw-like on his back for a brief second, then, as if realizing, Jack loosened his hold.

"It's not going to stop. Ever." The despair in Jack's voice was raw. "What did I do to deserve this? Why did this happen to me?"

The only thing he could do was murmur against Jack's hair, rub Jack's back, his legs draping over Jack to enfold the grief and misery into his embrace. He prayed it would be enough. He didn't know what he could offer Jack. His lifetime was a pittance compared to his immortality. Ianto took measured breaths, trying not to be swept along with Jack's despair.

Ianto's shoulder remained dry as Jack shook. Jack was like a taut wire, vibrating non-stop, unable to speak anymore because his teeth chattered too much to form words. Ianto suspected it was years of denial releasing, tearing through Jack in self-destructive waves.

"I just want to stop!" The wail smothered against Ianto's shoulder was still enough to send it shuddering throughout his body. "I need him to come back and fix this." 

Ianto darkened but said nothing. Frankly, Ianto didn't think Jack needed the Doctor. He didn't need to be used like that and discarded so easily. Ianto didn't think the alien deserved such loyalty. How could Ianto ever make Jack see that though?

"I-I can't do this."

Fix me, was the unspoken plea in Jack's despair; a plea perhaps not directed to Ianto, not intentionally, but a request Ianto couldn't ignore.

Ianto held on tightly, Jack doing the same, their limbs tangled under the duvet. As Jack shook, tears unable to fall, vibrating as if he would shatter, Ianto wept in his place.

After a few moments, when Ianto felt his head was too big for his neck, his eyes swollen and hot, Jack had quieted. Ianto thought he had fallen asleep again. Jack felt cooler now, although there was still warmth lingering on the face pressed to Ianto's throat.

"You left."

It wasn't an accusation, too quiet to be more than a statement, but Ianto felt his mouth souring all the same.

"Yes." Ianto pulled away from Jack a little. Jack looked back at him with open curiosity. "I left." He cradled the back of Jack's neck and tugged Jack to him. Jack just lay against him; his limbs limp. He was like a marionette with its strings cut, cool and lifeless despite the tickle of air against him. Ianto kissed his brow, wishing for any reaction. He leaned back. "But I came back."

Jack's eyes seemed to be brighter with focus. He looked at Ianto and Ianto had the eerie sense that Jack was searching for something. He stayed very still, his arm around Jack was motionless, his gaze steady on Jack.

"You came back?" The doubt in Jack's voice hurt to hear. "Why?"

Ianto choked at the question. He dropped his head to Jack's shoulders and felt the other man automatically raising his arms up around him.

"Why?" Ianto repeated. He kissed Jack's collarbone. "Because it was never just about sex for me. Because it didn't feel right being there without you. Because…because…"

"I came back for you," Ianto blurted out before he could stop himself. Ianto felt Jack stiffen. Suddenly, he felt very foolish.

Jack pulled away and looked at him, startled. His mouth moved as if repeating Ianto's words. Something flitted across his face and his eyes were suspiciously brighter. Then, Jack just pressed his face to the crook of Ianto's neck. 

Ianto lowered his head, unsure of Jack's response, but grateful for the contact. He closed his eyes as he felt Jack turn more towards him, arms shyly moving up to wrap around Ianto's middle.

"Thank you," Jack said, his voice muffled against his shoulder.

"Whatever for?" Ianto felt Jack's hold tighten.

Jack just shook his head, his hair brushing under Ianto's chin. He stilled and it seemed he was content to just hold onto Ianto. Ianto was more than happy to do the same.


	32. "Combat"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning For This Chapter:** Mentions suicide/ self harm themes. Gratuitous smut ahead.
> 
>  **Notes For This Chapter:** Note there are parallels to TW's "Out of Time" , "Fragments" and if you really squint, "Combat"

**Act I**   
**Christmas Day**

It was back.

The odd beat that imitated the other which thrummed inside him and overwhelmed everything yet this one was steadier, calmer, and more reassuring.

Steady, measured thumps beat soothingly under his ear and spread warmth throughout his body. It felt strange. Alien, even. It lulled him into a sense of peace that he couldn't get even in death.

An arm was snaked around his back and between his shoulder blades. He could feel a hand over his shirt, stroking him with fine-boned fingers in lazy circles as if he or she wasn't aware of doing it. Another arm, coming from the other direction, rested on his lower back. He was encircled, his own arms around a slim body with his right arm growing numb under the other's weight, yet he didn't feel trapped or have the inclination to move.

Jack now recognized the loose embrace as Ianto's and found for the first time, in waking up to something so solid, so cocooning, that he didn't want to move. He reveled in the feeling. 

It wasn't like he'd never woken up with Ianto beside him before. They seemed to work much too late the past few weeks. Ianto almost always ended up spending the night in the Hub instead of making the trek back to his place. They both agreed it was safer for Ianto than driving back.

The duvet that was pulled over him slipped down his back. Ianto made a sleepy mumble of protest. He wiggled closer to Jack, his arms tighter as he soaked up Jack's body heat.

Jack ducked his head into the hollow formed between their bodies and found himself staring at the pale, elegant ridge of Ianto's collarbone and the dip the two sides made just below his Adam's apple. Jack blew softly at the sensitive skin there and watched the Adam's apple bob when Ianto swallowed. Jack shifted and interestingly enough, the rhythm in his ear went a little faster. He fidgeted, unsure what to make of it.

"Hm…'ack…" Ianto's chest rumbled during his drowsy sigh.

Jack blinked; the vibration under him was a lot more pleasant than he thought it could be. Jack closed his eyes; he couldn't believe how tired he still was. What day was it anyway?

Something curdled in his stomach. Jack lay still, trying to calm his breathing as memory—God, did he really?—flooded back with vicious detail. 

What the hell was he thinking? Stupid bastard. 

The taste of dark memory was still sour in his mouth. It was like it still held the tang of far more alcohol than any normal human being can consume. He hadn't had this much to drink since 1899. Waking up in an alley with a bottle embedded in your abdomen can sober one up very quickly. Especially with Alice Guppy and Emily Holroyd of Torchwood lurking nearby. That had cured him of thirty years worth of heavy drinking, blind fucking, and deliberate gunplay to his skull.

Jack pressed his mouth thin. He wondered if there was any mention of that in Torchwood's archives. He wondered if Ianto, while down in the belly of Torchwood ever came across Jack's tarnished past before he was recruited into Torchwood. 

There was a lump in his throat. Jack swallowed hard and rested his forehead against the bony ridge of Ianto's shoulder. Ianto, eyes still shut, mumbled under his breath and his shoulders hunched around Jack.

Jack stared at Ianto's neckline, the worn white cotton fabric dipped around a graceful, pale throat with a sprinkle of stubble that tickled his brow each time Ianto nuzzled him in his sleep, as if checking he was still here. The neckline of the soft undershirt was low enough to hint at the lightly furred chest underneath.

Alice had visited his delirium after Grey's appearance, her face all bloodied, hair pinned and in place, her eyes still as dark, proud, and mischievous as he remembered. Her… _enthusiasm_ for her duty for her Queen was sometimes disconcerting—and a little freaky—but Jack couldn't fault her loyalty to Emily either. She died a mere week after Emily, killing the same creature that had killed her lover. Jack revived in time to see her charging it with only a blunt dagger, a blood garbled warrior cry that would have made her a heroine in Boeshane. 

There were three other regimes in Torchwood before Jack was reunited with the Doctor. He'd survived invasions, two wars, three plagues before the Doctor came back for him.

Ianto said he came back for him as well.

Absently, Jack curled a finger around the hem of Ianto's shirt. It seemed easier to lie here when Ianto was asleep; easier to pretend everything was okay. He could tell himself this was just a stolen moment between two ordinary people and that he wasn't holding onto Ianto with the irrational fear he'd plummet into a yawning pit if he didn't. It was easy to disillusion himself he was just lying here, after a night of lovemaking, not awake because of the memories of too much death, but because life was so full and grand. 

The reality of why he was here, however, was hard to ignore. Shame and inward anger churned and pulled his chest muscles so taut, he could barely breathe. Idiot, Jack spat mentally. How useless was that? Jack could only imagine what Ianto found and he was grateful it was only Ianto who had found him. Wouldn't do for everyone to find the leader of Torchwood Three bleeding out a mess in the Hub; already bad enough that Ianto had found him. It didn't escape Jack's attention that Ianto was now clutching him like a hard won prize, holding onto him with an almost childlike fear of it being taken away. 

He replayed what Ianto had said before over and over in his mind, a mantra of his own choosing. The viselike grip around his chest loosened and he took a large gulp of air. His eyelids grew heavy yet he doubted sleep would return. It never did. But Jack didn't feel the urge to leave either, or check the Hub, or ponder on the state of the Rift. He didn't want to go anywhere. Jack wanted to stay here, where it didn't feel like time existed. Time here didn't flow in any direction. It collected between them like a warm pool that settled in Jack's chest and belly.

He knew this feeling; once before when a body against him would dissolve time into a soundless, painless vacuum. He once knew this feeling. It was vague yet familiar like a face seen in passing, his or her name escaping memory. 

Ianto stirred against Jack. He mumbled something, his chin rubbing Jack's temple like a caress. Ianto's hands flexed, his fingers pressing down in a gentle knead on Jack’s lower back before stilling. Then, he settled back to sleep, his fingers curled to loosely grasp the back of Jack's shirt.

The room quieted down to Ianto's exhales and the rustle of cotton against cotton. Outside—still dim in the twilight of either a new day or the demise of an old one—shed little light through the blinds. The duvet lay heavy and hot over their legs tangled together with a familiarity borne from many nights sleeping together on Jack's narrower bunk.

Jack tilted his head, rocking into Ianto's chest and felt the other respond with sleepy, feather-like kisses to his temple, a warm, sleepy body lined up with his to fit like a puzzle piece. Ear planted over Ianto's heart, Jack listened to the beat of pure, unblemished life singing inside Ianto. And suddenly Jack realized what the strange rhythm was. 

Ianto's heartbeat.

Jack choked back what tasted suspiciously like a sob and buried his face into Ianto's shoulder.

"S'alright," Ianto slurred, never fully rousing but his hands automatically seeking Jack, his fingers twisted around Jack's shirt, sleep-heavy words barely coherent but their intent clear as Ianto huddled closer to Jack before stilling. He sighed, his breath warm and familiar against Jack's face. Ianto's chest rose gently, his hands never letting go of Jack's shirt. Ianto's legs brushed against Jack, his flat stomach breathing against Jack's body.

Time failed to intrude between them. Sound died outside the bedroom. Memory…memory faded to a comfortable hazy darkness. Pain suffocated in here. No one asked him for anything here. No one lurked in wait to cut him to bits, shred him into the filth he sometimes felt he was. Here, it was just _IantoIantoIanto_ beating along with his timeless heart. It said nothing else. 

This… _this_ was the kind of forever Jack had always wanted. 

Jack dropped his head onto the shoulder below him and felt cradled.

 

It took Jack by surprise when he actually drifted back into a sort of limbo between sleep and sluggish awareness. Ianto's fingers languidly massaged his back; it was the hypnotic tempo that put him in this strange yet comfortably serene state. It was dreamless and waking up from it left him oddly lethargic and content. 

But then, a shrill chirp warbled outside the bedroom.

Jack frowned, his face squashed against Ianto's throat and, frankly, he wasn't in the mood to find out what that was. He didn't smell smoke, no one was yelling fire, and Ianto's heat was much too inviting to leave. No, whatever that was, Jack decided sleepily, it could go away. He scrunched up his face, breathed in Ianto's scent and told whatever that was to stop.

Except it didn't.

It persisted, long enough to start echoing in Jack's ears even when he surreptitiously yanked the duvet higher over his head and Ianto's shoulders. Muffled, it was still grating enough that Jack couldn't recapture that hazy, warm and sleepy sensation. The more it rang, the more awake he became.

"Blast," Ianto suddenly groaned. He threw an arm over his eyes. "Damn it, Maygan…"

"What," Jack whimpered as he rocked his head against Ianto's shoulder, "is _that_?"

"My mobile," Ianto grumbled. He curled around Jack, his head dropping on top of Jack's. His hands moved up as if to cover his ears. It must have been meant to be a melody except the notes were unearthly. His teeth ached as he listened to what sounded like a dolphin chirping off-key. 

"That is not a mobile," Jack whined. Ianto agreed by burrowing deeper into the duvet. His bare foot rubbed at Jack's exposed ankles. His toes dug into Jack's calves; his nose smashed against Jack's ear.

"That's a Weevil doing Amy Winehouse," Jack managed despite the fact Ianto's feet was doing unbelievable things to his body. 

"My niece was playing with my mobile," Ianto mumbled, his face buried in Jack's hair. "Crazy Frog's her favorite ringtone."

The cacophony of chirps and yodeling whistles rose for a brief second then thankfully died. 

The two men collectively breathed a sigh of relief.

Ianto chuckled. His hands moved—to Jack's disappointment—to scrub his face. "My niece is too clever at times," Ianto groaned behind his hands. "She must have changed my ringtones for everyone."

"Might have been something important," Jack sighed, his chest tightening. He made as if to move, but Ianto tsked and threw a leg over him, his right hand reaching out to grab his t-shirt. 

"Nope," Ianto replied drowsily as he pulled Jack back down. Bare feet and long, smooth legs rubbed along his body. "I have your mobile right here by the bed. If it was important, yours would have alerted us."

"Oh." That was good enough for Jack. "Okay." He settled back against Ianto with a happy sigh. He felt tired, drained, and far too numb to care what might be happening out there.

And then, Ianto's mobile rang again.

Simultaneously, they both moaned.

"Get the mobile," Jack grumbled, not moving from his sprawl that fitted him perfectly against Ianto, his groin tucked inside Ianto's hip. He could feel Ianto breathing against him. Jack knew he must be crushing the younger man, but Ianto never complained.

" _You_ get it," Ianto returned in a sleepy, petulant voice. 

"Why should _I_ get it?"

"For prematurely graying my hair and scaring me out of my wits before, _you_ should get it." Ianto growled. 

"How about a blowjob instead?" Jack bargained, cringing at the wheedling tone in his own voice.

"And how is that suppose to be a punishment?" Ianto complained. 

" _You're_ not giving me the blowjob?" 

Ianto blindly stuck an arm out of the duvet and tried to swat Jack's hair. He missed.

The mobile silenced.

"It stopped," Jack muffled over Ianto's shoulder. Thank God. A bony elbow prodded him.

"Brilliant deduction, Harkness," Ianto griped. " _That_ might have been important."

"Thought you said if it was important, they would have called me?"

Ianto groaned and thumped his pillow. "Shut up," he said good-naturedly. After a moment, Ianto raised his head, lifting himself up partway, and considered Jack.

Jack rolled onto his back. He frowned at Ianto's intense gaze. "What?"

Cool lips brushed across his brow. Jack blinked.

"No fever," Ianto explained, looking pleased. He double-checked with the back of his hand, nodding at whatever he found. "I was concerned when it took a while."

It would have been easier to let him die, Jack almost replied, the response at the tip of his tongue. But it didn't seem like Ianto would have appreciated that answer so Jack just shrugged.

Ianto looked like he wanted to say something more but instead, he just dropped back onto the bed with a soft grunt. He curled a hand around Jack's right arm. He just gave the arm a brief squeeze before releasing it. He settled his head against Jack's shoulder.

"What day is it?" Jack asked when the silence grew too long.

"Christmas," Ianto replied in a faint voice that told Jack he was starting to drift back to sleep already. "It's ten past nine actually.

Jack stared at the ceiling. "There's still time then," he said slowly.

"Time for what?" Ianto mumbled. He rolled until his cheek was resting against Jack's upper arm. His hand drifted lower and brushed across Jack's upper thigh like a sable brush. His palm settled just right of his groin.

If he kept his eyes on the ceiling, Jack found it easier to speak. "You could probably head back over to have Christmas dinner with your family. Spend the rest of the holiday with them." What Ianto should have done instead of coming back. 

Ianto turned to his side facing Jack and dropped his right arm across Jack's body.

"No, thank you," Ianto yawned. He drew lazy circles on Jack's stomach before settling down again. "I don't think I want to move right now," Ianto slurred, his body practically draped across Jack. 

Actually, Jack didn't think he could either. 

Ianto scraped his teeth gingerly on Jack's shoulder, never biting, but giving Jack a sharper reminder than a kiss to point out that Ianto was here. His left leg settled between Jack's. The heat of Ianto's hip pressed deliciously on Jack's groin. 

"Am I too heavy?" Ianto murmured, his body blanketing Jack, his arms absently wrapping around Jack's shoulders. He kissed Jack's collarbone.

Jack rested his chin on Ianto's hair. Ianto just sighed. "No," Jack confessed quietly, surprising himself. "Not heavy at all."

 

**Act II**

_"…Ianto either."_

Gwen spared a glance over to Emma. She couldn't help herself but smile when Rhys, despite still being mad at her, was willing to put up the final decorations on the tree. He frowned when her mobile rang, but then Emma asked about that odd ornament they had bought last year and he began reminiscing. He looked wistful when he spoke about simpler times; when Gwen was still just ordinary PC Gwen Cooper.

She only sometimes resents him for that. 

Rhys glanced up, a chuckle dying on his lips when his eyes fell upon her. A pang settled in her chest when he averted his gaze. If he was mad now…

_"Gwen?"_

"Still here," Gwen hastened to say, swallowing. "You've tried the Hub, you say?"

Tosh, even with her usual mild demeanor, sounded a bit worried over the line. _"Twice. It's not a Weevil alert either. We would have all gotten alerts."_

Gwen nodded and smiled faintly when Rhys looked over again. "I didn't receive anything. Did Owen?" She had been tempted to call the doctor all day yesterday, even if just to hear him prattle on about the commercialism of the holiday. Gwen couldn't, however, bring herself to do it with Emma and Rhys around. And the more she stared at Rhys, the more Gwen felt horrible for even thinking about calling Owen. What the hell are you doing, Gwen Cooper? 

Tosh gave a surprisingly rude snort. _"Him? He's too busy with—Never mind. I know Ianto is probably with family. I tried calling twice but it went to his voicemail."_

That wasn't like Ianto either. She'd always thought Ianto was much more fastidious than the rest of them, but he was dedicated to Torchwood at least. Gwen frowned. She hoped he was okay. The holidays can be very hard on those suffering a loss.

"Try Jack's mobile once more and I'll try Ianto's," Gwen advised, not really worried. "I'm sure they're fine." It was Christmas, after all. 

What could happen?

 

When Ianto's mobile rang again like a basket of strangled cats, Ianto poked his head out of the mound of covers.

"Ianto." Jack's drowsy whine was coming from somewhere in the vicinity of Ianto's stomach and under the duvet. Ianto caught a glimpse of Jack's foot before it scurried back under the covers.

"It's back." Ianto could see Jack's pale blue eyes squinting out of the dark folds of the duvet. Ianto couldn't see the rest of him—though he could feel a good, wonderful part of him—but the pout was audible. 

It was the last time he ever lent a child his mobile to play with. Never again. He should have heeded Bryce's warning against giving Maygan the device.

Crazy Frog sang and sang uncaringly. Ianto thought he could feel his teeth dissolving.

Jack groaned, his disheveled head popping out of the duvet tangled around them, his hair sticking out in all directions. He squinted in the general direction of the ringing. "I think it's an alien trying to communicate. Kill it."

Ianto pondered his options—leave the warm spot Jack's body had created in his bed or stay and hear his brains boil in his skull. He mournfully looked at Jack's torso, the shirt twisted around and giving him glimpses of that tempting firm stomach that quivered whenever he thrust deep into—

"It's not stopping," Jack dropped back on the bed. "Where's a compact laser deluxe when you need one?"

A compact what? Ianto prodded Jack with an elbow. "You were a time traveler, weren't you?"

"So?"

"Shouldn't you time travelers have telepathy or telekinesis? Use the bloody force on it, Harkness!"

Jack looked at him, completely baffled. "And force it to do what?"

Ianto scoffed in disbelief. "You know about Winehouse but not Star Wars?" 

The mobile kept ringing.

"Go away!" Jack abruptly growled in a way that always made Ianto's toes curl hearing it. The tingling feeling died when he caught Jack tossing something white across the bedroom, something white and—

"Did you just throw your shorts at it?" Ianto gawked at the tousled dark head burying itself facedown on a pillow.

"What makes you think that?" Jack asked, his voice low. He squirmed and—

Ianto gulped. "Tell me that's your finger poking me."

"It's my finger." Jack sounded a little too smug, a little too husky.

"Are you lying?" 

" _Very_." Another poke.

"Well," Ianto said as steady as he could. He was beginning to sweat; his palms were starting to itch. "Since you're up…" Ianto ignored the barely stifled snicker. "The least you could do is get that."

"Fine," Jack grumbled. He rubbed his face into Ianto's throat and Ianto shivered. "But what should I say about why I'm answering your—"

Argh. Good point. "I'll get it, I'll get it," Ianto grumbled. Jack half-heartedly waved a fist above the blankets in victory then burrowed back into the covers. 

Ianto sat up, feeling a little disgruntled and a little uncombed. But then he looked at Jack, curled around the spot Ianto had just vacated, more asleep than awake, his face peaceful after having been so long twisted from nightmares. His chest swelled. Impulsively, he dropped a kiss on top Jack's hair and wished it hadn't elicited such a surprised start from Jack. It felt natural somehow to do that. "Be back in a tick," Ianto murmured and pried himself away with a groan.

The mobile rang insistently as he padded out of the bedroom, absently scratching his stomach under his shirt. Ianto wished it would just go to voicemail, but obviously someone wanted him desperately.

Not bothering to check the display, Ianto fumbled it out of his jacket and folded sloppily over the couch.

"Ianto Jones," he said with a yawn, mobile pinned between his shoulder and left ear, his eyes on his jacket as he draped it properly over a chair so it wouldn't wrinkle.

_"Happy Christmas, Ianto."_

_Brilliant._ Ianto bit back a groan. "Gwen," he greeted between clenched teeth. He suspected she was just checking up on him. She'd been doting since Lisa, since the Beacons. He couldn't fault her most of the time. She reminded him of Sioned. "Happy Christmas to you, too. Everything alright?"

_"Everything's fine. How's your holiday so far?"_

"Fine. Yours?"

Oh, _big_ mistake. Ianto made random non-committal sounds as she eagerly began talking about holiday shopping with Emma, Rhys trying to cook the turkey, someone named Banana Boat—Banana Boat?—giving them very strong eggnog, etcetera, etcetera.

During Gwen's cheerful recount, Ianto could hear the shower running. He spied Jack's shorts, thrown at a very impressive distance by the foot of the couch. He thought about Jack _in his shower_ , naked. He sat on the top edge of his couch and crossed his legs. 

_"…find Jack anywhere."_

Ianto jerked away from the image of soapy water trailing down Jack's supple spine and the back of his long legs. "What?" he asked stupidly.

Gwen didn't notice as she chuckled at something she saw on her end. _"No, Emma, he shouldn't be eating that! Hm? Oh, yes. Tosh tried Jack's mobile and the Hub's direct line. Thought I would check with you. Emma's mentioned it and I thought it might be a brilliant idea, if Jack doesn't mind that is, maybe we should invite John Ellis over for the holiday—"_

"John Ellis is dead."

Ianto didn't mean to blurt it out in a jumble, but he panicked when Gwen mentioned her wonderful idea. 

The mobile fell into stunned silence. There were sounds of Gwen telling Rhys she was taking the call out in the hall and hurried footsteps.

 _"How?"_ Gwen was suddenly very serious.

Ianto pinched a spot between his eyes. "Suicide. My car."

Gwen cursed. She lowered her voice further.

 _"How's Jack?"_ Gwen paused before adding, _"They had seemed to hit it off before. Being from, you know, another time. Jack had high hopes he would be okay."_

Ianto sighed wearily. He could still hear the shower but thoughts of Jack now turned somber. "He was…disappointed."

Gwen exhaled loudly by his ear. _"Poor Jack."_

Ianto nodded glumly. "I don't think we should say anything to Emma or Ms. Holmes just yet."

 _"God, no. Not on Christmas."_ Gwen audibly brightened. _"Maybe we should invite Jack over here for Christmas then. I'm sure Emma will welcome the company—she's so impressionable though…No matter, I'm sure we—"_

"Actually," Ianto interrupted. "Jack's with _me_."

 _"With you?"_ Gwen echoed. _"With your family?"_ She sounded aghast.

Ianto didn't know why she sounded so horrified. It irked him. Would it have been so terrible if Jack had gone with him? 

"No," Ianto said evenly. "In my flat. I came back early to the Hub. He's staying with me." 

_"Oh,"_ Gwen digested. _"…You alright?"_

"Yes," Ianto couldn't help snapping. "Why wouldn't I be?"

 _"Nothing, nothing,"_ Gwen soothed. She fumbled out her explanation. _"Just wanted to be sure you weren't uncomfortable with Jack there. I mean, I know you and Jack in the past were…about Lisa…I mean he was so mad…you both looked like you were doing better though."_

Ianto rolled his eyes, but he calmed down. "We're fine." He smiled sadly. "We've worked past that a long time ago."

 _"So, you're friends then?"_ Gwen sounded so relieved.

You could say that, Ianto thought wryly. "Yes," he said out loud. "We'll be fine."

_"Okay, love. But if you need anything or want us to take Jack for a spell—"_

"See you tomorrow, Gwen," Ianto said firmly. God, she made Jack sound like a stray puppy. 

Gwen reluctantly bid him farewell and ended the call.

"You didn't tell her."

Ianto turned at the subdued tone. Jack stood there, hair damp, looking almost small in his cotton undershirt and trousers and bare feet.

"Wasn't my place to tell," Ianto told him solemnly. He nodded towards Jack's outfit. "I see you found the trousers."

Jack shrugged and gestured towards himself. "Thanks for cleaning them. You didn't have to."

"There was blood on them," Ianto said before he pivoted on his heel and steered for the kitchen. "Sit. I'll heat something up. There's—"

"Actually, I was thinking about heading back to Torchwood," Jack cut him off. 

Ianto's hands balled into fists to quell the panic bubbling up his throat. "We just missed breakfast time, but we could have an early lunch, then dinner. I was thinking—"

"There's still time to head back to your family," Jack pointed out. "It's Christmas."

Ianto abruptly spun around and marched right up to Jack. Jack looked surprised when Ianto jabbed a finger in his chest.

"You're not going back to Torchwood and I'm not going back home either."

Jack's eyes softened. His hands dropped on Ianto's shoulders. "Don't worry," Jack assured him. "I won't try anything." He made a self-deprecating laugh. "I mean, what's the point, right?"

"If that's supposed to make me feel better," Ianto spoke low and thin. "It didn't." He reached up and wrapped his hands around Jack's wrists. He still remembered seeing the lines of dry, crusted blood and the blunted scalpels discarded on the infirmary floor. Ianto squeezed the wrists on his shoulders. "When's the last time you've eaten?"

Jack's brow knitted together. "Uh…with John, I think, when he came over to talk." Jack shrugged.

Ianto's stomach clenched. "Sit down," he pleaded. Ianto pulled down Jack's hands and guided him to the couch. "Just stay here." At Jack's doubtful frown, Ianto added a soft, "Please."

An odd look flitted across Jack's face before he nodded. 

The lost and uncertain look beckoned. It ached to see Jack like this. Ianto smashed his lips against Jack's mouth, just to give himself a reminder that Jack was still here, _alive_. He felt the older man tense, then relax into it, his lips parting, his arms slipping around Ianto's middle, lowering until his hands cupped Ianto's buttocks over his sweats.

Large hands gently squeezed and kneaded him through his jogging pants. Ianto moaned into Jack's mouth. He pressed closer and felt a hard response grinding into his hip. Ianto shifted his hips and whimpered as his own swollen need bumped against Jack's.

It was frantic, nothing graceful or gentle as they both clutched folds of fabric, heated skin rubbing against each other as their hips crashed against each other and shirts were yanked up. Jack's hands, Christ, his beautiful hands, roamed all over him before resting around the back of his neck, cradling Ianto's head as he nipped and licked Ianto's jaw and throat.

Ianto didn't waste time exploring; he knew what he wanted and where to get it. His hands deftly unbuttoned Jack’s flies, Jack wiggling impatiently until the trousers slithered down a few inches of bare, firm flesh. Ianto slipped a hand past Jack's waistband, past silken skin still flushed from the shower. He could feel the _thump-thump_ of life on the artery that ran along the inside of Jack's thigh. Ianto only thrilled briefly in the fact that Jack wore no underwear, leaving Jack's buttocks ready for his hands.

Jack groaned out Ianto's name when Ianto ghosted a finger over his entrance but he didn't push through; he didn't want to cause Jack pain. He wouldn't be like _him_. Ianto smoothed his palm over and over the curve of one cheek, squeezing and lingering over velvety skin like he was polishing fine glass.

The couch was just behind them, he thought fuzzily. One push, a quick tug at his captain's waistband, bend him over the couch and—No, no, no, Ianto aborted the thought even as he nibbled on Jack's lower lip. Food first. Talk next. Then sex, _oh God_ , yes, lots and lots of sex. Merry Christmas, Mr. Jones.

Ianto pulled away with a regretful groan. "No…food first."

Jack blinked a heavy lidded look at him. He looked a little cross-eyed. 

"Are you serious?" Jack groaned. He leaned forward, his hands tangling in Ianto's shirt, fingertips grazing his stomach. Ianto bit back a groan and darted out of reach.

"You haven't eaten in days," Ianto reminded Jack and reminding himself. "You need vitamins, protein."

Jack looked meaningfully at Ianto’s crotch. "I know another way to get protein," Jack rumbled.

Ianto bit back a whimper. Well, maybe just a quick—No. No, no, no. Ianto groaned. He hated himself sometimes.

"Food first," Ianto said firmly. He leaned over and pressed his lips against Jack, letting his tongue dart in briefly to taste everything that was Jack before pulling back.

Jack stared at Ianto, speechless. Then, slowly, he lifted up a hand over his nose.

"Uh," he muffled behind the cupped hand. "Okay. Food. But uh…Maybe a _toothbrush_ first?"

Huh? Ianto gave his teeth an experimental swipe with his tongue. He froze.

"God," Ianto pivoted around and raced to the bathroom.

"Good morning to you too, Mr. Jones!" Jack called out, bemused, just before the bathroom door slammed.

 

**Act III**

Jack looked a little amused when Ianto brought out sandwiches and tarts piled high on a tray. Ianto made a note to thank his father later. There was enough food in one bag to last for days. 

It felt comfortable, familiar, and harkened to the earlier days when they both sat on opposite ends of the couch, shoes off, quiet except for the chewing and sipping of chowder in mugs.

"My father is retired," Ianto explained when Jack's brow rose at the unusual mix of food that ranged from curry sandwiches to tiny paninis. "Always experimenting with cooking and my sister," Ianto raised a grilled red pepper sandwich, "is a vegetarian."

"Large family?" Jack poked at his plate experimentally.

"Jack, eat with your mouth not with your finger and no, not really. Just an older brother and sister. Lots of cousins, nieces, and nephews though." Ianto reached over with his foot and prodded the plate closer to Jack until the older man couldn't pretend it wasn't there.

Jack gave him a martyred sigh before picking up his sandwich and making an appreciative sound when he realized it was one of Sioned's eggplant paninis. 

It gave him a fuzzy, wiggly feeling in his gut to see Jack there, eating, sitting cross-legged on his couch. Ianto couldn't understand it; this was so domestic, so un-Torchwood, no aliens, no Rifts, yet it felt like he could see himself, in the dim light, eating cold sandwiches with Jack for the rest of his life.

It felt natural to tell Jack about his brother and sister, complain how his great aunt always got his name wrong, how his father and uncle were both overly enthusiastic about the upcoming special elections.

Jack listened intently as he chewed. Sometimes there was a wistful look on his face, to which Ianto would distract him with an outstretched foot tickling his ankles. And sometimes, Jack would laugh along with Ianto; a clear baritone that filled the living room and lingered long after the sound had faded.

The shadows that had discolored Jack's eyes since Ellis' death faded, but some of it still lingered like an oily film over Jack. It slowed Jack's movements, his hands a bit sluggish to reach for the food, weaker when Ianto would reach over to squeeze his fingers, his smile duller. And despite Ianto putting triangle after triangle of what he knew were Jack's favorites, Jack took only a bite or two of each. Ianto doubted he tasted anything; more likely just to appease Ianto as he would offer him a wan smile before taking a bite. 

When Jack started peeling the bread off each sandwich, Ianto couldn't keep silent any longer.

"Did it help?"

Jack raised his gaze to Ianto. He tilted his head.

Ianto gulped, but a lump remained in his throat that was hard to speak around. 

"The gun, the scalpel, the p-pills…" Ianto dropped his eyes to his plate. He set it away, his appetite gone. He didn't want to see what was on Jack's face.

"Did it help?"

Ianto looked up at Jack's sigh. 

"No," Jack rasped. "Not really."

Oddly enough, relief uncurled the knot in his gut. Ianto nodded. 

"I'm glad…sort of," Ianto murmured. "I think it would be worse if you thought it did."

Jack said nothing. He just moved the plate onto the small coffee table and sat back into the couch. 

"Could you answer a question for me?" Ianto asked, his voice thick and a little unsteady. 

Jack made a questioning noise. 

"Before…" Ianto paused. Already, he was regretting the question but plodded on. "You said everyone was dead." Ianto fidgeted. "I don't think you were just talking about Suzie or Estelle or…Rose.

At the mention of Rose's name, Jack sighed. He tilted his head up towards the ceiling, his face unreadable.

Ianto stirred, disgust rattling in his chest. He always did have rotten timing. "You know what? Forget I ask—"

"Daleks."

Ianto stiffened. 

"We—I mean the Doctor, Rose and I—were on this space station. Turned out the Daleks were getting ready for an invasion of Earth."

"You already knew what they were. Back when we were in London," Ianto remembered, his eyes widening in horror. "God…when?"

Jack gave him an inscrutable look.

Ah. Ianto raised his hands. "Let me guess. Can't answer? Time traveler's prime directive of sorts?"

"Something like that." Jack shrugged.

"Could you tell me a bit of what happened though?" Ianto asked tentatively.

"I died," Jack answered bluntly.

The words sank in. Ianto choked. "You said that before. You had died once…You came back?"

"I came back," Jack confirmed. "Although, at the time, I didn’t know it was forever. I just…woke up and the fight was over. There I was, stranded, ankle deep in Dalek dust, and…" Jack made a harsh laugh. It sounded like it hurt. "He goes off without me." 

Ianto shuffled closer, drawn to the odd lilt in his voice. "He…he left?"

Jack's head rolled towards him, his eyes dull with unspoken grief. "He left." Jack turned back towards the ceiling. 

"I don't even know how he was able to defeat the Daleks." Jack's eyes clouded over. "I woke up and they were just gone."

"I was the only one left alive. I checked everywhere after he was gone. No one else survived. No one else woke up. Just me." There was a minute shiver Jack couldn't hide. He flinched when Ianto tried to touch him.

"You waited for him." It wasn't a question.

There was a pregnant pause. Jack pulled up his legs and picked at his socks.

"Did you know," Jack finally said in a faraway voice, "because space is sterile, it takes a long time for things to decay?"

"Jack," Ianto choked. "How long did you wait for him?"

"There was no one left to run the station," Jack continued as if he didn't hear Ianto. "The environmental systems were the first to go. It got really hot and the bodies…" Jack's Adam apple bobbed. Jack shut his eyes. He didn't react when Ianto sat close enough that their shoulders touched. 

"I tried to move as many as I could into sealed chambers, but…" Jack gagged, remembering. "God, the smell…I couldn't stay there any longer." Jack tried to shrug, but Ianto could feel his shoulders shake next to him. Ianto, though, was too frozen to do anything. It wouldn't have matter; Jack didn't look like he realized Ianto was there.

"He just left you there? Never came back?" Ianto repeated, regretting his words when he felt Jack jerk next to him. "H-how…how did you get out of there?"

Jack raised his left arm like it was too heavy. He tapped at the wide, brown leather wrist strap Ianto always saw Jack wear. 

"I had this." Jack smiled tightly at Ianto. "I used to be a time agent—don't ask—it's called a vortex manipulator."

Ianto was almost afraid to touch it but he held Jack's left wrist on his lap and stroked the worn leather.

Jack watched him, his smile brittle and crooked. "He's not the only one who can time travel."

"So it's like that police box?" Ianto asked, hushed. 

Jack snorted. "Not really. The TARDIS is a bit more complicated than my wrist strap. It's like he has a sports car." He wearily tapped the wrist strap before flipping it open for Ianto to inspect. "Mine is a bit more like a space hopper, really."

Ianto studied the strange silvery buttons and tiny display. There was microscopic text along the buttons, probably describing the functions, whatever they were.

"Space hopper or not," Ianto murmured, impressed, "it got you out of there." Ianto hid a shudder. He felt ill imagining Jack alone in a floating tomb. Ianto paused, his hands pulling back from Jack's wrist. "So you can time travel too, then?"

Jack shook his head. "Not really. More like I bounce through time. I had aimed for the 21st century, the best place to find the Doctor, except I got it a little wrong." Jack gestured at his left wrist in disgust. "I arrived in 1869 and this thing had burnt out, so it was useless."

"Ah." Ianto carefully stroked the skin next to the strap and noted the tan line on Jack's arm. 

"I thought I would have to live through the entire 20th century waiting for a version of the Doctor that would coincide with me." Jack paused. "But he came back before that ever happened."

Ianto looked up. He sandwiched Jack's hand between his. "You don't sound particularly happy about that," he observed.

Jack looked at him sharply. He lowered his eyes to the hand Ianto held. 

"Thought it would help," Jack said quietly. "I knew the Doctor could fix me once I realized I can never die, at least not permanently."

Ianto boldly threaded his fingers with Jack's when he felt the other starting to pull back. 

"Did it help?" Ianto asked as he squeezed Jack's hand.

Jack's hand was lax and cool in his grasp.

"No," Jack said quietly. "But he said he was close." Jack blinked rapidly. "But then he left again and I don't know how long I'll have to wait before…" Jack sucked in his breath.

Ianto kept Jack's hand in his lap, his free hand ghosting up and down Jack's arm, over goose bumps he could feel along his arm.

"I'm glad you were able to get out of there," Ianto murmured, not looking at Jack. "I'm glad you came to London." Ianto's fingers paused over his pulse point. "I never would have met you otherwise."

Jack studied him, his face giving nothing away. "Despite everything that happened there?"

Ianto met his stare squarely, his hand holding onto Jack. He had no intention of letting go. "Despite," Ianto said firmly. 

Jack closed his eyes briefly. He took a shuddering breath before reopening his eyes again. As soon as he did, he pulled until Ianto practically tumbled into his lap. 

Ianto felt Jack's chest heave against him. Fathomless, blue as the sky, the ocean and just as endless, Jack stared at him.

"Despite everything?" Jack repeated.

Ianto slipped a hand up Jack's jaw, around to card through the short hairs of dark silk until his palm curved flushed to the back of Jack's head. Jack watched him, saying nothing, doing nothing, as if waiting.

"Everything," Ianto whispered. Jack's eyes closed, his lips parting. Ianto craned up while pulling Jack closer and kissed him. 

 

_"…at least rescue me from tales about me and my stuffed tiger Wobby…Long story. Just…I hope everything's alright. Call me."_

_Beep._

Jack sat on the cold tile floor and listened to Ianto's stumbling voicemail. He had woken up from a dream he couldn't remember, Ianto's cum sticky on his stomach, and feeling pleasantly sore everywhere.

The couch was only large enough for one of them so Jack disengaged himself from Ianto's loose-limbed embrace, intending to head back to Torchwood. 

His mobile sat by Ianto's side of his bed and upon checking it, Jack discovered two missed calls from Tosh and four voice messages from Ianto. Curious, Jack crept into the bathroom, locked the door and went through all of them.

_"…toaster but I doubt they could blame me this time, I was four then. I suspect one of my little cousins stuck the sugar cookie in there to warm it up. Reminds me of when Owen tried to reheat his pizza by cramming it into the toaster, remember? I smelt the smoke all the way…"_

Ianto spoke into his ear like he was in front of him. The first two messages were stuttered and awkward yet completely Ianto Jones as he talked about what was happening, what it reminded him of. There was nothing spectacular about the conversation, yet the casual musings washed over Jack like a balm and he sat there, his eyes closed, listening to Ianto talk about nothing in particular.

_"God, you must be sick of hearing from me by now. I hope you're not Weevil hunting alone out there. I just remembered there was some Chinese in the fridge in case you didn't want to order out. Don't worry. It's not moo shu pork. I know you said it smells like feet and I have to agree. Don't know why Owen keeps insisting on ordering it. Sometimes I'm tempted to check if his breath now smells like feet, but how to do that without him thinking I want to snog him. Not that I ever would want to snog him…"_

Jack listened to all of them over and over; Ianto's rolling Welsh accent was an exotic lilt in his ear. He listened until his legs tingled with needles from staying in one position for too long. He listened until that lump in his gut shrunk. He listened until his eyes blurred for some reason.

After a while, Jack lowered his aching arm from its position of holding up the mobile to his ear. Jack studied the mobile, programmed it to save every last message, and got up with a muffled groan.

Jack shed his jacket, slipped off his boots and carefully eased back onto the couch. Ianto stirred, his eyes opening briefly, the lazy smile he gave made Jack's heart stutter.

"Thought you had gone," Ianto yawned. "Thought maybe you had left." His eyes darkened with the thought. He wiggled onto his side, his arms opening in invitation.

Dropping back into Ianto's embrace felt like coming home. Jack breathed in deeply Ianto's musky scent, felt elegant fingers ghosting over his body, his trousers, and he lifted his hips so Ianto could ease them down his legs. 

"Thought that dinner idea sounded nice." Jack hummed as he felt Ianto brush his semi-erect cock against his. It ignited a thousand sparks all along his spine. "If you don't mind, I'd like to stay."

Ianto stilled for a long moment and the fear that the younger man had come to his senses darted inside Jack, stabbing him like a knife. Then, Ianto roughly pulled Jack's head to his throat and fervently kissed his hair, his brow, his throat. 

"Definitely." Ianto sounded choked for some reason. "Stay. Stay for as long as you like." 

The words made Jack's eyes burn. He nodded against Ianto, feeling Ianto slip his hands under his shirt, his hips rubbing against him hungrily, legs parting in invitation. 

"Thank you," Jack rasped and buried himself into Ianto because there was nowhere else he would rather be.

 

**Act IV**   
**December 27**

"…hundred and fifty pounds to Torchwood's account! He charged a hundred and fifty pounds?" Ianto sputtered. He stooped over Jack's shoulder and gaped at the emailed bank alert Jack received on his computer. "For a _dress_?"

"A _Versace_ dress," Jack reiterated. "Owen has good taste." He checked the store's website and went, "Huh." Jack tilted his face up at Ianto. "Red, too. Funny, I always thought red was more _your_ color than his."

Really? Ianto blinked, not quite sure how to respond. He looked down at his gray shirt and tried to imagine it in another color other than the whites and neutrals he'd been favoring.

Jack was smiling at him in a way that Ianto couldn't help but smile back. "Maybe a blue one?" Jack suggested. "Or this one?" He pointed to the screen.

Ianto squinted at it. " _Pink_?" he yelped, outraged. Ianto slapped Jack's closest shoulder.

"What?" Jack laughed, a little more easily than two days before. "I think it's a nice shirt!"

"It's pink. Not very manly." Ianto glowered at him. 

"You people and your ideas on what's manly or not." Jack scoffed. He eyed him up and down. "I think you can pull off a pink shirt."

"I don't know whether to be insulted or flattered," Ianto huffed. Secretly, he enjoyed the banter; enjoyed how easily Jack smiled again even if it was still dimmer than before. Ianto just shook his head and sat gingerly on the edge of the desk. He glanced at Jack's right hand that rested on his knee and sighed at the time he spied upside down on Jack's watch. The others would be here soon. Damn. 

Ianto cleared his throat and reached into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a small palm-sized box wrapped in brown paper. 

"I know everyone wasn't in the mood to celebrate Boxing Day yesterday and Owen wasn't even there. I uh…" Ianto shrugged, turned Jack's hand up and dropped it into his palm. "Happy Christmas or Boxing Day or uh…" Ianto coughed awkwardly, his ears pinking.

Jack rotated the plain looking box. He shook it and quirked his eyebrow at the odd rattling sound inside. 

"I thought these were for Christmas." Jack lifted up his other hand, revealing the little airplane cuffs. The tiny wings glinted under the light.

Ianto never thought he would get such pleasure from seeing someone wearing something he gave since Lisa, but the same joy blossomed in his chest. 

"No, those were for courting you," Ianto murmured as he captured Jack's sleeve and studied the cuff with a critical eye. Was that a smudge? 

"Courting me?" Jack echoed.

Ianto froze. Oops. Did he say that out loud? Ianto could feel his face burning. Perhaps Jack was right; apparently red _was_ his color.

"I-I changed the reservations for everyone for New Year's Eve," Ianto stammered as he slid off the desk. "Perhaps the timing would be better for everyone then."

"You were courting me?" Jack repeated. His brow furrowed. He raised his wrist and considered the cufflinks. " _That_ was courting?"

Ianto couldn’t help it; he bristled. "Are you criticizing my technique, Harkness?" Ianto demanded. Lisa never complained.

Jack snickered, raising his hands in surrender. "No, no. Far be it for me to criticize." Jack looked surprised, even a little embarrassed. "I don't think I've ever been courted before." Jack looked intrigued. "Does that mean you're going to get me flowers?"

"You _want_ me to bring you posies and roses every day? Doesn't this fall in the realm of the pink shirt?" Ianto sputtered. How did this conversation even get started? "How about I just buy you a drink first?"

Something strange swept across Jack's face and he deflated a little. 

Ianto stood stock-still. "What did I say?"

"What?" Jack looked perplexed but Ianto wasn't fooled. Jack sighed and laughed; it sounded strained. "Nothing. Just…déjà vu."

"Déjà vu for a time traveler usually is a dangerous thing," Ianto sighed. He settled back down on the edge of the desk. "What did I say so I know not to say it ever again?"

Jack laughed again in that odd, strangled way that made Ianto's chest ache hearing it. "Nothing. Just remembered I said that to him once. I was…I dunno…flirting and he said buy him a drink first. I told him that was too much work. He said it would be worth it."

"Huh," Ianto grunted, unable to stop himself. "Someone thought very highly of himself there."

"He was worth fighting for. At least, I had thought so," Jack sighed, suddenly looking weary.

"The Daleks," Ianto remembered. He swallowed when Jack nodded. "You fought for him. You _died_ for him." He couldn't imagine ever risking his life for such a monster, not for the way he treated Jack.

Jack must have saw something on his face. "The Doctor…he can be compelling," Jack explained. "When I first met him and Rose, he saved London. The world, actually. He…he just loved humanity so much. He's fascinated by humans and life and the universe. You can't help but want to be there for that."

"Are we talking about the same Doctor? That doesn't sound like the Doctor I met," Ianto muttered, more under his breath but Jack heard him.

"That's not his fault. He…changed."

The fact that Jack was so quick to defend the Doctor rankled Ianto's nerves. He grunted sullenly.

"Literally, he changed," Jack stressed. "Changed his face. If it weren't for his TARDIS, I never would have recognized him." Jack tilted his head back. "Actually, I miss those big ears."

"What are you talking about?"

"Regeneration," Jack explained. "The Doctor is a Time Lord; I think the last of his kind, in fact. By my time, Time Lords were just legends. They live for a very long time and one way they cheat death is by regeneration: new face, new voice, new body."

Ianto tried to ignore the squirming in his belly. "So, he's immortal," he said numbly. "Like you."

Jack's smile was dull. "No, not like me. Time will eventually run out for him but not for me." Jack looked out into the main area. "Unless he can fix me."

"What he did in London, leaving you there, in that machine, fixed _nothing_ ," Ianto said harshly. 

"He couldn't have known—"

" _Nothing_ you're telling me describes a man who should be excused for the way he hurt you!" Ianto swallowed at the confusion on Jack's face.

"He wasn't always like that," Jack insisted. "It's because of me he's different." At Ianto's curious look, Jack shrugged, his eyes elsewhere.

"I'm a fixed point." Jack said, his eyes cloudy. "It's not natural. A Time Lord’s first instinct is to get away from things like me. Despite that, the Doctor stayed. It…it was hard for him."

Ianto stared at the top of Jack's head. He couldn't imagine it ever being that much of a chore to remain by Jack's side. Just the opposite. He folded his arms and bit his lower lip. 

"This…regeneration…you said it changes the body. What about personality?"

Jack looked startled. "I…I don't know."

"Did he have all his memories?"

Frowning to himself, Jack pursed his lips. "Sometimes, he acts like he doesn't know what I'm talking about, but again, it could just be because of m—"

"It sounds more like this could be a complete change," Ianto declared before Jack could finish the thought. "How much do you know about this regeneration thing?"

Jack shrugs. "Just what he told me, which isn't much."

"Then it might very well not be your fault," Ianto pointed out. He could see Jack in deep thought. Ianto shuffled closer and reached over to Jack.

Behind him, the sirens rang, announcing the first arrival at work. Ianto sighed at the interruption. 

Jack smiled ruefully. "Back to work." He rubbed a knuckle over Ianto's thigh. "Coffee?"

"Maybe I should talk to Owen about a caffeine IV drip," Ianto retorted.

"Only if I can dip biscuits in it."

Ianto snorted and hopped off the desk with regret. As he steered for the door, he paused. 

"Jack?" he called. When Jack looked up questioningly, Ianto smiled and hoped his eyes reflected everything he wanted to tell him but Jack still couldn't hear. 

" _I_ think you're worth fighting for."

Jack's eyes were suspiciously bright. He nodded, his smile warmer. 

Mission accomplished, Ianto left the office. He caught himself whistling as he made the coffee.

 

 **Act V:** _"I never should have given them the night off."_  
 **December 29**

"Still no sign of her?"

Jack looked up at Ianto. He shook his head wearily. What a fucking mess.

"Diane Holmes vanished three minutes after take off." Jack threw two days worth of readings that Tosh had printed out on the coffee table in disgust. They were useless anyway. No one ever knew where the Rift would lead.

"How's Owen?" Ianto asked, easing himself next to Jack on the couch. Tiredly, he tugged loose his tie and the top button of his shirt. With Owen not coming in to work, Ianto found himself doing double-duty, trying to cover his own duties and helping the girls with theirs.

Jack shook his head again.

"They were lovers, Jack," Ianto said soberly. "That dress…"

"I should have seen this coming!" Jack leaned back into the couch, one arm thrown back to rest behind his head. He scowled up.

"You couldn't have known."

"If I wasn't so busy trying to find different ways to die, I might have," Jack pointed out, his voice bitter.

Ianto pursed his lips at the reminder. "Like you said," he said stiffly. "You were busy."

Jack's shoulders slumped. "I guess we should be grateful at least Emma seems to be doing okay."

"Off to London," Ianto agreed. "Gwen was a bit nervous about it." His voice softened. "We've all invested ourselves in their welfare, some of us more than others."

"Keep thinking about John," Jack confessed. "What if I hadn't found his son? What if I had retconned him?"

"It might have worked for a while, but after that, who knows?" Ianto sat back heavily next to Jack. He heaved a sigh.

"My God, the holidays were dreary this year." Ianto dropped his head back. He scowled at the garland and random decorations still hanging all over, save a few tattered pieces the pterodactyl pecked at.

Jack choked back a painful laugh. He couldn't find any of it funny. "At least we didn't do Gwen's Secret Santa idea. Gives me a chance to exchange my gift."

"Tosh?"

Jack lifted up his head a little. "How did you—"

Ianto tapped the side of his head. He winked, smiling blearily. "I know everything. It's my job."

"Somehow I don't think your job description included this."

A small chuckle vibrated by his ear. "It was your wrapping." Ianto wrinkled his nose. "Were you trying to make origami?"

"It was a funny shape!" Jack protested weakly, coloring.

"What did you get her?"

"Earrings."

"Doesn't that come in a jewelry box?" The laughter rumbled under Ianto's voice.

"Shut up."

Ianto chuckled. He sobered after a moment.

"What are you going to do about Owen?"

Jack shrugged. "Give him some time." He laughed bitterly. "It's about all Torchwood can give him. Time."

The nod followed by Ianto's solid presence on his shoulder eased the churning in Jack's gut. Jack tilted his head to the side, resting briefly against Ianto before he cleared his throat. 

"I gave everyone else the night off. You should go home, too."

Jack could feel Ianto tracking him as he levered off the couch. "What are you going to do?"

Waving towards his office, Jack shrugged. "Try to figure out this mess."

"You mean brood and somehow make this your fault," Ianto translated brusquely.

"Well, wasn't it?" Jack pivoted around. His words echoed and above the pterodactyl cawed. At Ianto's bland expression, Jack shook his head.

"Look, there's been crazy Rift activity lately. I need to study this and see what's going on, that's all."

Ianto's face twitched.

Jack waved around the Hub. "There hasn't been any Weevil activity and who knows what's going to happen with the Rift in the next few weeks. Take the break when you can get it."

Still saying nothing, Ianto rose to his feet. He looked around him before turning back towards Jack. 

"I could stay here," Ianto offered. He made a valiant effort to straighten his shoulders but Jack could tell it was a losing battle.

Inside, his heart warmed. Jack headed back to the younger man and settled his hands on Ianto's shoulders. He massaged them briefly and felt Ianto's stiff muscles quiver.

"Not if I want to get any work done," Jack chuckled. He cupped his hands around Ianto's shoulders and gently dug his heels into the knots he could feel under Ianto's suit. "I have to earn my pay."

"Mm." Ianto closed his eyes, his head rolling a little, offering Jack another muscle to lave his attentions on.

"You could always change careers," Ianto moaned softly as Jack kneaded the back of his neck. "Masseuses are in high deman—Oh _yes_ , right there, please."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Jack teased.

"Take it with sugar for all I care, just don't stop." Ianto whimpered, his head dropping forward onto Jack's right shoulder. "You are a right bastard, Harkness," Ianto said, in a muffled voice. "I forgot what I was going to say next."

"You were going to say you were going to go home," Jack reminded him.

"No I wasn't," Ianto grumbled, not lifting up his head. 

"Yes you were."

"Bloody hell I was."

Jack snickered. "Language, Mr. Jones."

Ianto muttered something else even ruder and Jack laughed. He stopped his administrations, to which Ianto protested, his arms reaching for Jack's to plant them on his shoulders again.

"Who said you could stop?" Ianto complained.

Jack kissed the corner of his mouth. "Go home, Ianto."

"I'll be here early," Ianto said stubbornly, his eyes droopy. Still resting his head on Jack's shoulder, he waved vaguely behind him. "Have to clean up the Christmas decorations anyhow."

"They could wait."

The snort Ianto made was too cute. Jack smiled against his hair.

"Hardly," Ianto retorted. "The tree and mistletoe are shedding."

"I thought we agreed no mistletoe."

"Tosh's idea." Ianto reluctantly pulled away. He studied Jack.

"I'll see you tomorrow morning," Jack assured him. "It's fine."

Ianto held his gaze for a long moment. His shoulders slumped a little and he nodded tiredly. Then, before Jack could back away, Ianto gripped his head, pulled it down and smashed his lips to Jack's mouth.

The tease of a tongue swiping at his lips made Jack freeze, momentarily caught off guard, but when Ianto pressed his body closer, teeth lightly nipping at his lower lip demanding entrance, Jack gave in with a muffled groan. His mouth parted, Ianto dove in greedily and Jack stumbled back smacking up against the tiled wall, next to the sparsely decorated tree.

Evergreen filled his nostrils along with the clean and clear scent of life he associated with Ianto. He could feel Ianto's long, tapered fingers moving around to cradle the back of his head, pulling him to a warm, moist cavern devouring every breath he exhaled. He ground his hips against Ianto's and received a growl in reply and a body crushing him to the wall. 

Then with a gasp, they parted. They stood there, leaning against each other, the wall supporting them upright.

"That was a nice surprise," Jack panted. "Mistletoe?" 

Ianto looked up, then back down at Jack. He leaned in, kissed his brow and went, "Nope." He straightened his tie and left. "See you in the morning."

Jack gaped at the cog door as it rotated closed behind Ianto. He stood there, chest heaving.

"Oh," he managed. "Okay."


	33. "Captain Jack Harkness"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning For This Chapter:** period racial prejudice, strong language, mentions past non-con
> 
>  **Notes For This Chapter:** Note there are parallels to TW's "Combat", "Captain Jack Harkness"

**Act I**   
**One week later…**

It was still sitting on his desk, on top of a random stack of emails he'd been dutifully ignoring. They wanted to know if there was any Rift activity, another petitioned to access the alien artifacts, a demand as to why Torchwood hadn't switched satellites to Archangel yet, updated their personnel lists, further demands he meet with the Ministry of Defense, blah, blah, blah. A pile of demands Jack didn't particularly care to meet or accommodate. They were all like overgrown political children, clueless, demanding, and very annoying. Every printout sat in his unofficially titled 'To Ignore' pile.

And Ianto's gift sat on the apex. _That_ he couldn't ignore.

To be fair, Jack had intended to open it as soon as he could. But then strange Weevil activity popped up _everywhere_ —just after he gave everyone the night off, too—and then that undercover mission blew up spectacularly in their faces. Then Rift activity bubbled out like lava for no good reason. By the time Jack had a moment to settle back down behind his desk and savor a cup of Ianto's coffee—thank _God_ for Ianto's coffee—it had already been a week and suddenly the idea of opening the innocent looking package loomed like a Dalek for no particular reason.

Jack rested his chin on his fists, hunching down over his desk. He stared at the plain brown wrapping. Ianto had even pinched the corners and sealed it perfectly. Jack couldn't tell where the edges were. It was a little intimidating how much care had been given to wrap the cube shaped package. It sat there like a holy grail Jack wasn't sure should belong here.

It was just a box, for God's sake. It wasn't even a big box. It was the size of a softball and weighed even less, wrapped in plain brown mailing paper with a tiny yellow post-it that read "Jack" in neat, lined print. There were no flourishes, no ribbons or shiny paper like some of the other gifts that still sat under the tree; no one was in the mood to celebrate anymore after Ellis and Holmes.

Jack took a deep breath and reached for it, his fingertips just touching one pointy corner. He half-expected it to disappear like a TARDIS the moment he touched it. It didn't, however, and it tipped easily into his palm. Again, something rattled inside like coins. 

Open it or not open it?

The first time he had stepped into the innocuous looking police box, after being rescued from his Chula warship, he was shocked to find a labyrinth of rooms all contained inside a cramped looking police call box. Bigger on the inside, he had commented. The Doctor warned him that Jack had better be and Jack thought he had proven it to the Doctor and Rose; proven that like the TARDIS, there was something more to him inside.

Jack scowled at the box. It wasn't the same, damn it. He set it down in front of him. He scrutinized it with pursed lips.

A tie? Jack screwed up his face. Ianto knew his wardrobe. Jack doubted Ianto would indulge in a tie unless he offered to wear only the tie and well, wouldn't that be a nice Christmas present. No, couldn't be a tie. Jack carefully shook it again and nodded. Definitely not a tie. Oh well. 

Another set of cuff links perhaps? No, the first pair was—Jack cleared his throat. Regardless, Ianto looked to be more creative than that. The young man had certainly proven that to Jack time and time again. 

A tiny flat package wrapped in matte green and gold paper sat in his coat pocket and even though it was hidden, Jack could feel its presence like a flickering torch behind his back. He had asked the shop girl to help him and she was more than happy to when he tipped her twice what the actual item cost. Now, however, Jack wished she had selected something less colorful, something with less…ribbons. The more he thought about it, the more stupid the idea seemed to Jack. He was going to slip it under Ianto's keyboard when he pulled Ianto in for a kiss. It was just a little thing; just something he came across returning from Ianto's flat. It was going to be an "I picked up something while hunting a Weevil" thing. That was until Ianto gave him _this_.

It irked Jack that a tiny box could throw him off-balance like this. Then again, it had been a small police box that had thrown him from what he had thought would be his life. It was always the little things that caught Jack off guard.

Regas V had five moons, one of which contained a gigantic shopping bazaar that stayed open 215 days a year. Rose, when she heard about it, badgered the Doctor from 12th century China to 37th century America until the Time Lord finally relented and landed them at the height of Regas's tri-seasonal celebration. Excited, Rose had dragged Jack through every stall, every nook, and every cranny, until they returned to a bemused Doctor with a wagon, which Jack pulled, of course.

The Doctor was surprised when Rose gave him and Jack the tiny gray pebbles she bought that sang and glowed every color of the rainbow when stroked. The Time Lord had scoffed. He explained it was body heat that made the isothermal-whatever sing. Jack had thanked the exasperated Rose with a kiss that made her laugh. And he saw the Doctor slip his into his leather jacket. The Doctor had pulled it out again when he thought Rose was dead in the game station. He stroked it and it sang quietly to his grief-stricken face. 

Jack wondered if the Doctor had kept it. Jack wished he still had his. Last time he saw it, it was sitting in a bowl with the shells he and Rose had found on the next moon, the one right before heading to 21st century Cardiff. He'd meant to put it in his pocket but the Doctor had called out that they'd arrived and Jack had tossed it in the bowl of shells instead and hurried out to help the Time Lord with repairs.

The bowl wasn't there when the Doctor came back for him, lifetimes later.

A lump lodged in his throat. It was a plain looking thing and Jack had teased her that she might have inadvertently been tricked into buying Frewggar's fossilized dung. But after his eighteenth death outside a bar on Broad Street in New York, Jack thought about it. He'd revived in a ditch, still smelling of sex and booze, with his pockets turned out and dagger still lodged between his ribs. Jack had came to, lying in filth, still waiting for the Doctor and suddenly wishing instead of the ancient ferry's foghorn singing in the distance, that he had Rose's pebble humming in his hand. 

It was a silly gray piece of stone. A tourist trinket, the Doctor had scoffed, but he had smiled when he pocketed it.

It was just a rock. It was just a _box_.

Jack sighed and looked at Ianto's box glumly. 

Jack wished Ianto hadn't given it to him. Almost. 

The box felt light, fragile in his palm, but the promise of what could be inside and what it could mean weighed heavily in his chest. This is ridiculous. It was just a little holiday gift.

From _Ianto_.

To Jack's irritation, his palms were beginning to sweat. Great. He hadn't felt this nervous since he got caught in that cave-in with junior Trek-ja during mating season. He'd spent three nights in complete darkness, listening to hear what it'd do next. 

Jack bounced the package in his grip and listened to it stutter like a baby's rattle. 

It was a surprising relief to hear the klaxons whoop in the distance, announcing Owen was once again here far too early to be studious. The medic entered, shoulders slouched, and his head low as if he was reading something but his hands were empty. He gave a disgruntled nod towards Jack before shuffling over to Autopsy. From his office, Jack could still see the bandage on his throat where he had practically bared it to a Weevil.

Jack tucked the box carefully into one of the drawers by his right hand. A quiet brown box on top of a battered yellow metal one Jack had recovered from Torchwood's vaults. Someone had kept it filed under his name, probably after he'd disappeared with the Doctor in 1941.

Giving one more glance at it before sliding the drawer shut with exaggerated care, Jack turned back towards his paperwork. He rolled his eyes at the 'Urgent' headline on one form from the acting director of what was left of Torchwood London. With the elections coming up, everyone was scrambling to prepare updates for whoever the victor might be. It didn't matter to Jack either way. Just one more person to meet with, warn off from interfering with them, then ignore until the next PM elections.

Jack was tempted to ball up the request for a personnel list of all teams but instead he settled in to fill it out and the brief dossiers UNIT was requesting. Every few minutes, Jack looked up to see if Owen was sleeping on the couch again before wearily going back to the tedious chore. Jack rolled his eyes at the standard questions inquiring the race, gender, and religion of each member of his team. Like these categories would even be relevant in another two hundred twenty years.

God, he hated politicians. 

 

Diane's scarf still smelled like her. 

Smelled like Kate too when Owen buried his nose into the gossamer material. They both wore a spicy floral perfume that was too eerily similar for his sanity. 

Owen shoved the long, thin fabric down into his pocket with a snarl and made a point to turn back towards the dead Weevil Jack had found floating in the sewers last night. One more body in a string of things Jack Harkness kept piling on him. The moment Owen stepped into Torchwood, no matter the hour, Jack had some ruddy task for him. Owen was tempted to taunt him and ask where Jonesy was—he wasn't stupid, he just didn't care most of the time—but he was worried the captain might actually answer back. That'd only invite conversation and right now, Owen Harper wasn't in much of a mood to talk. If everyone would just leave him alone in the medical bay, that was fine by him.

The Weevil lay open, its innards exposed and looked as raw as Owen felt. He took a deep breath, tugged the mask over his mouth and approached the body with a grunt.

The liver, or what equated to one, in his hands weighed about the same as if swollen. Owen placed it on the scale, grimacing at the numbers. He couldn't help but feel a glimmer of curiosity. Maybe internal bleeding? Its lungs, all three sections, showed signs of inflammation as well. Could have been in a fight, maybe even one of the ones who were caged for fighting. 

The hot, almost corrosive feel of fangs digging into his throat returned. Owen winced. There had been a moment of peace when he felt the pain course down his body. Perhaps, Owen mused as he considered the Weevil, this was why cage fighting was so addictive despite the agony. Pain to replace pain; pain to substitute a lost lover. 

Owen was tempted to touch his bandage to remind himself how it felt but didn't. His gloves were contaminated. Weevil blood might be carriers for many pathogens—hm, maybe he should do another set of bloodwork.

"Find anything?"

Like clockwork, Jack's voice sailed over him from above. Owen briefly wondered if the captain enjoyed that; talking high up from on the railing, knowing his voice would linger in the air like a priest in a cathedral.

"Weevils should consider a less iron-rich diet," Owen reported, refusing to look up. He pulled off his gloves with a snap and tossed them in a bin behind him. "Looks like this one died from slow internal bleeding."

"Ah." Harkness sounded too sympathetic to just be concerned about an anonymous Weevil. Owen gritted his teeth. 

"Do you think they could have been from the fights? Maybe it escaped?" 

Whereas everyone else tiptoed around Owen's disastrous undercover mission, Jack plowed ahead with the grace of an unapologetic elephant. He remembered catching Gwen pulling Jack aside for that, scolding him for insisting that Owen return to work so quickly after the hospital. Huh. He didn't expect that from Cooper. Made him feel worse, too. It would have been better if Gwen were all bitchy and vengeful towards him. It hurt less than all this concern and worry she shared whispering with Tosh until they realized he could see them. 

He had ended up going to a bar after he caught them doing it the first time, where he drank himself stupid and stumbled back to the Hub because he wasn't going to drive back to an empty loft shitfaced. He woke up on the couch disoriented, his shoes off, and with a lab coat thrown over him like he was a corpse.

"Do you think you can get me a report or do you want some more time to brood?"

Owen's head whipped up to where Jack was leaning over the railing, elbows braced on the top bar, one foot up on the lower bar. 

"I'm not brooding."

"No, you always look out into empty space. Kind of reminds me of a guy I once dated. Kept insisting he could see ghosts when we were together. Thought he was hinting he was an exhibitionist. He would always stare out past my shoulder whenever we—"

"Don't you have work to do?" Owen snapped, cutting Jack off before the man could go on. They never knew if he was joking or not anyway. 

"I will once you get me that report," Jack returned breezily.

"Just make up something to look busy like you always do," Owen waved him off. 

"Who says I was making up work?" Jack didn't sound offended, rather, he sounded amused.

Owen gestured towards the Weevil with an angry sweep of his arm. "Suddenly there's all this stuff for _me_ to do?"

Jack shrugged. "You didn't come in to work for a few days. Things piled up."

Owen stopped short. "Oh." He grimaced and turned away. "Give me an hour, then."

"I think I gave you more than that, Owen," Jack said quietly. 

Owen's lips pulled back. Abruptly, his left arm whipped out and the drawers behind him rattled and spilled out onto the floor when he gave them a violent yank. Gauze, scalpels, and cotton swabs rained down onto the floor slick with the Weevil's blood.

"You know, that comes out of your pay," Jack said in a mild voice that only served to enrage him more.

"Piss off!" Owen spat out. He stood there, heaving, feet apart, fists to his side. Why wouldn't they leave him alone? Why did everyone refuse to leave and the one person he wanted the most to stay left to rejoin the sky instead?

"It's time to move on," Jack said, unbothered by his momentary fit. He was just as calm when he stood in Owen's hospital room and listened to Owen say he didn't want them to save him. "You can't let this destroy you."

Owen growled and spun around. "Move on? _You_ should talk! If I want to brood about her, I'll fucking brood! I’d rather brood than offer myself up _like a piece of meat_ at Caveat!" 

The stony expression on Jack's face made him stop cold.

It felt like his stomach dropped to his shoes. God, he can be such a wanker at times. Owen covered his eyes with a hand. 

"Shit, Jack, I didn't mean—"

"It's okay," Jack said stiffly. 

But it wasn't. "Listen, I…all this shit with—"

"It's _fine_ ," Jack stressed. 

"No, I didn't mean to bring up—"

"Caveat's in the past." He paused and his voice warmed. "A lot of things happened in the past, Owen."

Owen stared up at him. His mouth tasted sour, his eyes hot as if they burned. "Doesn't feel like the past," he rasped. "Feels like it's still happening."

Jack heaved a sigh. "Yeah, I know."

Owen blinked rapidly at the floor. "She left, Jack. I begged her to stay. _Begged_. She just left me behind."

Jack exhaled long and low. "It's not a good feeling; being left behind."

The scalpels and swabs blurred by his feet. They looked like bones. "Feels like your guts are being gouged out with a pencil."

The responding chuckle was devoid of any humor. "Something like that."

Owen looked over his shoulder with a thin mouth. He narrowed his gaze. "Aren't you supposed to say something supportive, something warm and fuzzy and nauseatingly sweet to make me feel better, Captain?"

Jack blinked down at him, looking genuinely puzzled. "Would saying something warm and fuzzy and nauseatingly sweet _make_ you feel better?"

Owen turned back around. He set his jaw. "Not really," he groused. "I probably would have punched you out."

"Well, there you go. I like my jaw the way it is. It's my best feature."

Jack said nothing else but Owen could hear him rocking on one foot, leaning into the railing. 

"I would have gone with her into that Rift," Owen confessed after a moment.

"We can't predict where the Rift would have led or if she would have found one."

"I didn't care."

"Ah." Jack fell silent.

"Yeah," Owen bit out. He didn't care. Still didn't. He couldn't bring himself to care. Anything was better than this.

"Blasted Rift," Owen snarled. It infuriated him that it was a thing he couldn't punch, maim, or hurt. He kicked at the floor sullenly. A glass tube shattered in his wake. Debris circled around him like a storm pattern. Owen stood in the center of it all. 

"You're not the only one who lost someone to the Rift, Owen." A strange look swept over Jack's face. "The Rift has made a lot more victims than you can ever imagine."

"Well, Emma seems to be doing alright." Why couldn't Diane do the same? Why was she so determined to find adventure? Why couldn't she see staying with him as one?

"I wasn't just talking about the passengers of the Sky Gypsy."

Owen grunted. He gave Jack a sideways glance but Jack, as usual, was being oblique. "Ruddy Rift," Owen grumbled. "I still have yet to see one good thing come out of it."

"You will. Someday. Not everything in the universe just takes." Jack smacked the railing loudly with his palms. "I want that report in an hour, Owen."

"Right, right," Owen grumbled, already shrugging out of his lab coat to sit by his computer. He stopped. "Jack?"

Owen could hear the captain pausing in his tracks above him.

Owen frowned at the floor, tallying up the contents. Didn't he have more blades than this? Something else was glaringly absent. "I thought I had pills. Painkillers for us. They're not here. Know anything about that?"

"Yeah, that," Jack said casually. "Had to toss them out." He paused. "Gone bad. I had Ianto order some more."

" _All_ of them?" Shit, he had a three-month supply. How did he not notice? 

"Yup." Jack tsked, his voice oddly strained. "You know, you should really keep those under lock and key."

"Right," Owen grumbled as he stared at the floor. Christ, he had made a mess. 

"I want that report in an hour, Owen."

Owen waved a hand impatiently behind him. Then, Owen paused. "Oi, Jack?"

Jack sounded guarded. Owen flinched. "Yeah?"

"Sorry about John," Owen said quietly. It wasn't the same, but it felt like he should say something.

Jack audibly swallowed. 

"Sorry about Diane," Jack returned, his voice low and gruff. Jack then cleared his throat, turned on his heels and left.

Owen stood there, his back facing where Jack was, his fingers curled on the stair railing that lead out of Autopsy. He stared at the glimpse of white silk scarf stuffed in his lab coat pocket, hanging off his chair. He stared at the shambles on the floor. Absently, a little voice reminded him that his bed hadn't been made since she left. The sheets still smelled like her. He'd slept on the couch when he would come home or the couch here if going home felt too intolerable. 

Owen sniffed loudly. He didn't care what Jack said. No good ever came out of that Rift.

Outside, Owen could hear the cogwheel door opening and before Jack could finish greeting Ianto, Owen took a deep breath.

"Jonesy!" he bellowed, "Get me a coffee!" 

Owen smirked half-heartedly when he heard Ianto yelp in disgust, "I just got here!" Jack enthusiastically asked for the same. Owen didn't hear the rest, his head bowed over the keyboard as he began typing. He didn't look behind him at his lab coat, ignored the mess on the floor and didn't think about his flat. Owen kept his mind deliberately blank, typing more automatically as he filled out the fields on the autopsy form. Don't think, don't think, Owen told himself. He did only have an hour, after all.

 

**Act II**

Ianto watched Jack watch the box like it was that damn jar. It sat inches from Jack's nose and if Ianto didn't know any better, Jack examined it warily like it was going to pounce. He wasn't sure if he should be flattered or miffed that Jack would look at it with what almost looked like a mix of apprehension and fascination.

It was just a bloody box.

Ianto stood there with a tray of cooling coffee and wondered if he should speak up.

The night before, on Ianto's bed, Jack had slept curled against Ianto, his even breathing against his throat indicating that there weren't any nightmares.

For Jack, at least.

This time, it was Ianto who had lain awake, his heart hammering against his ribs. Jack's pained groans and mumbled protests had echoed in his ear each time he tried to touch Jack. They had evolved to sickening full color clips of that bastard on top of Jack. Hurting Jack. Taking something Jack was so willing to give. His damn imagination made his fingers quiver each time he reached out to Jack. He'd rather have Jack in him than take his captain and drown in the images of someone else doing the same without permission. With Jack fully sheathed in him, Ianto could at least pretend he was able to pull Jack in completely, away from those who would ever want to hurt him.

Except now, Jack was staring at his box like it was a disembodied hand.

"If I knew you were going to be so fascinated by geometric shapes …," Ianto announced when he couldn't stand it anymore. Jack started, his face guilty. He'd never even noticed Ianto standing inside his office for five minutes. Ianto nudged the door shut behind him with an elbow. 

"I would have just given you the block set I bought for my cousin's baby instead." The coffee mugs rattled when he set the tray down harder than he intended. Ianto winced.

Jack smiled faintly and sat up. "It's been so busy with the Rift," Jack offered. It was a lame excuse and by the look in his eyes, they both knew it.

"It's not going to blow up," Ianto pointed out. He tried hard to hide the hurt in his voice. "I've grown out of the habit of making volatile presents ages ago." 

Jack gave a nervous chuckle in return. "I'm afraid I'm a little intimidated by it," he admitted, a faint smile twisting his lips. "You did a really good job wrapping it."

Rolling his eyes, Ianto set out the coffees as he retorted, "It's just paper and tape, Jack. It's not alien technology."

"I don't know. That sticky tape really had it out with me when I tried."

Ianto hid a smirk behind his hand. "It would explain Tosh's gift."

"Oi!" Jack huffed before he reached over for his coffee. His pout disappeared completely behind the mug as he guzzled the beverage with the glee of an addict.

"Good Lord, slow down Harkness or you'll be the first man ever to drown in coffee!"

One final slurp, a wipe across his mouth with the back of his hand, and Jack looked up, interest piqued. "CPR?"

Ianto grunted. "I'll get Owen. He's the professional." He chuckled when Jack gagged.

"Don't do me any favors. Just let me die instead."

Ianto's smile faded.

Jack flinched. "Too early to joke?"

"It was never humorous to begin with," Ianto said in a stiff voice. 

Jack grimaced in apology. He turned back towards his desk. 

"Seriously, why won't you open it?" Ianto asked quietly as he set down his coffee.

"Would you believe I'm afraid to know what's inside?" Jack made an odd sort of laugh that Ianto didn't find funny. Ianto drank his coffee and studied Jack for a long moment. 

"Would it make you feel better to know it's just some lewd trinket from the sex shop down the end of the Plass?"

Jack snorted. He then turned sharply to Ianto. "Is it?" Jack chuckled at Ianto's glower. "Okay, okay, and the answer is yes, I think it would have made this less…biblical."

Ianto wrinkled his nose. "I didn't splurge on anything that generous, Harkness. You don't pay me enough."

"If that's a hint for a pay raise, you're out of luck," Jack drawled. 

"Points for trying." Ianto shrugged. He softened. "It's just a gift, Jack. No reason for it."

"Exactly." Jack stared at it glumly. Jack shrugged, or tried. "Rose used to do that a lot. God, she loved shopping. She used to give the Doctor and me things for no reason at all." He snorted. "I think it was just so she could have a reason to shop."

Ianto smiled sadly. "Sounds like she was nice."

Jack's eyes clouded over. "She was. I think she was the one who convinced the Doctor to come back for me the first time."

"The first time?"

"Sort of got myself stuck with a German bomb in my ship," Jack quipped. "I was sitting around having a hypervodka, the bomb counting down, when his police box shows up in my ship."

Somehow, it was easy to imagine Jack sitting in some futuristic ship, having a drink with a bomb. It seemed like the sort of thing Jack would do.

"I thought you don't drink," Ianto commented.

Jack craned his neck and looked up at him. "I don't," was his succinct answer. Jack didn't offer anything more. He picked up the box with three fingers and rotated it all around.

"I just wish—" Ianto stopped. He clamped his mouth shut.

Jack looked at him questioningly.

Ianto shrugged. He suddenly wished he had never said anything. 

"You just wish what?" Jack's chair spun around to face him. "Ianto?"

His shoulders lifted then dropped again. "I just wish you at least wouldn't look at the box like that," Ianto mumbled.

Baffled, Jack's brow furrowed. "Like what?"

"Like…like…" Ianto waved towards the box, frustrated. "I would never hurt you, Jack!" he blurted out. "I-I mean, I know I already did with Lis—I would never deliberately…what I'm trying to say…" Bollocks. He didn't want to have this conversation. He never thought there would be a need.

Jack cocked his head. "Okay," he said slowly, trying to catch up. "Let's say, for argument's sake, I have no idea where this came from." Jack smiled gently up at Ianto. He reached over, his arms loosely around Ianto's middle and pulled him closer.

Ianto sighed. He felt both foolish and angry at the same time and he couldn't explain either. How could he explain to Jack the driving need in him to want to keep Jack safe, a mortal wanting to shelter an _immortal_. Christ, how mad is that? He bowed over Jack, his arms wrapped around Jack's head, suddenly feeling like the captain felt very small.

"What is it?" Jack muffled, sounding a little startled inside Ianto's hold. "Is it your gift? I—"

"Nightmares," Ianto was finding his head too full of things he wanted to say. It felt like the time to say it was shrinking far too fast to stop it. "I…there are these nightmares…"

The arms around him tightened in comfort.

"Tell me about them," Jack encouraged. He parted his legs, settling Ianto between them, in his arms. His hands rubbed Ianto's lower back. "Tell me about the nightmares, Ianto,"

He suddenly felt so old. How odd when the man he held was a century old and yet Ianto felt older. "I can't," Ianto sighed and Jack pressed closer reassuringly. "These nightmares…they're _yours_."

Jack stiffened.

Ianto held him tighter, refusing to let go. "I…you talk during these nightmares sometimes…"

Jack, rigid and still, said nothing. He suddenly felt like a caught animal in Ianto's embrace; any minute Jack could bolt.

Something screamed at him to shut up but Ianto took a deep breath and pushed on. "Jack, what he did…" The words swelled in his throat, making it hard to breathe. Ianto couldn't finish. Then, Jack didn't give him a chance. He shrugged off Ianto's arms. 

"They were just nightmares, Ianto." Jack patted his hip, his hand lingering briefly before he swiveled around in his chair and rolled back under his desk. "Don't worry about them."

Ianto stared at Jack, at his hands busying themselves on paper Jack wasn't even looking at, wasn't even aware that some were upside down. Papers crinkled noisily. 

"They're not just nightmares. Jack…he r—" God, he couldn't say it. It didn't sound like something a man would ever have to say to another; it didn't look like a word that belonged in Jack Harkness' vocabulary.

"He _hurt_ you," Ianto ended up hissing.

The paper rustling stopped. Jack sighed, looked at the papers wrinkling in his hands and dropped them.

"It wasn't like that."

"You kept telling him to stop. You kept telling him you can't, that it hu— _Christ_ , Jack. I don't understand how you can still be so loyal to him!"

Jack looked up when Ianto's voice rose. Jack gave the Hub beyond his office door a quick check before glancing back to Ianto. His eyes were dull, his mouth unsmiling.

"He wasn't always like that." Jack sat back on his seat, his face giving nothing away. "It…it wasn't always like that."

"Why won't you look at me when you say that then?"

Jack's eyes flew to his face then averted. "They're just nightmares, Ianto. The mind blows things out of proportion."

Ianto reached out a hand, but the ridged back warned him off. Ianto perched on the edge of the desk. He stared at the exposed wall and the rusty ladder bolted there that led to Jack's quarters.

"I'm not him," Ianto said quietly. "I would never… _ever_ deliberately…" Ianto stared hard at the ladder. There was a bolt missing behind the third rung. Nothing crucial, everything else was in place, yet its rusting, torn hole mocked him.

"Just," Ianto closed his eyes and swallowed. "I'm not him, Jack. I promise, I'm not him."

Ianto felt Jack's hand curve around his right thigh. Jack was staring out past his desk, but he rubbed a slow circle into his leg.

"I know," Jack said, low.

Ianto's eyes flew open. He stared hard at Jack. "Do you?" Ianto hated how his voice cracked but it took everything he possessed not to shake Jack into his senses, not to go out there and dismantle that jar with his bare hands. "Do you trust me that I would never—" Ianto choked. Bloody coward, he thought to himself. Can't even say the words.

Ianto covered the hand on his thigh and gave the cool hand a squeeze. "Never," Ianto said hoarsely. 

Jack nodded. He inhaled deeply into the ironed shirt as he buried his face in Ianto's torso, face pressed to his belly.

Ianto sniffed loudly. "Then please, _please_ , stop looking at that box like it's his hand. It's just a gift. Nothing more. I just wanted to…"

"Okay, okay…" Jack soothed. He kissed the shirt over Ianto's ribs. His hand massaged slow circles on Ianto's thighs. 

Ianto exhaled. He felt foolish, felt like a hysterical git, and his eyes were too hot and gritty to be fit for company. He lowered his head to briefly rest his chin on top of Jack's head. 

They sat there; all the quiet blips and chirps of Torchwood bleeding away to a quiet duet of soft breathing in Jack's office. Ianto inhaled every scent that encompassed Jack, his hands settled lightly on Jack's shoulders. He could feel Jack's measured exhales against his stomach, warm even through his shirt. If it weren't for Jack's hands kneading his upper thighs, Ianto would have thought Jack had fallen asleep.

"Sorry," Ianto croaked. He felt Jack rub his jaw against him. "Didn't mean to…you know."

"It's okay," Jack muffled. 

"I just…" There was so much he wanted to say, so much he wished Jack would say to him. Ianto sighed. He moved up his hands to cradle Jack's head. He took a steadying breath before pulling back and offering Jack a sheepish smirk. 

Jack smiled in return but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Should I open it now?" Jack offered gently.

Ianto shrugged and tried to pretend it didn't matter. He averted his gaze towards the coat rack. "You waited this long," Ianto mumbled. He watched surreptitiously as Jack sat back in his leather chair, rolling it back against the radiator. He couldn't help but smile faintly when Jack ran a hand around the paper, his brow knitted.

"Would you like me to get Owen? You look like you're about to perform surgery on it."

"I can't find the seams," Jack huffed as he squinted. He brightened when he found one edge perfectly hidden along the corner of the cube. Jack shot him an exasperated look, to which Ianto responded with a weak snicker.

Ianto kept telling Jack it was just a gift, a frivolous thing, yet when the brown paper parted like a blossom to reveal the worn wooden box, Ianto began to sweat. Maybe it was _too_ frivolous? It wasn't like buying something for Lisa, where a shiny bauble might have been impressive. He tried to imagine it like buying something for Bryce but Jack never dressed in a suit—although the idea held some appeal—and he never really went anywhere that wasn't Torchwood related. Ianto never recalled seeing even a DVD player anywhere in Jack's quarters. 

Ianto gulped when Jack pulled out the antique oak box shaped like a miniature treasure chest. He turned it in his hands, inspecting the inlays of mahogany and ash. 

"It's a snuff box," Ianto offered. "Um, from the early nineteenth century, Chinese." He bit back a smile. "It was owned once by a Captain of the British navy. They uh…once called him Captain Jack."

It made Jack smile, but the puzzlement was clear in Jack's eyes. "Snuff box?" he said doubtfully, still turning and admiring the craftsmanship. "But I don't smoke." Jack looked up guiltily. "I'm not saying I don't like it—"

Ianto nodded towards the box.

Jack shook it carefully, cautious because of its antique origins. He offered Ianto a raised eyebrow.

"Fossilized tobacco?" Jack drawled with a crooked smirk.

Ianto rolled his eyes. "Hardly." His smile faded a little when Jack gingerly pulled the top off and paused.

"Buttons." Jack sounded a little strange.

Ianto swallowed. "I uh…you were always losing buttons for that coat and…well, thought you might do well with some spares." Ianto started to reach for it when Jack poked through the modest contents with a finger. "It was just a silly idea. I mean—"

"These are the exact same ones." Jack sounded, looked, a little awed. "How did…" He swiveled towards Ianto, his eyes widened. He looked back down at the box cupped in his hands.

Something uncoiled in Ianto’s gut and there was a warm glow infused throughout his body as he watched Jack sort through the hand-carved wooden and polished metal buttons.

"There were some places," Ianto murmured. "I just made a few calls." A few calls to vintage shops, estates, museums and even to Tosh's favorite site, Ebay. He might not go back to Ebay, however, as they seem to charge him an exorbitant amount to ship a few buttons.

Jack spilled a few into his palm and touched each one with his pointer finger. He looked up at Ianto and offered him a sheepish grin.

"I guess I'm a little attached to that coat."

Ianto lifted one shoulder. "Really? I haven't noticed."

There was a little impolite snort in response.

"I uh…assumed there was some significance to it," Ianto offered. 

Jack gestured towards it with what looked like embarrassment.

"The Doctor?" Ianto guessed right when Jack's head shot up. Ianto gave his shoulders a modest lift. "You said the Doctor came back in 1941. It fits the period."

Jack gave a strained laugh. "Actually, that was the second time around." When Ianto arched an eyebrow, Jack nodded towards his coat. "First time I met Rose and the Doctor, it was that year, too."

Ianto's stomach churned. "You wanted to remember them somehow."

Jack shrugged again. He poked through the buttons on his palm. 

"I can't believe you found…I looked _everywhere_." Jack still looked a little stunned when he tilted his face up at him.

Ianto scratched his jaw with a small smile. "They're just buttons." The coats were unsalvageable except as scraps for repairs.

After a minute, Jack set down the box with reverence in the center of his desk. He stood in front of Ianto, his hands resting on Ianto's forearms. His eyes were dark and Ianto could see himself in them. He sat there on the desk, pinned under Jack's gaze.

"Thank you." Jack's earnest face was inches from his.

Ianto, relieved, smiled back. "You're welc—Oh."

Jack pulled Ianto to his chest, his breath moist and heady on Ianto's face before Ianto's mouth was engulfed. Jack's hands snaked around to his rear, slipping between the curve of his buttocks and the desk, lifting Ianto just enough so Jack could _squeeze_ — _Christ_ —and press him higher and closer to the solid feel of Jack's body—a wall of life bracing, tasting, devouring him. Ianto fumbled, he'd forgotten what his hands were for, until he could slap his hands over that pert, round arse he coveted. Jack made a muffled squeak into Ianto's mouth when Ianto ground his groin against Jack, his hands on the captain's rear, bringing him closer.

Papers fell to the side—Jack mumbled they weren't important—a mug shattered—Jack said it wasn't his favorite—and Ianto yanked Jack to him and they both fell onto the desk.

Fingers through hair, a hand gripping— _oh God, yes, right there_ —mouths battling, Ianto was dizzy trying to keep track of his hands and Jack's. Jack arched his head back, offering his throat and Ianto groaned at the pale skin, the cords and tendons of a vulnerable pulse displayed to him. Ianto dove to it, suckling on the pulse until Jack moaned.

A clang outside, hollow metal on tile, registered through the fuzzy haze and the two parted with a gasp.

Ianto, bent awkwardly over the desk, had his hands on Jack's front, his fingers twisted around both braces because he was seconds from yanking them down and—

"Well…" Ianto stammered; wheezed really, because Jack's body was still on top of him. The captain's face was flushed, his hair in a messy disarray that Ianto couldn't help comb back into place with his fingers. Ianto let Jack pull him up and sat there as Jack fixed his tie back into some order. Ianto was sure he looked as thoroughly debauched as Jack. "I take it you like the gift?"

Jack leaned into Ianto's throat, kissed him just above his collarbone and nodded.

"You're welcome," Ianto murmured, his throat tight. He wasn't sure if he was glad or not. 

 

**Act III: _"And how long before you head off to war?"_**   
**Ritz Dance Hall, Sage St**   
**Two days later…**

"Where's the SUV?"

The streets were too empty, too dark to be morning. 

That should have been the first clue. 

Sage Street had been decrepit, broken, and littered with boarded up buildings with _For Sale_ signs when he had parked the SUV. Now, pristine Union Jacks fluttered in the breeze hanging off flagpoles on clean brick face. 

_That_ should have been the second clue. But he was numb, lightheaded from seeing the reds and golds of an era past, their music still ringing in his ear. Jack remembered standing there watching the past come back to life. It was beautiful and full of color and just so _alive_. But Tosh was right. They couldn't stay; they didn't belong, and so they left. But the music seemed to have followed him all the way out of the building.

Toshiko, not realizing it's gone far too dark for the time they spent inside the ballroom, was still searching.

"Has it been stolen?" Toshiko cried. Her heels clacked on perfect cobblestone, her burgundy coat whipping around her calves as she trotted down the street then back. She clutched her laptop case with both arms like it was her touchstone.

Jack stared at the poster in front of him, looking at the date. He could feel the blood leaving his face and making him cold.

January 20, 1941.

"No," Jack breathed. He checked his wrist strap. The readings were the same as inside. He twisted around to Toshiko. She stared back, frightened.

" _We_ have."

Oh God, please, not again.

 

Toshiko was very aware of the fact everyone had stilled the moment they reentered the now far-too lively Ritz. Her grandfather's voice, worn down to a voice garbled with age and sad bitterness, rang in her head.

1941\. _Japanese_. It was not a good mix.

Jack smoothly took a half step in front of her and she didn't object. She wasn't really sure about half of what she was saying to him. Toshiko made sure she always knew where Jack was as they climbed the winding staircase. Amazing, it was on the verge of collapse minutes before. She didn't need to turn around since Jack filled the air around him with his tangible presence; it was comforting, even if he never looked like he was aware of it himself.

"Don't worry, you're with the Captain."

Toshiko kept those words close to her heart, as close as his hand hovered on her lower back, guiding without looking like he was guiding. Toshiko knew she was talking, fretting to Jack when she should really be more levelheaded. She'd been with Torchwood over three years now, think Sato, think! 

Was there a Torchwood during this time? Another Rift through which she could send her half of the equations? She had the latest numbers—damn, why hadn't she recharged her battery like she'd planned? There had been a growing pattern in the Rift activity. Maybe they could catch another fissure—no, they could end up like Diane Holmes, possibly lost forever. God, _Owen_. What must he be thinking right now?

Toshiko barely noticed Jack had led her to the bar and ordered her a drink. Just a brandy? She had a funny feeling she needed something stronger than that, but her mind was too busy readjusting the equation, slotting in this occurrence as the newest factor, to correct Jack's order. As soon as the barkeeper totted it up though and Jack floundered, she froze. No money.

"I'll get that." A young soldier, too young, too smug to have experienced war yet came in between them and tossed some folded currency on the counter.

Toshiko felt a momentary panic, disoriented from her thoughts when he cut her off from Jack. It was like a gate slamming between them and she glanced up, lost for words. She realized too late that the young man was dragging her out to the dance floor. She jittered faster on her heels to catch up, too stunned to protest, still stuck on the A sine variable and not on the fact that she was too conspicuous as the only Asian here eleven months before Pearl Harbor. 

At the first twirl, Toshiko squeaked and clung to the officer more to keep her balance than concern with her dance steps. She saw Jack's beaming smile as he cheered her on from the sidelines, looking a little bit like a proud father. Toshiko was torn between panic that she was out there in the open dancing with a total stranger and the enthusiasm Jack had displayed for this time period. 

Toshiko was about to relent and give the boy his dance—too many had died before they became men—until she noticed everyone else was doing the impossible fox trot. Oh God…But…but…

She'd failed ballroom dancing!

Toshiko kept looking over at Jack and wondered it would do any good to shout for help. Instead, she got dizzy being spun around, arms swinging as the young soldier danced with a little too much exuberance.

Jack either got the message or didn't like the way Toshiko was spinning around like a pachinko ball. He slipped past the bystanders and tapped the soldier on the shoulder. Toshiko, when the soldier paused, veered out of his grasp at first opportunity.

The words and grin Jack gave were pleasant enough. "Do you mind?" Two easy steps and suddenly Jack's broad back was blocking her view of the youth. Again, not complaining!

The officer returned the grin, but Toshiko doubted it was sincere. "I'm only borrowing her, mate."

Borrowing? Toshiko sputtered. She felt Jack's hand reach back as if checking she was still there. 

"Maybe she doesn't want to be borrowed," Jack pointed out. There was an edge creeping into his voice.

The boy jutted out his chin. "You want to make something of it?" he challenged, his grin cocky.

Jack's grin never wavered. He beamed, actually. "You can always dance with me if you like," he offered brightly.

Toshiko inwardly groaned. Oh God, now wasn't the time, Jack, she pleaded to his back. The boy wasn't even that cute!

They were gathering far more attention than Toshiko was comfortable with. She could feel eyes on her, someone muttering darkly, "Jap." There was a shove, then a punch that quieted the entire dance floor. When Jack stumbled back from the retaliating shove he gave the other man, Toshiko ran up to him.

"Jack, we're meant to be blending in," Toshiko hissed. She nearly recoiled at the hard look in Jack's eyes. She could feel him breathing hard under her hands. She tensed. How can she hold him back? It was like reining in a Rottweiler. 

Luckily, someone had stepped in. A captain, Toshiko noted; a young captain who defused the situation to her relief and left everyone chuckling. Toshiko rolled her eyes. Men. It was a miracle he had appeared. Jack had looked ready to murder.

Toshiko hurriedly grabbed her laptop bag and her coat, not willing to lose sight of Jack, who was already shaking hands with their rescuer. She bit back a smile when they both tried to introduce themselves, echoing Jack's usual flirty salutation. Jack laughed easily and gestured for the other to finish.

The smile was friendly, his eyes warmer, when the man offered out his hand. 

"I'm Captain Jack Harkness, 133rd Squadron."

Ice went through her body. Toshiko couldn't move. Impossible! Toshiko turned sharply to Jack in time to see the smile slip from Jack's face.


	34. "Captain Jack Harkness 2.0"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning For This Chapter:** period racial prejudice, strong language, dark themes
> 
>  **Notes For This Chapter:** Note there are mentions to DW's "Empty Child", and parallels TW's "Captain Jack Harkness"

**Act I:** _"You're not in full uniform, Captain."_  
 **Cardiff**  
 **Present day…**

"Owen, look," Ianto said, staring at the photo on the screen. The remote dropped from his numb hand and he sat back on the table. Collapsed on top of it, really. He could hear Owen behind him. It wasn't possible, but there they were.

"There," he breathed.

A moment in time was caught in sepia-tone shadows and light; photos upon photos collected by a nostalgic survivor of the Second World War. Jack was captured on film, shaking hands with another soldier. He looked stunned, his mouth partially opened, his eyes riveted to the other's face, as if not realizing his picture had been taken. Toshiko stood behind him in a grayscale version of the dress she had worn for her grandfather's birthday; she looked just as shocked.

Right there were their lost comrades, nearly half of Torchwood, trapped on that antiquated newspaper clipping like flies in amber. 

Another click and bile rose in Ianto's mouth. Jack stared back towards the camera this time with the other man as well, looking nothing like the first photo Ianto had found of him. Lehore 1909, recovered after Canary Wharf, was now tucked inside his journal along with Lisa's Christmas lists. Jack had looked alive in it, his eyes invited mystery and, despite his plight, he still had a secretive smile on his lips. He looked like there was something he wanted to say.

Flat, dull, and empty, this Jack stared back in this photo with none of the spark Ianto had seen before, as if he'd forgotten how to smile. Displaced, Jack appeared like he was caught with some terrible news and, in a sense, maybe he had. This Jack Harkness, surely like the other people in the photo, was dead, if not in life, but in spirit. 

Toshiko, by this time, would be dead, too. Dead in the irretrievable sense that she couldn't come back.

"The Rift activity they were investigating," Owen breathed, staring around Ianto right at the image on the screen. It was like staring at a train wreck; it was so horrible, it was riveting.

"It…" Ianto ran the tip of his tongue across his lower lip. "The Rift must be floating around in that building like microscopic icebergs and they slipped in without realizing it."

"The music," Owen recalled. 

Ianto nodded. His head felt two sizes too big. "People reported Forties music."

"1941," Owen checked the date.

"Back in time," Ianto whispered needlessly. "They were sent back in time." Jack never felt so far away. 

"Shit, shit, shit!" Owen thumped the meeting table. He stared hard at the flat screen. "Fucking Rift again," Owen snarled with a venom Ianto had never heard from him before. "Not again. _Not this time_!" He stormed out without another word.

Ianto touched the screen, touched Jack's face. What was the last thing they had said to each other? Ianto panicked when he couldn't remember.

"Jack," Ianto whispered brokenly. What is— _was_ he thinking? He blinked, inhaling deeply to calm himself. He would be fine, Ianto told himself. Gwen was going out there right now. They're close to breaking into Tosh's files. Jack would be okay. Regardless of whatever happens. It was the one constant Ianto could count on right now. Jack was immortal; a steady point while everything else rushes past.

Christ, but trapped in 1941? Ianto's mind reeled. When everything began just like Jack said. When he met them the first time. When—

 _He_ came back for Jack.

The air fled the room and Ianto gasped for air. He blanched. His finger pressed hard when he jerked, smudging the monitor, right over Jack's face.

The distortion over Jack's expression felt too much like foreboding. Ianto swallowed, pushed off from the table, and twisted around after Owen. 

 

**Ritz Dance Hall**   
**January 20, 1941**

"If I stay stuck here, what will happen to me?"

Tosh looked wide-eyed, her face pale and Jack was reminded of the faces he had come across the first time he had arrived. He thought about the bombing that had been around him, how Estelle had pressed her body to him when one landed far too close to the Astoria ballroom. Everyone had been scared then. 

A well of protectiveness swept over him, more intensely than when he sees any of the team off on a mission. God, sometimes he forgets how young they _all_ were, not just Ianto.

Jack turned to her, his smile gentle, his voice softer. "I'll take care of you." And he will, because he would always be okay. What was another sixty, seventy years for something like him? But for Toshiko, that was everything.

The look on her face eased a fraction and as if embarrassed by her outburst, Tosh lowered her gaze, the grip of her knuckles easing around the handles of her case. Jack spared her by looking away and unbidden, found the real Jack Harkness standing below, laughing with his charges. Jack memorized the dark features and thought idly it was strange there was never a picture included with his records. His physical description had been the closest to Jack's. Back then, it was all Jack had cared about.

Jack swallowed hard and tore his gaze away.

"This period, you look like you fit in."

It wasn't an accusation, but it stung like one all the same. 

Tosh made her way up the stairs, two steps higher than him, as if the distance would sort her out. Her voice was steadier, her eyes not as stark. Her hands still gripped her briefcase like she wouldn't ever let go. It didn't matter to her that the laptop no longer had the battery power to work. It was the only talisman she has left to remind her of when she had come from. 

"Have you been here before?"

Twice, Jack wanted to say, but he just turned to Toshiko. He was momentarily taken aback by the simple curiosity on her face, nothing more.

"Yeah," Jack managed get out. 

There was no horror, no disgust on her face. Something in his gut uncoiled.

"I can't explain but I served in the war in 1941." Jack saw Toshiko's eyes widen just a little, but instead of moving away, she shuffled a little closer, her eyes glued to him.

It was unexpected and it looked like Tosh didn't know she was doing it. Jack blinked rapidly and turned back towards the bar below. 

"I was undercover," Jack remembered. He flinched to himself. It was never as noble as it sounded. Shame wormed into him as Harkness below tipped his head back and laughed at what someone was saying. Harkness slapped someone on his back and moved away, the cigarette clenched tight between his teeth. "I needed a false identity so I took his name."

"Who were you before you took his name?" Tosh asked.

Jack didn't know anymore. 

Tosh stirred uneasily when he didn't answer. She never pushed like they all usually would when they came across a puzzle. Instead, she turned back towards the bar as well, zeroing in on Harkness.

"Why him?"

Harkness waved to the barkeep. He gestured with the drink in his hand and the barkeep chuckled.

"It was convenient." Jack's left eye twitched and he swallowed. He couldn't look at Tosh.

Tosh digested all this. She fidgeted, her mind already adding up what Jack was willing to tell her so far.

"…but if you chose his identity to steal, then he—"

"Dies in battle," Jack finished for her.

Tosh turned sharply towards him. "When?"

Jack pulled his eyes away and met Tosh's. "Tomorrow," he said sadly.

They both turned back towards Harkness.

"So tonight…" Tosh's voice was thick. Her eyes were bright. She dipped her head, her shoulders slumping a little.

"I liked him."

So did I. Harkness was surprisingly charming. Perhaps it was because he wasn't aware of his own morality or because he looked at Jack like Ianto does, Jack wasn't sure. Jack shrugged. "He died in 1941."

"Jack, we're _in_ 1941 right now." Tosh hesitated. "Do you…do you know about the others?"

Jack sighed, not surprised by the question. "Toshiko…"

"Never mind," Tosh made a little shaky laugh. "This has all happened already. I know. It's just…we're here, right now. It feels like it's happening now." Tosh visibly gulped. 

"God, Jack, anything we say or do could change the future." Tosh stared at him, her delicate brow knitted. "We could inadvertently make it that we're never born. Or never meet."

Jack stared back, his mouth dry. He turned back towards the bar. His hands gripped the polished wooden railing until his knuckles went bloodless. "We can't stay here," Jack rasped.

Tosh gave him a little nod, shifted closer and watched blankly the people below. Jack wondered if she was doing what he was—studying each face and wondering who lived or died.

"James Harper?"

Jack glanced up to Toshiko. She looked small standing next to him in her modern dress, her arms wrapped around her laptop.

"You didn't stop to think about it," Toshiko said in a low voice, her eyes darting left and right to check no one was listening.

It was the name Jack had chosen before coming across Harkness' posthumous medal in London's RAF headquarters. On a whim—he'd fancied the idea of walking around with a medal even if it wasn't his—Jack discarded Harper and took up Jack Harkness instead.

"Didn't think I would need to use it again so soon," Jack joked weakly. He grimaced.

"What do you mean?"

Jack forced a smile on his face. Tosh considered him before looking back at the people below. She was learning fast what questions he would answer. Her gaze took a melancholy turn as she studied each face, as if saying goodbye. 

Staring at the real Harkness was painful. Records at this time were archaic and rudimentary at best, but Jack remembered the grieving recounts of the survivors. The captain was a true hero in every sense. Jack felt almost a little awed standing right next to him, a little cowed. _This_ Harkness gave his short life away. _This_ Harkness knew he wouldn't come back. Harkness appeared both fragile and beguilingly strong. There was nothing in the records that did him justice and Jack found himself floundering as he tried to figure out how he should react.

"He has no idea," Tosh murmured, not realizing Jack could hear her.

When Jack looked at the very mortal captain again, Jack could almost hear the Messerschmitts scream. 

 

**Cardiff**   
**Present day…**

_"Gwen, he's in the photo with Jack and Tosh."_

_"He's the answer. He's come through the rift. Find out what he's doing."_

_"No, get out, Gwen. Wait for backup."_

It was like listening to two hens cackling over her earpiece. It was a bit distracting. Gwen frowned mildly and wondered if the two even remembered she was there listening.

_"We can’t lose him—"_

_"We can't lose Gwen!"_

Gwen took a wary step back. She studied the cluttered room with the practiced eye of a copper. Nothing out of sorts but Bilis was taking an unusually long time with his kettle. Alarms began ringing in her head.

Ianto sounded terse, crisp, almost like Jack. There was a pang in her chest. Jack was the only one who could handle those two. She was glad she was here, alone, with a possible psychopath.

_"Maybe it is a trap. He could be sucking us back through time one by one."_

Well, almost glad.

_"Get out of there, Gwen. That's an order."_

_"I'm sorry, but who exactly put you in charge?"_

Gwen rolled her eyes. This gets better and better, she thought as she turned on her heel and slipped out the door. She kept looking over her shoulder as she went down the hall. Owen and Ianto were still squabbling in her ear.

"Enough," she stressed and her earpiece went silent. "I'm out."

 _"What?"_ Owen exploded. _"What are you doing? That Bilis fellow may be our only—"_

"It won't do either of us any good if I get sucked into the rift as well," Gwen hissed sharply. She didn't dare raise her voice.

Owen said something rude that wasn't worth repeating and the line went dead.

"Ianto?" Gwen whispered urgently as she stepped onto the rundown dance floor and veered for the main archway. She looked behind her again and suddenly heard footsteps behind her.

"Jack?" Gwen spun around.

 _"Do you see him?"_ Ianto came back on, his voice a bit higher and thin. _"Is he back?"_

"No. I thought…" Gwen shook her head. She trotted faster towards the main staircase, taking the right side, just over the shattered and poster-riddled bar. "They're really back there then? In the past?" Shit. Gwen's mind raced.

_"Yes."_

Gwen winced at the slight tremor Ianto couldn't hide in his voice.

"We're getting them back, Ianto," Gwen promised. She hoped she wasn't lying. "Owen is right. Bilis must know something." She frowned, checking back behind her. "The whole time you and Owen were talking, Bilis never came out."

_"You think he left?"_

Gwen hoped not. "Check the CCTV," she advised. "I'm going to take a look around."

_"Be careful."_

Gwen winced. Bilis gave her the creeps. She really wished she had her gun. Or a much bigger one. Maybe two. "You be careful, too," Gwen returned.

Neither one of them needed to say Owen's name out loud.

 

**Cardiff**   
**January 20, 1941**

"He hadn't lived."

The eyes on a young face looked centuries old. They darkened with war-bred bitterness.

"Have any of us?" the real Harkness told him coldly before he escaped down the stairs and left Jack standing there.

Jack stood by the railing. He clutched the banister, suddenly not trusting himself to move, to stay upright. The band music swam around his senses. It was all too surreal.

January 20, 1941. _1941_. No, no, _no_. This can't be happening again. Three days before he arrives to steal a man's life, a _hero's_ life. Seventeen days before he meets Rose and the Doctor, an event that will _change_ his life. Eighteen days and nine hours before he reunites with the Doctor to try and get it back.

Jack forced himself to make his way down the stairs. He forced himself to smile politely as people pushed past him to fit in more dancing before they go off to war. He forced himself to keep his head up and not vomit.

This damn year was a curse for him. He can't do this. He can't stay here. He had returned time and time again to this year and each time, it had cursed him. Jack met and fell in love with the Doctor and Rose in this year. He met, fell in love with and left Estelle Cole in this year. Everything changed for him the moment he stepped into this year. And now he was meeting and getting to know the one man Jack hadn't thought about in over seventy years; a man whose name he had stolen and bastardized. 

God, he needed a drink.

Somehow, despite the fact he could barely see where he was going, could barely feel his legs obeying his command, Jack found a table, tucked under the stairs, facing the bar. He should keep an eye out for Tosh who was going to plant the equations somewhere. Thank God someone was thinking. Jack felt like it was Christmas Eve again, his mind fuzzy from a noxious mix of pills and brandy.

"You don't belong here."

The thin, almost singsong voice came out of nowhere. Jack jerked. He looked up at the slim old man. Jack suppressed a shiver. Bilis' eyes were too big for his narrow face, his pupils looked overblown and cold. Nice cravat though. 

"You don't belong here. Not like this," Bilis announced, a little more loudly to be heard above the music. "This is all wrong, captain."

The civil smile Jack had pasted on wavered. "Excuse me?" Jack said evenly. He tensed and looked around. No one seemed to notice.

The manager leaned in, his coal dark eyes glued to Jack’s face.

" _You_ do not belong here, captain." Bilis cocked his head. "This is wrong."

Cold crept up his body, the room darkened, pitched into a black he'd only seen once before when he had tried on the glove. 

_…thrum…_

It was dark, but the dead lurked behind shadows he couldn't sort out. He could see night in Bilis' unblinking stare and thought he heard something roar. He couldn't breathe.

"Of course he belongs here," a voice interrupted and light returned. Jack broke off eye contact with Bilis just as his mortal counterpart, Harkness, veered around him. He smiled tightly to Jack. "Was hoping you hadn't left yet." He lifted his hands, revealing the scotch and a glass of water. He frowned mildly at Bilis and stepped in front of the manager.

The elderly manager didn't blink at the intense glare. He offered a thin curve of his mouth that stretched completely across his face.

"I was just telling Captain Harper that he doesn't belong down here." His skeletal thin arm made a grand sweep towards the stairs above him. "He should be up there, dancing!"

Jack laughed shakily, the iron band around his chest loosened. "Couldn't find a dance partner, but thanks."

The grin Bilis gave him made his guts churn. Yikes. A Cyberman would have been warmer and more cuddly. "Stay a little while longer, Captain. I'm sure you'll find someone." Then, he gave a slight bow and began circulating around the other guests.

Jack shot the other man a grimace. Harkness chuckled and tipped his head in a "What's wrong with him?" gesture. He pushed the glass towards Jack. 

"Water," he said needlessly before sipping his scotch.

Jack wasn't sure what to say, wasn't sure why Harkness had come back. He nodded curtly at the glass and took a drink. He glanced around the room. Where was Toshiko?

"I didn't mean to snap at you up on the stairs."

Jack spared him a glance. His mouth twitched. Harkness' dark hair and too young face reminded him of Ianto.

At the thought of Ianto, Jack's mouth flattened. Ianto wouldn't be born yet for another forty years. His _parents_ weren't even born yet. Jack recovered quickly and shrugged. 

"You're their captain." Jack finished his water. "It's a lot of responsibility."

Harkness sighed and looked about him. He seemed to be counting heads, mildly frowning until he sighted another. "They're all so young."

So are you, Jack thought. 

Lowering his eyes, Jack watched the water under his glass create a discolored ring on the wood.

Jack Harkness dies tomorrow. 

_This_ Jack Harkness doesn’t get to live forever. _This_ Jack Harkness never lied, conned, or fucked to make life go by quickly. _This_ Jack Harkness never would have gotten left behind in 200,100. 

"Before," Harkness began and stopped. He took a deep breath, tipped the snifter back, and emptied his drink. The crystal landed with a thump and Harkness bowed his head slightly over his glass before he continued.

"What you said before…" Harkness tried again, his tone low as if he feared of being overheard. "I would appreciate it if you keep that to yourself. It wouldn't do my boys any good to know—"

"The truth?" Jack said evenly. "Instead of this romanticized idea about war?"

"It'll scare them," Harkness shot back.

"I think they're already scared, but they need to see that it's okay to be scared, that they're not alone." Jack could see it in their dancing—colorful death throes camouflaged as desperate bravado. They danced as if to announce to the world they would be back here tomorrow. "They need to know what to expect." Alex Hopkins' letter rang in his head. "They need to be ready."

Harkness' eyes blazed. "Maybe, but you won't be doing them any favors, Captain Harper, by telling them any of this." He got up abruptly. His chair skidded back loudly; loud enough that some people stopped mid-sentence.

Jack got to his feet as well, about to argue when the air raid sirens began to wail.

 

**Act II: _"It's just not knowing when it's all gonna end."_**   
**Cardiff**   
**January 20, 1941**

It never ceased to amaze Jack how quickly humans in this century forget. As soon as the air raid was over, everyone was back upstairs, dancing, laughing, as if they'd never spent an hour huddled in the damp, dark cellar below. Life was so brief and fragile for them yet they danced blindly as if they were timeless.

Tosh gave Jack a worried look over her shoulder before she was led away by the young navigator, Tommy. Jack followed Harkness up to the balcony and they watched everyone dance like the bombing outside didn't exist.

Another water for him, another scotch for Harkness, and they sat there, quiet. Harkness, perhaps embarrassed by his confession earlier that he was scared, just kept looking away.

Dark thoughts swirled in Jack's mind. They had since they had arrived. So close, an acidic voice whispered. Less than three days before his past self walks into the RAF headquarters in London and brazenly steals Harkness' identity.

Ill, Jack took a long sip of cool water, but his stomach wouldn't still. When he looked up, Harkness was watching him in the way he had before down in the cellar. He lowered his gaze. He wondered what this Harkness saw. Was it what Ianto saw? No, what Ianto thought he saw was the Jack Harkness he was sitting across from.

"Do you regret signing up?" Harkness asked softly.

Jack paused. The tail end of Glenn Miller’s _Moonlight Serenade_ amidst bombing tickled his memory. He could still feel Rose's small hand in his as they had danced in front of Big Ben. 

Jack shook his head. "No." It would have been easier if he had.

"It's just not knowing when it's all gonna end," Jack murmured, his throat suddenly tight.

Harkness grinned crookedly. He raised his glass in a toast. "As long as it ends in victory."

It was easy to get caught up in Harkness' self-assurance, the pretense that he lives forever. 

"Hey." Jack clinked his glass with his. The sound rang clean and clear. Jack took a drink and watched Harkness take a tentative sip of his. As the glass lowered, his dark eyes again swept across the dance floor, taking tally. 

A captain always watches out for his men, Jack thought. He wondered about Ianto and the others, his moment of levity dying. Have they realized by now where they are? Did they find Tosh's half of the equations? Are they even trying to get them back?

It made him queasy to think about it. Jack gestured with his glass towards Harkness. "Do you have any regrets?"

"Hell, no." Jack's heart ached. Harkness didn't even hesitate. The captain chuckled wryly and shrugged, diffident. "Okay, I could croak up there," Harkness admitted with a crooked smile, "but without death in the balance, there'd be no valor, no honor." 

Jack's gut twisted. He could only nod in agreement.

The wistfulness in the captain's voice made Jack's eyes burn. "All I pray is I make it through this and die an old war hero."

Jack had essentially killed him before the Messerschmitts did.

Jack met his gaze. "You _are_ a hero." He stole this man's honor by living, erased his death and sacrifice. "To me."

Harkness' self-deprecating smile faded somewhat and he acknowledged the compliment by ducking his head modestly, mirroring Ianto to the point that Jack felt Ianto's absence acutely. A lump sat in his chest. Jack sucked in his breath and looked away to stare at the band playing below. The charm and sparkling allure of the past coming alive now made his chest ache.

A stray thought snuck in pointing out that even with the equation, they might not be able to open up the Rift. Jack could be stuck here before his timeline can coincide with his Torchwood again. The Rift manipulator had been cold and silent for so long, for decades. Even if they could narrow down the patterns, would it even be enough? Should they even try? 

Alex Hopkins' letter spoke of a rip in the sky. 'A thousand dark pearls of death,' the deceased Torchwood leader had predicted. Was this it? Maybe they shouldn't open the Rift. 

Jack took another drink from his glass, deep in thought.

It didn't matter. Jack had forever. He could wait. 

But Tosh can't.

The thought was razor-thin and darkly sharp. As soon as the snide voice intruded, Jack shoved it back. 

"Why did you make me kiss her goodbye?"

The inquiry was soft. Harkness sounded confused, his eyes staring at Jack with a hurt Jack was afraid to understand. 

"I just think you should live every night like it's your last," Jack fumbled. Christ, what was the matter with him? Jack leaned in and tried to put everything into his words, his eyes. "Make tonight the best night of your life." 

Jack wanted to give something back to Harkness; anything to make facing impeding death easier. Jack had faced the Daleks with insolence and the fervent hope it would do some good for the Doctor. He carried their memories, their friendship, and he had thought at the time, that this was his redemption, like armor. Harkness knew he could die tomorrow—an irony that didn't escape Jack—but he lived each day like he had forever and let everything pass him by.

Harkness' hesitation was clear; he kept looking at Jack as if the answer was there. Possibly there was fear of trying to pursue the Welsh girl. Jack refused to acknowledge what else it might be. There was hope glinting in Harkness' gaze when he stared at Jack. 

"You're alive, right here, right now." 

All there was left _was_ now.

When Harkness' brow knitted together, Jack pressed. "Your men are fine."

"What are you trying to say?" Harkness whispered. The fear that flickered in Harkness' eyes reminded Jack just how young everyone was. Jack hated putting that fear in there, the reminder that there was no true eternity for them. It didn't matter which Great War. They'd all died far too young. Except for himself.

Stay here. Don't go up there tomorrow. Live your life! Jack wanted to tell him about tomorrow. But, he couldn't. He _can't_. "Go to her," Jack fought to keep his voice steady. "Go to your woman and lose yourself in her."

For some reason, rebellion momentarily flared up in Harkness' eyes. "Maybe I should," he said, as if daring Jack to contradict him.

Jack would only nod in agreement. It was all he could really dare give him. "Yeah."

The nod deflated Harkness. His eyes were hooded as he peered up at Jack. "Is Toshiko your woman?"

"No." Another face flashed behind his eyes, but was it fair to think of him? "There's no one." There _can't_ be anyone else. Jack wished he could say there was, but like that box, what would he find inside? 

Jack took a deep breath and stared hard at Harkness. "Go to her." Have one more day of life, Jack silently pleaded.

Harkness left. 

 

**Cardiff**   
**Present day…**

By the time Owen breezed back in, Ianto had already been through every computer and every book in the archives he could think of. There were vague references to the Rift and the manipulator that was built over eighty years ago, brief accounts but no instructions. Someone had stripped all information out of the records. The message was clear; the Rift was never to be used this way. There was only a vague reference in the Torchwood manuals about Protocol One, but again, no instruction. Nothing.

Jack. Jack would know, but he wasn't here.

His fingers ached from the relentless pounding on the keyboards. His eyes burned from squinting at too many barely legible books. He paced, talking to Gwen, trying to get Owen to talk to him.

Owen didn't greet him when he scrambled in, didn't explain why he never went home, where he'd been, why he was ignoring all their calls. As soon as he flung his backpack down to the floor by the Manipulator, Ianto's stomach knotted and twisted at the wild-eyed look on the medic's face.

"It still won't work," Ianto called out as Owen shoved aside panels and cables with the haste of a man obsessed. "There's a piece missing."

"Bilis had it all along." Owen brandished the round coppery-gold disc like a sword.

A bolt of fear, cold and knife-sharp stabbed through Ianto. Why did Bilis have this? Alarms rang in his head. This man was with Jack and Tosh, yet he was here with them as well.

The same feeling that wiggled in his gut when he first met the formidable Doctor returned, screaming as loud as the alarms had in Canary Wharf. They were tampering once more with forces beyond their comprehension.

Ianto rocked from foot to foot, half wanting to stop Owen, half wanting to help. Deep down, he knew Jack would be fine. Jack's probably out there right now, a hundred and _seventy_ years old and could waltz back in at any moment. Tosh, Ianto thought desperately as he watched Owen slap the disc over the depression. They needed to get Tosh.

Duty and loyalty shouldn't clash but it did as Ianto took a step towards Owen, then back. They should get them back before time changed or was it supposed to happen like this? Ianto's head pounded. He tensed when Owen, after a second of trying to fit in the notches, hovered the disc over its place.

"We still don't have all the equation," Ianto pointed out, desperation in his voice. He ran an agitated hand through his hair. The rapid fire images of men in metal putting screaming people into murdering converter units flashed behind his eyes.

Owen was beyond caring as he wiggled closer. "Maybe the machine can work it out." He haphazardly slapped the key into the slot.

"Owen!" Ianto surged forward.

Nothing happened.

Ianto saw Owen's defeated slump, but then it was clear he could see the next step, straightening, yanking off his jacket and flung it to the couch. Ianto was too late as Owen bolted and he could only stumble after him as Owen ducked into Jack's office.

 

**Cardiff**   
**January 20, 1941**

Toshiko spied Jack staring at the band, sitting alone at a round table. She approached, displaying her bandaged hand.

"Okay?" Jack asked studying her up and down. There was nothing lecherous in the gaze, more appraising before Jack nodded to himself.

"Wasn't deep," Toshiko told him as she slipped into the seat across from him. She noted the empty snifter.

"Gone to his woman," Jack offered.

Toshiko could see it made Jack sad. His woman? Toshiko frowned to herself. The way glances were being passed earlier, she could have sworn…

"He dies tomorrow," Toshiko remembered suddenly. Her mouth crinkled. "He's entitled." They all were.

Jack winced. "He doesn't know about that." He paused, a speculative look flitted across his face.

Toshiko grabbed the hand holding the water glass. "You're not going to tell him, are you?" she asked anxiously. "Jack, you can't! There's no telling what it might do to the future! To everyone there!"

"I know, I know." Jack raised his free hand to calm her. He didn't look insulted that she had just reminded her employer about the most basic of directives for Torchwood. Rather, he appeared grateful. 

Toshiko sat back in a slump. She looked around at the flags decorating the richly painted walls. Red velvet with gold bunting effectively blocked out the bright flashes of bombs outside. The dancers camouflaged the shaking of the dance hall with their fox trots. 

Everyone looked beautiful, young, and happy. The band played music she hadn't heard since her grandfather's turntable had broken. The women wore bright red lipstick in a shade Toshiko had never seen before. She'd never seen hairstyles like theirs outside of the movies. They wore shoes she'd only seen vintage shops offered for outrageous prices and their dresses with their pretty patterned prints looked new and freshly ironed. It was a picture from the history books, only brighter, louder, and more real than she could ever have imagined.

"Jack, I'm scared." Toshiko flinched. She hadn't meant for it to come out, but it had. Admitting her fear made her vision blur.

Jack's warm hand slipped over hers. Absently, Toshiko thought she couldn't feel any calluses yet Jack's grip was sure and strong.

"I know," Jack murmured. He squeezed her hand. 

"What if they don't find both halves of the equations? What if I miscalculated? What if—"

"Shh." A pocket-handkerchief was pressed into her hands. It was then that Toshiko realized she was sniffling. God, Sato, get a grip. She dabbed her eyes and ducked her head low. When she looked up again, Jack was giving her a reassuring smile.

"I know everyone's doing all they can to get you back, Tosh." Jack reached over again, patted her hand and sat back in his chair. 

"Of course," Toshiko murmured. She fiddled with the square of linen. "I've tracked down aliens, seen a spaceship crashe, I just…" She made an embarrassed little sound. She dotted the handkerchief to her eyes again. God, everyone would laugh if they could see her. 

"I'm a little out of my element here," Toshiko sighed. "Computers were just invented and they are no more than big calculators. I mean, the Pentium chip hasn't been invented yet!" How was she supposed to get anything done?

Jack stared at her for a beat. He chuckled. Jack shook his head, bemused, and folded his arms across his chest. He cocked his head.

"Well, if that's all you're worried about, I think you'll be fine, Toshiko Sato."

Toshiko blushed. 

"You've done everything possible, Tosh," Jack said, sobering. "It's up to them now." He looked around, his stare wistful and melancholy. It reminded her of her grandfather's, whenever he spoke of the grandmother she had never known.

Jack turned back to her and the look was gone. "In the meantime, just enjoy." Jack waggled his eyebrows. "The forties were a beautiful time, Tosh. How often do you truly get to live it?"

Toshiko sniffed again and nodded. She smiled tentatively and Jack looked at her kindly. The cold sensation inside her thawed. He said he would watch out for her. Toshiko believed him. She twisted the white handkerchief round and round in her hands. She tried to imagine herself wearing those clothes, that hair, and found it wasn't too paralyzingly terrifying now and even a little fascinating. Jack was right. Their friends will find them. It was only a matter of when. There was so much more she can do on their end before Jack and her grow old together in a time not their own. 

Her shoulders lifted a little and she laughed awkwardly as she tried to dry the remaining tears. Toshiko flattened out the handkerchief on the table to fold into quarters when she saw the initials.

"Wait, why do you have Ianto's handkerchief?"

"Uh…"

 

**Act III:** _"No, you've told me all I need to know."_

Toshiko hung by the railing to watch the dancing. She made a valiant effort to look interested, but Jack could see her eyeing the doorway they had entered from with longing.

Jack found himself wandering, mainly because the gaiety became too much and partially because sitting at the table with the two glasses made his insides coil painfully. 

He found himself in a deserted alcove away from the music, yet not too far away that he couldn't hear Toshiko. The settee reminded him of one in the TARDIS. Jack felt it fitting to sit here. 

His stomach kept twisting into nauseating knots. The water sloshed inside him. Jack gnawed on a thumbnail. 

The past was slowly becoming his present again. His skin crawled. Here. _Here_ was when everything began. This year. All he had to do was stop himself. Stop himself and they wouldn't be here, he wouldn't be looking forward to a forever, he wouldn't be trapping anyone else with him, with his curse. 

Shame edged his awareness again. Jack couldn't ignore it. He had never wondered about the real Jack Harkness. He just knew enough to know this was the kind of man he could 'borrow' to hide from the Agency. It was supposed to be just a farce. 

The irony didn't escape him. Jack's mouth quirked as he stared off into the distance. He hadn’t known it was going to be the name of the man everyone expected him to become. _This_ Jack Harkness was what Ianto thought he saw in him. The real thing though was here in 1941. 

The shadow out of the corner of his eye roused him out of his thoughts.

"I thought you'd gone," Jack said, glancing down at his hands. Harkness approached him warily as if unsure of his welcome. Jack looked up at the volunteer pilot. "This could be your last chance," Jack reminded him.

Harkness smiled shyly. God, he looked so young. Harkness was dying and didn't even know it. It was unfair. "That's why I came back."

The settee gave when Harkness sat down, on the edge, perched like he couldn't decide if he was standing up or sitting down. 

Jack twisted around to look at him. He paused at Harkness' intense gaze. "I might have to leave before the night is over." 

Harkness smiled nervously. He shrugged one shoulder. "Well," he stammered, "then make the most of now."

A warm hand tentatively slipped over his, tips grazing his palm. Jack's hand twitched and opened. He didn't know what to expect but when he felt fingers seeking to intertwine, he met the hand halfway.

Jack looked up startled, as startled as the captain, in fact. Harkness stared at their clasped hand and he raised his eyes wondering at Jack.

Fear, longing, and something darker swept over Harkness' face and he opened his mouth, starting to speak. 

Muffled laughter turned the corner.

Panic flashed in Harkness' eyes and he snatched his hand back as he rose to his feet.

The couple, a woman and a young lieutenant, paused by the settee. Jack could see Harkness tensing as the woman gave them both a calculating eye.

"We need lovers' corner if you don't mind, boys," the woman said in a syrupy voice as if daring them to refuse.

"Of course," Harkness was quick to agree. He didn't look at Jack. "I was just discussing strategies with the Captain."

Jack recovered quickly. "We'll go somewhere else," Jack suggested with a tight smile.

"No." Harkness sounded brusque. He spared Jack a glance before turning quickly away. "You've told me all I need to know." He nodded briskly to the couple and without a backward glance, left the area in long strides.

Jack paused. He stared after Harkness. Jack wondered why he didn't feel more relieved. The rejection shouldn't hurt. It shouldn't matter at all. Jack Harkness was dead tomorrow.

There was a lump in his throat that he couldn't get rid of. Jack gave the pair a strained smile and followed after Harkness. But the captain was nowhere in sight.

 

**Cardiff**   
**Present day…**

Ianto blinked back the tears of pain. The spot where Owen had kicked him screamed in agony. He could hear Owen's frantic footsteps, blueprints rustling as the medic looked for the right one.

Let him, let him, a voice screamed inside him. Let Owen rip open the Rift and bring back Jack. 

The footsteps on the metal-grating floor thundered like alarms. Canary Wharf burned around him again and in the back of his mind, Ianto could see the dead staring back at him from under the rubble of Torchwood. 

No, not again. 

Ianto pushed off from the floor, pushed off even as his head spun and his belly burned from the kick Owen had given him. He fumbled for his gun. He couldn't let this happen. Not to this Torchwood. God, where was Jack? Ianto could taste Owen's desperation in his mouth as the doctor's hands clamored around to the hobs and knobs of the Manipulator.

Ianto watched him, his arms slack against his side, the gun loose in his right hand. He just stood there, no longer heaving for breath, and watched Owen climb up and down the towering device. It was frenzied; it was panicked, yet Ianto suddenly felt very calm.

Hopkins had warned them about the sky tearing. He gave up his life because he thought Jack could stop it. He was supposed to be here to stop this. But impossibly Jack was decades away, maybe even back with his Doctor. 

"Put the key down." Ianto said in a calm voice, steady enough that Owen stopped in his tracks and took notice. He turned, his face still defiant.

Ianto raised the gun right towards Owen's head. "Or I'll shoot."

That defiance faltered. 

 

**Cardiff**   
**January 20, 1941**

They sat there watching the dancers, unable to do anything more than clap without any joy in it after each song.

"Who were you?"

Jack blinked. He lowered his head and smiled to himself sardonically. Tosh had shown incredible restraint in not asking the obvious for so long. He had felt the question looming ever since it was left unanswered the first time.

"A con man," Jack answered softly, more to himself. He met Tosh's wide eyes. "That's why I took his name, falsified his papers so it seemed he was still alive."

Tosh didn't even blink. She stared at him. "How did you end up in Torchwood?"

"Someone saved my life, brought me back from death." Rose sang in his right ear. The Daleks hissed in the other.

Jack stared out to the dance floor, his eyes growing distant. "And ever since then, it's been like they're keeping me for something and I don't know what it is." He could feel the chains on him, his punishment for what, he didn't know. He gave his life for the Doctor. What else was there possibly left to give?

Tosh looked a little disconcerted, her face still blank as if she was struggling not to react. Jack looked back at her and wondered if she would ever see her timeline again. A piercing sensation stabbed him.

"I'm sorry for dragging you into this," Jack whispered sadly. 

Surprise flashed on her face. Tosh appeared incredulous. "It was my choice."

Jack met her eyes. "I'll look after you," he promised, his words quiet but vehement. 

Tosh looked startled, but then she softened. Mutely, she nodded.

Jack had been forgiven too easily. He swallowed hard and glanced away from a look he knew would probably change to resentment over time. His gaze fell upon Harkness, leaning on a far wall. Would she feel the same when ten, twenty years went by and she realized he remained unchanged and forever? Jack choked.

"But there's nothing I can do for him." It wasn't fair. Jack felt both sorrow and jealousy for this Jack Harkness. 

Tosh studied him, turned to study Harkness then quietly, slipped her hand into his. She squeezed and sat with him, silently grieving for a man who stood just a few meters away.

 

**Cardiff**   
**Present day…**

When Ianto didn't shoot right away, the defiance returned to Owen's eyes. Owen stuck out his chin.

"What are you going to do with that, Jonesy?" Owen taunted, his hands gripping the key like he would throw it. 

Ianto fought to keep the gun steady. It wavered from Owen's head to his shoulder. "You have to let Diane go. Like I did with Lisa."

Owen snorted. "Don't compare yourself to me."

Ianto smiled grimly. "Why? Because I'm just a tea boy?"

"You apparently think you're more than that for Jack," Owen scoffed. "Ordering me around, standing in the way of the one chance we have to save Jack and Tosh."

"I am more than a tea boy," Ianto said evenly. The gun lowered to Owen's shoulder. Just disable. Make him drop the key. "What? You think I'm just Jack's part-time sh—"

"No, _he's_ your part-time shag, Jones!" Owen snarled, his eyes hard, his mouth twisted in disgust. 

Ianto jerked. "What are you talking about?"

"You think I don't see? You thought you could shag our captain and hide your cyber-girlfriend in the fucking basement?"

The gun shook. "It wasn't like that—"

"I thought after Lisa, you would have no more use for him, but no. I kept waiting to see if I would get another call about Caveat again!" Owen spat. "What? You get bored every now and again and go screw with his head for not saving your girlfriend?"

Ianto grimaced but he didn't lower his gun. "We're not like that. I'm not using him. I care about him. Jack needs m—"

"In your dreams, Ianto," Owen growled. He stuck his chin out. "In your sad wet dreams where you tell yourself everything you're doing is right. Makes it easier to forgive yourself, doesn't it, _Jonesy_?"

Red filled his vision and Ianto had the gun cocked back before he realized it.

Owen never even flinched. "That rift took my lover and my captain." His voice cracked as he stared at Ianto. "So if I die trying to beat it," Owen breathed, raising his chin, his eyes daring him to shoot, "then it will be all in the line of duty." 

Owen tensed. He rocked on his feet, waiting. Ianto's hand shook minutely from head to shoulder, head to shoulder.

Ianto caught the flare behind Owen's eyes a second too late. The medic surged forward with the key in his outstretched hand. Ianto jerked his finger on the trigger and suddenly red blossomed on Owen's back.

Owen screamed.

The key clattered loosely over the notch. 

Owen staggered back, hissing as he clutched his shoulder. He glared at Ianto and straightened his knees.

"Don't," Ianto rasped. "Owen, don't even think about it." His hand was steadier now and pointed towards his head.

It was like the gun never existed. Owen stared hard at Ianto. 

"You say you're not using him," Owen wheezed, his teeth clenched in pain. "You say you care. _Prove it_!" Owen shouted the last two words. He stood up straighter. Then, with a wordless cry, Owen staggered to his feet and slammed his hand over the key.

Ianto…did not fire.

The key clicked into place and alarms began to wail.

Owen, his eyes squeezed tight, gritted his teeth as he staggered away from the Manipulator. 

Ianto saw smoke billowing out of the towering device. The pterodactyl above screeched. Behind them, Tosh's Rift alarms began to beep maddeningly.

"What have we done?" Ianto breathed. He slowly turned to Owen. "What have we done?"

Owen ignored him, swaying on his feet as he gazed at the Manipulator with a mixture of hope and fear.

 

**Act IV:** _"There were angels dancing at the Ritz."_   
**Cardiff**   
**January 20, 1941**

_"…that certain night. The night we met."_

Toshiko's hand felt fragile in his hand, yet her grasp was warm and strong. She was trapped with him in 1941. She was condemned to live a life of joyless anonymity, unable to interact in fear of the future's gossamer threads. 

Jack covered her hand with his other. He heard Tosh sniff.

_"There was magic abroad in the air."_

Somewhere out there, a Chula warship was bringing what he thought was a defunct ambulance ship to the London Blitz; the perfect self-cleaning con. And he would arrive with a quick smile and charm and steal another life away. 

_"There were angels dancing at the Ritz."_

And somewhere out there, two people would follow and steal him away. Jack could stop all this. Stop the cycle before it begins. Some lives were deserving of this: Ianto, Tosh, Estelle, Jack Harkness. But…

"And a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square…"

Tosh's hand tightened her grip, rousing Jack. He looked up in time to see Harkness approaching, looking more afraid than he'd ever admitted.

Harkness' warmer and larger hand took Tosh's place. Jack resisted at first but the tug drew his eyes up to Harkness and he saw it.

_"I may be right. I may be wrong."_

Fear.

Fear of what was to come. Fear of what was happening now. Yet here he was, in front of his men, in fear of reprisal, afraid yet holding on to Jack's hand like a lifeline.

Numb, Jack rose to his feet. There was a flash of gratitude on the other's face before he swallowed, squared back his shoulders and pulled Jack towards the dance floor. 

_"But I'm perfectly willing to swear."_

The arms that went around him were tentative and broke Jack's heart. It was as if his words had sunk in and Harkness had had a moment of clarity.

Life, _this_ life, was all. 

Too late. Too late.

I'm sorry, Jack thought as Harkness pressed closer. When once he had stood tall in front of his men and Jack, Harkness now felt as insubstantial and frail as glass. 

_"The whole darn world seemed upside down."_

I'm so sorry, Jack thought again and, his arms moved up and around the captain, tenderly held him tighter. Harkness tensed then relaxed and suddenly his grip on Jack's arms felt desperate; a boy clutching his mother's hand in a crowd. Hold fast. Hold fast.

He never should have come here. The first time. Or the last. Jack robbed him of his name, his life, a war hero's life. Harkness burned in his ship silently so his men wouldn't carry his screams through their lives. And Jack can't stop it; can't spare the hero of this. Time was set; he didn't have the right to unravel it. Why was he sent back here then? Fate was too cruel. 

_"The streets of town were paved with stars…"_

Jack held tighter and heard Harkness breathing harshly by his ear, his face pressed against him. He was scared.

It's okay, Jack thought. It'll be fine, Jack lied in his mind, lied with his embrace. He held Harkness because the young captain came back to Jack not to Nancy. 

Harkness trembled from his own boldness, perhaps also from the revelation of his own mortality. Jack swallowed, his vision blurring as he thought of tomorrow.

I'll go in your place, Jack wanted to say but couldn't. All he could give him was this. Their steps were merely matching each other; two steps back, two steps forward. It was a circle in the middle of the dance floor. Everyone seemed to have disappeared, the music faded, and time stilled. 

Harkness pulled back and stared at Jack. He didn't notice everything seemed to have faded around him. He leaned in, his hands flat on Jack's body to pull him in…

Doors flew open in a silent explosion of light. 

"Jack!" Tosh called out, anxiously. There was a scrape of a chair. One fell loudly to the floor but didn't echo. "Jack, we need to get out!"

Harkness looked at him, gasping, still gripping Jack like it was life itself. Jack jerked back but didn't step away. 

He could stay. He could take his place. He could give him back the life he deserves.

"Jack, you have to!"

It could be over. Finished; a fair exchange of his immortality for Harkness' life.

"We _need_ you."

Jack choked and he felt something hot running down his face. "I have to go," he whispered.

Light dimmed in Harkness' eyes but he set his jaw and nodded.

Something shriveled into Jack. "It's…it's my duty," he cracked.

Understanding lit Harkness' eyes. This he understood more than anything. Harkness' smile—more a grimace—was watery but he nodded and let go. A dead man's release.

Jack gave him one last look, memorized the man behind the name and twisted away with a violence that ripped another tear down his face. Tosh's fearful face beckoned, still by the door, refusing to leave without him. It was because of that fact that Jack took three more steps towards her before he faltered. Abruptly, he spun around and walked right back up to Harkness.

The question on Harkness' face faded as soon as Jack drew near and he exhaled as soon as Jack's lips touched his.

Tentative, unsure, the kiss was soft at first, almost chaste. But as if realizing this was truly the last time, the final time, Harkness' arms pulled Jack in tighter. 

Goodbye. Goodbye. I'm sorry.

Jack braced his arms on the captain and tried to imagine cutting open a vein again. There was no spark like before, but Jack prayed something was crossing over to Harkness; something that would cradle the mortal through his fate. Jack cradled him, held him as Harkness devoured his mouth, as if seeking strength as well. 

When they finally parted, Jack reached up and touched his jaw. Then Jack lowered his gaze and walked away.

As he drew closer to Tosh, she reached out for him, as if to grasp his sleeve. She stood at the threshold of light, like holding her foot between the doors of a lift. Jack smiled reassuringly at her. He would not abandon her but as he took another step, Tosh looked past his shoulders. Jack turned around.

Harkness was staring back at him, but he never called out. He smiled bitterly, snapped to attention, and in the midst of a frozen dance, saluted.

It was only when he faded like a ghost, did Jack pivot around and follow Toshiko out.

 

**Act V:** _"To Captain Jack Harkness."_

_"We're on our way back! We're almost there!"_ Gwen's relieved voice broke through the long static in their earpieces. 

"They came out?" Owen gritted out as he sat on the gurney. He hissed as he probed his own bullet wound. "So it worked." He shot Ianto a smug look.

_"Yes, they—What's wrong? You sound funny."_

Ianto ignored the glower Owen was giving him. "Jonesy shot me."

 _"He_ what? Ianto? Shot you?" Tosh broke into the call, shocked.

Gwen was quiet before saying, _"Well, you probably deserved it."_

"Oi!"

" _Well, you sound alright so it couldn't be that bad—"_

"Gwen," Ianto couldn't stand it any more. "Where's Jack?"

Owen scoffed.

_"He's driving the SUV back. Tosh is in my car. He's right behind us."_

Ianto glanced over to Owen. "You'll live," he muttered and darted up the stairs.

"Yea, no thanks to you!" Owen bellowed after him. 

Ianto darted into Jack's office. He ignored the mess Owen had made and anxiously tapped into their private channel. 

"Jack?"

There was silence.

Ianto could feel panic welling up inside him. Gwen saw them both come out. She said Jack was in the SUV. He was alright. He was here.

"Jack," Ianto tried to steady his voice. "Jack, talk to me."

A few taps on Jack's computer and he could see the GPS. The SUV was moving steadily along behind Gwen's car. 

"Please," Ianto whispered into the channel. He knew Jack must be listening. "Say something."

The reply was tiny, almost inaudible.

_"I'm here."_

Ianto sagged into Jack's chair. "Thank God," he croaked. "Are you alright?"

 _"I'm here,"_ Jack repeated.

Ianto frowned. Jack's responses were flat. He swallowed. "I'm glad," Ianto rasped. "There's so…so much you missed."

Jack never asked what but somehow, Ianto suspected Jack was listening. So he began talking. Ianto told him about Bilis, about the photos they had found. He told Jack about shooting Owen—his worry went up a notch when Jack didn't react—and about opening the Rift. When there was nothing left, Ianto talked about anything else he could think of: his brother, his flat, his odd neighbor. Through it all, the only sound from Jack was the small inhales and exhales.

Gwen's voice came in on the other channel, announcing they were back and taking the Tourist office lift downstairs. Jack said nothing, but Ianto could see the SUV pulling up into their garage. The black utility vehicle entered the space and parked. 

But no one came out.

"Jack?" Ianto asked quietly. He could see a shape in the driver's seat. "Are you alright?"

 _"No,"_ Jack said in a small voice. 

Ianto's eyes burned. He was about to ask when he heard it: a muffled sound. It wasn't a word, wasn't the thud of a car door opening or shutting. It was garbled, meaningless, and more a huff of air than a syllable.

Crying.

Jack Harkness was crying.

"Jack," Ianto breathed, dismayed. He stared up at the CCTV, at the dark shape hunched over the wheel. All he could hear was the muffled, incomprehensible dry moans of grief.

Ianto sank down to sit behind Jack's desk, out of sight as he could hear Gwen and Tosh come flying back in a chorus of relief. 

"Sh…hush…" Ianto murmured. He kept his hand on the earpiece, thinking illogically somehow it made the connection even closer. He could hear Jack gasping, whimpering, sobbing into something, probably a sleeve.

There was nothing he could do. He could only watch on the screen from where he was at the shape small and lost behind the wheel. Jack's unknown misery in his ear.

Ianto's own eyes welled. "Hush," he said shakily. Jack kept on making those awful, tiny sounds. Ianto wiped at his own eyes, not sure why he was sitting on the floor, behind Jack's desk, feeling not joy but grief.

In the midst of reunion, hidden from view, Ianto sat on that floor and listened to Jack Harkness cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Notes:** _It went from one of the easiest chapters (I thought) to the hardest when I realized I didn't want to compromise the content and theme of the episode. I hoped I did this beautiful episode justice._
> 
> _We're almost there folks...After EoD is the DW arc._
> 
> **Additional Notes:** _Many thanks to for betaing this chapter. And for her magic trick that saved my sanity! LOL._


	35. "End of Days"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning For This Chapter:** violence, strong language, dark themes
> 
>  **Notes For This Chapter:** Note there are parallels to TW's "End of Days" and mentions BBC's Captain's Blog, entry 13.

**Act I**   
**Cardiff**   
**Present day…**

He was being swayed, rocked really. The vibrations washed under him like a slow moving river, carrying him somewhere, hopefully somewhere far away.

Jack cracked open his eyes and blinked blearily at the slim, hazy shadow to his right. His eyes felt hot, his throat hotter and with a sluggish visual sweep, Jack idly thought the vehicle looked pretty modern for an automobile in the early for—

Oh.

He wasn't there anymore. He kissed a dead man and left for yet another time that wasn't his own.

Another heavy-lidded eye blink and Jack now recognized the interior of their SUV. He was sitting up, curled slightly towards the driver’s seat, his seat set back to recline and—Jack couldn't find the energy to laugh at this one—the seatbelt was snugly crossed over his body. As if crashing through the windshield could kill him. 

Someone was talking: calm, deep, and steady but it didn't seem to be directed at him.

"…still checking. Jack and I are going to scan the next few streets and see what the readings are before we head back."

Jack's eyes slid back shut because it was too tiring to try and keep them open.

"I honestly don't care how Owen is." The speaker sounded terse, snappish. "Is he still alive?" A pause and Jack could hear the buzzing of another person on a mobile earpiece. "…Well, if he's still alive, it won't be taken out of my salary then."

Jack couldn't help a barely audible snort escape. Leather squeaked as the speaker straightened.

"I really need to take these readings, Gwen. Jack and I will be back soon."

The buzzing abruptly stopped. The earpiece was tossed roughly onto the dash. It slid out of sight down to the windshield.

The vibrations melted away under him as the SUV was pulled over to a curb. Jack still didn't open his eyes. He couldn't bring himself to care. He felt wrung out, hollow, and the effort to find out where he was simply didn't give him good enough reason to climb out of this dark soup of emotions he was in. He recognized Ianto's hand reaching over and gently pulling his greatcoat collar up higher around his ears. He didn't even remember moving to the passenger seat or Ianto driving. All Jack could remember was that a ghost saluted him and he left 1941 and that ghost behind. 

The interior cabin was quiet with the SUV in park. Jack just rested there, his body turned towards Ianto, and Ianto sat there, his arms outstretched, back straight and his hands rested on top of the steering wheel.

"They uh…" Ianto glanced over briefly to him before turning back to face forward again. "They think we're taking readings of the area because of the Rift being opened." Ianto nodded towards the large hand device on the dashboard. He made a humorless laugh. "Well… _I_ am…taking readings, that is."

That's right. They had opened the Rift, Ianto shot Owen, they came back to the present, well, _their_ present and Jack decided to have a meltdown in their garage.

Jack thought dully he should be angry, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember what he needed to be angry about or if he even cared.

If Jack's continued silence bothered Ianto, it didn't show. He reached over to his left and hefted a water bottle in his hand from the cup holder that stood between them. With a quick twist, the cap was off and Ianto wordlessly extended it towards Jack. 

After staring at the drink for a few moments, Jack reached for it. He was surprised to find his limbs felt leaden and sluggish. He missed his target once and Ianto leaned over a fraction more, bringing the bottle closer. Jack was grateful the younger man didn't try to offer to help him; he didn't think he could handle that small bit of unearned kindness. Not right now.

The bottle was slick with condensation and cool going down his raw throat. 

"Careful," Ianto said after a moment of silence as Jack drained more than half the bottle before he finally paused to take a breath. Ianto sat there, holding the steering wheel with both hands, staring out as if he actually driving.

"You didn't tell her," Jack rasped, echoing what he said days before when Ianto was on the phone with Gwen.

Ianto's gaze flicked over to him for a second before he lowered his head to stare at the steering wheel he was grasping.

"Wasn't mine to tell," Ianto answered, his voice still, calm, as if he was just reporting the weather. "I wouldn't ever do that to you. You have to trust me on that."

Jack nodded mutely and finished the remainder of the water.

"There's more if you need it."

Shaking his head, Jack dropped the empty bottle into the cup holder slot.

They sat in silence again.

"Do you want to go back?"

Jack swallowed hard and shook his head but said, "We should go back. The others—"

"They can wait." Ianto was calm whereas Jack's insides still churned and twisted. Ianto released the steering wheel and sat back, his seat angling back a degree. He turned to lie on his right side, facing Jack.

"They can wait," Ianto repeated. He reached over and brushed his thumb under Jack's eye. 

Jack flinched. He was relieved to see the thumb, when Ianto pulled it away, was dry. There was a point when Jack thought he would never stop.

"If you want to shut your eyes for a bit," Ianto whispered. "There's time."

The understanding in Ianto's eyes was too much. It made his eyes water, his gut ache, but Jack pushed it back. There had been enough tears. 

"I didn't mean to put you in that position," Jack rasped. 

"Hush," Ianto murmured as he did before in a soothing litany that pulled Jack to an exhausted daze when the tears ran out. "I'm glad you let me be there." Ianto appeared awed. "I know that couldn't have been easy."

It somehow felt better to have Ianto's low voice in his ear, thrumming and vibrating as constant and unhurried as when he laid his head over Ianto's chest. Jack didn't know what Ianto was saying; his syllables had simplified to sounds. It drowned the dark cloak of misery and _thrum-thrum-tap-tap_ he could feel edging his awareness. 

"I'm fine," Jack replied, more automatic than truly answering. 

Ianto scoffed.

"Okay, maybe I'm not fine, maybe I'm completely fucked up and absolutely—"

"Stop." Ianto sat up in his seat. He grabbed the hand closest to him, over Jack's thigh and gripped it tight enough to hurt.

"Where is this coming from?" Ianto demanded. He shook Jack's fist urgently. "What happened over there? Jack—"

"My name's not Jack Harkness," Jack blurted out.

The hold over his fist eased but didn't completely pull away, to Jack's surprise. 

Ianto blinked. "I didn't think so." When Jack jerked, Ianto's grip squeezed. Ianto gave him a wry twist of his mouth.

"Torchwood London?" Ianto reminded him. "Tosh once mentioned no records were found for a Jack Harkness for the last fifty years." He cocked his head. "Yet the records I _did_ find didn't coincide with Torchwood's records. Like they were for two different people."

Jack tugged at his hand, but Ianto wouldn't give it back to him. "You've been checking up on me," Jack said dully. There was no point accusing.

Ianto looked up at him through his lashes. He smiled faintly. "Well…you did come out of a police box, Captain Harkness."

Jack stopped struggling. He smiled tiredly back. "I guess that would leave an impression."

"Hm, yes," Ianto returned drolly. "Plus, I'd really, really liked that coat."

Ianto held Jack's fist with both hands now.

"Last I checked," Ianto murmured as he massaged Jack's fist, coaxing it to open and relax, "I hadn't taken a vow. Why the confession?"

The lump long forgotten in Jack's stomach renewed and knotted. Jack rested his head on the seat and watched Ianto's pale fingers knead his hand like clay. He has beautiful hands, Jack noted. It reflected every fragility, every moment life had served him. Jack could feel the calluses, hard yet soft, pressing into the tendons of his hand. 

"I met the real Jack Harkness." Jack sucked in his breath. "I kissed him."

The deep massaging motion stilled. 

"Ah," Ianto didn't raise his head and concentrated on Jack's hand again. "I see."

Jack wished Ianto would just let go. He should let go after what Jack told him. The gentle kneading of his hand never ceased. "I stole his name, his life, his honor and took it for myself," Jack croaked. 

Ianto nodded and fell silent.

The silence felt accusative. It hurt. It hurt a lot more than Jack thought anything could. But when Jack tried to pull back, Ianto's grip on his hand increased, both hands capturing his in a grip Jack normally should be able to break out of.

"Answer this question," Ianto said, never looking up. "Did you kill him for his name?"

Jack violently flinched. "No!"

Ianto raised his head and smiled tightly. "All right then." He dropped his gaze back to Jack's hand. He swept a hand over Jack's knuckles, as if inspecting an artifact.

Jack watched him, stared at the top of Ianto's head and feeling a little overwhelmed, a little undeserving of the absolution given to him.

"What was he like?"

Jack's shoulders slumped at the subdued question. He kept his gaze on Ianto. 

"You deserve a man like him," Jack rasped. The better man didn't survive.

Ianto looked up and met his eyes. His face softened, his eyes a blue to which Jack has never seen.

Ianto looked both sad and happy at the same time and it was an odd combination reflected in his eyes. It was mesmerizing. 

Slowly, fixed on his face, Ianto pulled Jack's hand up to his lips and very tenderly kissed each knuckle. 

"There were times," Ianto said, hushed like a confession, "when I wondered how I deserved _you_."

Jack's eyes blurred. He raised his free hand and stroked Ianto's cheek with the back of it. Ianto didn't flinch, didn't pull away from his touch. "I was thinking the exact same thing," he croaked.

 

**Act I**   
**Cardiff**   
**Present day…**

Jack's been quiet in his office since Tosh had left it. He barricaded himself in it with his silence. Ianto stood behind the coffee brewer, watching the shut door, drying the same cup for the past ten minutes.

Ianto returned to the Hub first, giving Jack a chance to gather his thoughts. Jack walked in minutes later, tossing the coat to the couch, throwing some stoic comment about angels and walking past him and Owen without another word. Tosh volunteered to talk to him and it would be an hour before she came out. And Jack didn't.

The door stayed resolutely shut, the light on the only indication someone was in. The longer it stayed shut, the more Ianto's insides screamed. It was like listening to Jack's voicemail again. The comparison didn't sit well in him. 

He should prepare a tray, something to eat, something to give him a reason to—

Sod it.

Ianto set down the mug and set his jaw. He veered neatly around the counter, past the desks, aiming for the door, to knock—he was determined but not rude—when he heard something shatter inside.

His blood went cold and courtesy was discarded. Ianto grabbed the door handle, pushed, but the door was not locked to begin with and he flew inside with more force than necessary. To his disgust, he sailed in with a yelp and a flail of limbs.

Jack paused. He stood behind his desk, one of the drawers completely pulled out and in his grasp. Papers were on the floor and the culprit of the shattering, the crystal container Jack inherited from Hopkins, lay in pieces on the floor.

"Uh…Come in?" Jack offered, his right eyebrow arched high.

Ianto straightened with a snap. He patted imaginary dust off his suit, keeping his flushed face down.

"I was passing by and…Well…Thought I heard…" No, he shouldn't say that. "I was bringing in some…" Damn, he left his tray outside. Ianto's shoulders dropped.

Jack cleared his throat delicately. "Is this where I'm suppose to interrupt your…babbling?"

Throwing up his hands, Ianto tossed Jack an exasperated look. "About six syllables ago, yes." He frowned at the mess that surrounded Jack then swallowed. All the contents from the safe were cleared and most likely locked away. He stared at the worn bound book sitting on the center of Jack's blotter.

"Teach me to leave my diary around," Jack joked weakly, lifting up the worn ledger book to show Ianto. 

Ianto tried to offer a smile, but failed miserably. "I didn't read it. Owen…he just wanted the password for the safe."

"They always say never write your passwords down, I guess they were right." Jack chuckled but it didn't look like he found it funny. He shut the book and tucked it in the center drawer without another word.

"Interesting choice for a password," Ianto said carefully to the top of Jack's head. Too interesting, in fact, to be random. He had researched it as he searched the CCTV for Bilis. "Rhea Silvia?"

Jack's face was impassive when he looked up. He shrugged as he fitted the empty drawer back on its track. 

"She was forced into the forest and raped by the god of war," Ianto continued. He tried to keep his voice steady. 

Jack's shoulders lifted then dropped. "I have a thing for mythology," he muttered as he shuffled things back into his drawer.

"She was used to produce the heirs to overthrow—"

"I _know_ ," Jack snapped. "I chose the password, remember?"

Ianto clamped his mouth shut.

Jack never apologized. He merely ducked his head as he pulled out yet another drawer and rifled through it.

"Owen only took the journal out," Ianto told him, a little hurt. 

Jack stopped. He dropped back heavily onto the chair behind him. 

"I wasn't thinking that you might have…" Jack waved a heavy hand towards his desk. "I had something. I thought I placed it in my coat pocket, but it wasn't in there so I thought maybe I left it somewhere in here but…"

"Wait, wait," Ianto held up a hand. "Is it a button?" Ianto's brow furrowed. 

Jack slouched. He pouted. "No," he sighed, dejected. "It's not a button." He sat down, looking weary and disgusted. "I—" Jack shook his head.

"I bought you something," Jack mumbled. "But I think I lost it."

"Ah." Ianto wasn't sure how to respond. Then, at Jack's dark face, it dawned. "Oh, you think you might have lost it back _there_."

"Last place I remembered seeing it, it was in my coat pocket," Jack grumbled. "I checked my pockets before but it wasn't there and I thought, _hoped_ …I don't know but it's definitely not here."

It must have been because Ianto was overwhelmingly relieved it wasn't something else, that he wasn't rushing into an office and finding pills or blood or—Ianto didn't finish the thought. He found himself struggling to fight back a smile. It wasn't funny. Really it wasn't. 

"It's not funny," Jack scowled.

Obviously, he failed. 

Ianto navigated around the cluttered spots of paper and shards until he reached Jack. He sat on the edge of the desk and with a nudge from his hip, pushed the drawer shut all the way.

"What was it?"

Jack gave him a rueful look. "Just a trinket."

"And?" Ianto prodded.

Jack's shoulders bobbed up once. "It was this crafts shop next to the place I got Tosh's earrings. It was…" A faint pink dusted Jack's cheeks. And Ianto had to once more fight the urge to smile. It was rather endearing to see Jack this way. "It was just a mug…with a lid…you know…for a mug or a cup, to keep things warm." Jack made a strained laugh. "But the lid was hand-painted with uh…the word Iovannis on it." Jack peered up at Ianto. "It's Latin for—"

"Latin for Ianto. Or at least a version of it," Ianto murmured. His stomach made funny little jumps. "That's rare. I hardly see that version of my name anywhere." He paused. 

"Jack, how much do you remember about Christmas Eve?" Ianto switched gears abruptly.

The non sequitur caught Jack off guard. He blinked. "What?"

"Do you remember us talking? Anything that I said?"

Jack's brow furrowed as he fought to recall. "Aside from waking up in your bed, no, not much."

Ignoring the flush Ianto could feel creeping up on his ears, Ianto coughed into a fist. "Hold on, I'll be right back." Ianto hopped off the desk, fully aware of Jack's curious gaze as he trotted over to the kitchen. 

Jack still sat there, open curiosity on his face as Ianto returned with a tiny shopping bag. Jack frowned perplexed when Ianto dropped it on the desk in front of him.

Jack studied the small bag, picked it up with two fingers then looked at Ianto.

"Is this another one of your…er…" Jack raised up his other arm, revealing the silver cufflinks.

"No," Ianto stammered, although his heart did a leap when he realized Jack was wearing them again. He scowled at Jack's smirk. "It was something I bought for myself. Take a look at it."

"Um, that's sweet that you want my opinion since I think you have better taste than me especially when it comes to suits—"

"Jack!"

Chuckling, Jack opened the bag and peered inside. His smile faded and a strange expression crossed his face.

"I saw this two weeks ago in an antiques shop," Ianto murmured. Jack didn't take it out. He looked afraid to. "The shopkeeper told me it was uncovered during a building renovation. He thought it was very old, perhaps part of a set that had been smashed long ago."

Jack carefully pulled out the yellowing ceramic disc. There was nothing remarkable about it, cream color with a careful thin border of deep blue that chased the circular edge. On one side there was a raised edge of raw pottery, clearly meant to sit inside the circumference of a mug. No flowers, no patterns adorned the other side, save for a faded blue lettering that read "Iovannis" on its center.

Ianto fidgeted. "I saw it in passing. Thought it would be rather frivolous of me. I mean, it was obviously part of something else and no guarantee it would fit other cups." Ianto scratched the back of his neck, his eyes on his shoes. "Yes, well…there it is." Ianto raised his gaze. Jack looked pole-axed. 

"Is it the same one?" Ianto asked tentatively.

Jack finally found his voice. "I ah…yeah, it is." Jack rotated the circle, his hands cradling it carefully. "It's probably a good thing the other part didn't survive."

"Oh?"

Jack gave him a shaky smile. "I think people would be very confused if they saw the 'Made in Germany' inscription at the bottom of the mug."

"Ah." Ianto chuckled. "In the middle of the second World War? Undoubtedly." Ianto took the piece back from Jack and studied it. The inscription was cracked, barely legible. "I saw this days before you and Tosh…" It was hard to wrap his head around. "I mean… _days_ before you must have purchased it. How is that even possible?" Ianto stared at Jack, amazed.

"I was once told that time was non-linear," Jack mused, although he still stared at the disk in Ianto's grasp with awe. "Uh wibbly wobbly timey wimey and…stuff."

Ianto gaped. "Wibb—P-pardon?"

Jack grinned up at him. "Something the Doctor would say."

"I can't imagine that being something the Doctor would _ever_ say." Ianto made a face. "He didn't seem like the sort."

"Well, _used_ to say. Before…well, before everything else," Jack amended. "Rose used to get a laugh about that." A wistful expression crossed Jack's features. 

Ianto almost said he wish he knew the Doctor then; it was at the tip of his tongue. Instead, he swallowed.

"No matter, thank you for the present," Ianto murmured.

Jack laughed, his eyes tired. "What for? You bought the thing yourself." Jack grimaced and gestured towards it. "You didn't even get the whole thing, just the part that didn't break."

Ianto set down the ceramic carefully and purposefully took the last two steps he needed until he stood in front of Jack. He placed his hands on Jack's shoulders and gazed down at him. Ianto couldn't help himself. He kissed the top of Jack's head. He felt oddly at peace.

"Thank you all the same," Ianto told him. He brushed a knuckle under Jack's jaw and reveled in how Jack closed his eyes, his head cocked towards the touch.

"If you want to make it a present still," Ianto added, grinning suddenly. "You can always reimburse me my forty nine pounds."

Jack stared at him for so long, Ianto worried he had gone too far. But then, Jack looped his arms around Ianto's middle, pulling him in until Ianto was on his lap.

Okay, _this_ was not something Ianto was accustomed to. Only Lisa had sat on his lap and a few of his nieces; it was _never_ vice versa!

"Okay, it was really thirty two," Ianto laughed nervously. Jack's thighs were hard and warm underneath him and the growing bulge he could feel hot and throbbing against the underside of his hip made him fidget. When Jack tensed, Ianto twisted around, about to protest. The words died on his lips at the smoky eyes staring at him.

"Perhaps we could think of some kind of bartering system for it instead?" Jack asked thickly. His breath quickened when Ianto wiggled—men were never built to sit comfortably on laps—and Jack's hands on his shoulders tightened minutely.

Hm, interesting reaction. Ianto didn't think a man could elicit a similar response like a woman, but the evidence in Jack's trousers proved him wrong.

"Barter?" Ianto ran his tongue across Jack’s lower lip in a quick flick and yet another intriguing response from Jack. He could feel Jack breathing harshly against him.

Ianto pretended to give it some thought, folding his arms and tried to think of himself sitting on a chair. A chair that…pokes.

"I'm sure," Ianto maneuvered around and felt Jack's sharp intake. Ianto brought his arms around Jack's middle. "We can come to some satisfactory agreement, sir." He leaned in, zeroing in at the corner of Jack's mouth.

"Very satisfactory," Jack agreed huskily and met Ianto's mouth halfway.

 

**Next day…**

"…think we have anything to do with that."

It wasn't an alarm clock. It wasn't his mobile again— _thank God_ —yet something was plucking him out of his post-coital haze. 

"…standing too long in under that ozone hole and seeing things…"

No, definitely not mechanical. Definitely a man.

"…might have been better prepared than calling me at _four fifteen in the morning_!"

A very _angry_ man.

Ianto blearily opened his eyes and groaned into the blankets that still smelled like Jack, feeling pleasantly sore in all the right places. He was displeased to discover he was alone in the bunk.

He sat up, blearily finger combing his hair down to a somewhat presentable appearance. He retrieved his shorts from under Jack's pillow, his socks rolled up in his shoes and his shirt by the wardrobe—how did it get all the way there? 

Feeling a bit more civilized, but still disgruntled, Ianto climbed the ladder towards Jack's voice currently growing louder and louder.

As soon as his head popped above the hatchway, Ianto naturally searched for Jack. 

He found him.

"…does not automatically make it our problem!" Jack was shouting, red faced, into his phone. One fist clutched the receiver like he could crush it. The other hand was also fisted and sitting on his _bare_ hip. 

Ianto rested his forehead on the top rung above the hatchway. Give me strength, he mentally pleaded to whoever might fancy listening.

Jack, in the truest of fashion, stood by his desk to his right _naked_ —although Jack would probably argue he was dressed since he threw on a shirt—arguing on the phone with whoever was idiotic enough to call at such hour. Oblivious to being watched, Jack had his sleeves rolled up. The shirt barely covered most of his buttocks and every so often, he tensed, and things and parts of him flexed and—oh, he shouldn't be watching! 

Ianto hung onto the ladder, riveted to the glimpse of the drying cum on the back of Jack's upper thighs, spots of pink where he had nipped and—

"Listen, Mr. President, if you think for—"

Oh God.

Ianto scrambled up the ladder the rest of the way, nearly falling back down into the hole. It never occurred to him that people might find it strange he was there so late. Ianto snatched the phone from Jack with a flustered apology. 

"Uh, yes, this is Ianto Jones. I'm the administrator for Torchwood. If you would please just email us any files related to your grievances, we'll deal with it directly. Thank you. Goodbye." Ianto disconnected the call even though he could still hear the politician yelping in outrage.

The phone clattered into its cradle. Ianto breathed a sigh of relief and sank into Jack's chair. 

"I wasn't finished yelling at him," Jack growled.

Ianto lowered his eyes because he was unfortunately—or fortunately—eyelevel with Jack's groin. 

"Jack, we do not yell at the President of the United States," Ianto murmured. 

"He yelled at me first," Jack said in a sullen voice.

Ianto looked up at Jack's face.

"What did we do?" 

Jack waved his arms and the shirt went up— _help_ —and back down again.

"Something about soldiers showing up at the Alamo and fighting going on at Gettysburg," Jack grumbled. He sat on the edge of the desk, unconsciously copying Ianto's usual stance. 

Ianto blinked. 

"I can see how they might assume it was us," Ianto said slowly. He studied Jack's blank face. "Is it?"

Jack pursed his lips. "That was my fourth call," he told him. "UFOs started showing up in India."

Ianto felt ill. "The Rift."

Jack folded his arms and nodded gravely. 

Ianto pinched a spot between his eyes. "Hopkins—"

"'The sky ripped open and black pearls came down upon earth to destroy the world because of one man's folly'" Jack quoted. He scoffed and shook his head. "Can you be more cryptic?" 

The urge to vomit was growing. Ianto covered his mouth and stared hard at the floor.

"This isn't it, Ianto."

Ianto swallowed. 

Hands settled on his bare knees. Jack crouched in front of him. His eyes were bright, reassuring, as he gazed at him. 

"It isn't, Ianto. None of what Hopkins described is here."

Ianto lifted his heavy head. "We opened the Rift."

" _Owen_ did," Jack corrected him. He sipped a hand into Ianto's shirt and cupped the discolored bruise where Owen had kicked him. "You tried to stop him."

Ianto bit back his tongue. He almost blurted out he didn't try hard enough. He ducked his head and just nodded miserably.

Jack's palm stroked up and down his torso. Ianto gulped. He could feel his fingers trailing each rib, like a paintbrush.

"Still sore?"

"Are you?" Ianto asked hesitantly. 

Jack's brow rose. "I was talking about your rib."

Ianto placed his hands on Jack's shoulders. "I wasn't."

Amusement lightened Jack's eyes. "It hasn't been that long since the last time you came inside me," he teased.

Only Jack could talk so casually about…Ianto blushed. 

"Although," Jack continued, "you have been happy lately to just let me…" His other hand cupped the swell between Ianto’s legs. He caressed Ianto's inner thigh, his fingers dancing up into his shorts, fingers moving up like on a piano, until they touched his lax cock.

Ianto sucked in his breath and pressed closer to Jack's hand. "Hm, thought it might be nice to let you have a turn." And he couldn't stop hearing Jack's nightmares in his head. Last night, they were absent as Ianto felt Jack's heartbeat tight and velvety hot around him, Jack murmuring his name, chanting it as Ianto's strokes quickened. 

"I didn't know we were making a rota," Jack said thickly. 

"I just didn't want to hurt yo—" Ianto froze.

Jack's hand slipped out of the opening of his shorts. He rocked back on his heels, his face shuttered.

Ianto closed his eyes. "I'm sorry. I—"

"You'd never hurt me," Jack said, his words low and subdued. 

Ianto scoffed bitterly. "Not according to Owen. I know I hurt you before because of Lisa—"

"Not since then," Jack cut in. He slipped his hands back on Ianto’s thighs. "You said I could trust you on that." Jack's face was suddenly open, his gaze no longer shadowed and he squeezed Ianto's knees. "And I do." Jack appeared surprised by his own admittance. 

The warmth that was sitting in his stomach blossomed up to his chest. Ianto slipped his hands over Jack's. 

"Thank you," Ianto rasped. Their fingers interlaced and he reached forward to kiss the side of Jack's jaw. Easing back, he tilted his head and considered Jack.

"What?" Jack grinned.

Ianto pointedly cast his gaze downward.

Jack rolled his eyes. "It's a shirt, it counts as being dressed."

"You just always wanted to stand there talking on the phone naked," Ianto joked. He scowled when Jack merely waggled his eyebrows. Jack didn't even have the decency to attempt looking embarrassed.

"Aren't you glad I said no to that web camera Tosh wanted to install?"

Ianto groaned and gave Jack a playful shove on his shoulder. Jack snickered and poked back. He pushed up higher, settling himself between Ianto's legs, his arms looped loosely around Ianto's middle. Jack just stared at Ianto, saying nothing, yet there were conversations swirling in his eyes, in the tiny, happy tilt of his mouth. 

His skin was smooth, taut across his chest when Ianto slipped his hands underneath Jack's shirt. He circled one rosy nipple, felt Jack's sharp intake under his palms, and the nub hardened. 

"Ianto," Jack whispered, his body arching up to Ianto's hands, his cock brushing against Ianto's calf half-aroused.

The heat and pre-cum beading on the tip of Jack's cock branded his skin. Ianto pressed, pinched until both nipples were rock hard and Jack was gasping softly whenever he lightly grazed his fingernail over them. Ianto could feel the indentation of Jack's spine curved towards him as his hands wandered around Jack's body. Smooth, tight quivering flesh rubbed against him as Ianto mapped every contour of his captain; sensual Braille for his hands. 

Ianto cradled the heated body like it was life itself, Jack's chest expanding with each inhale, the ribs curved and flexed under his hands in a rhythm he found himself following.

His hands slipped under the curve of Jack's buttocks. His fingers teased the tight entrance he knew he could find even without sight. He cupped the pert globes and kneaded them, his finger tracing the hidden opening. 

Jack pressed his face into Ianto's throat, breathing harshly as Ianto just stroked the puckered entrance, pressing, but never entering. He slowly tormented Jack. Jack ground his growing erection against the fold behind his knee, keening quietly to tell Ianto it wasn't enough.

"Despite everything," Ianto murmured. He absently ran his hands up and down Jack's body again. "I am glad you were able to come back." 

Jack's eyes shone, half murky with lust, and dazzling with an emotion neither one of them had yet to acknowledge. Jack leaned forward, fixed to his mouth over Ianto’s. Mouth parted, he tightened his grasp around Ianto. Ianto did the same and pressed his hands against Jack, pulling him closer…

And the phone rang.

Jack groaned. He rested his forehead with Ianto's briefly before pulling back with a rueful grin. He got up with a grace of a man completely unaware, or uncaring, of his state of dress. Jack padded over to his desk and pick up the phone with a long suffering sigh and a smirk to Ianto.

"Torchwood," Jack greeted. A few seconds later, however, his smile faded somewhat.

After eight more calls, that smile disappeared completely. 

 

Ianto flinched when Jack shot back about Gwen and Owen. She sat there, white with shock and anger. Ianto swallowed hard, spinning around to track Jack down.

"Gwen has a point," Ianto tried as Jack stormed down the steps, through the main area, to get to his office. "You didn't need to berate Owen like that, not in front of us."

Jack spun around and gave him a disbelieving look. "So you agree with her? That the Rift should have been opened?"

"No, yes, I don't know!" Ianto fumbled as he ducked into the office just before the door swung shut. The glass rattled behind him. "All I know is if the Rift hadn't opened, you and Tosh would have still been trapped in 1941!" Ianto held up a hand when Jack started to protest. "I know! You would have been fine, maybe even come back to us, but what about Tosh?"

Ianto guessed correctly when a guilty flinch passed over Jack's face.

"Jack," Ianto lowered his voice. "You have years. You can afford…lifetimes." Ianto's throat tightened when Jack cast his eyes towards his desk. "But Tosh? We never would have seen her again." Ianto approached Jack carefully. "We found Tosh's equation, a portion of it on a birthday card, Jack. Do you know what it said?" Ianto paused until Jack raised his head.

"'Tell my family that I love them,'" Ianto recited back. 

A long exhale deflated Jack and he dropped into his chair.

"Could you have stayed?" Ianto asked, his voice cracking. "Could you really have been able to stay, with Tosh, in 1941?"

"I would have looked after her," Jack said in a heavy voice.

Ianto's mouth crinkled sadly. "I wouldn't have expected anything less from you," he murmured. "But would that have been enough for her? Jack, she isn't a time-traveler. She's not used to…" Ianto's hands waved helplessly in the air as he fought for the right words. "I don't know…bouncing through time like you."

A weary eyebrow lifted and Jack made an effort to smile.

"Bouncing?" he repeated. 

Ianto chuckled awkwardly. "Well…your exact words, Harkness." He nodded towards the brown wrist strap ever present on Jack's left arm.

Jack nodded and sighed, his shoulders slumping. 

"I…" Ianto swallowed painfully. "I had a clear shot, Jack."

Ianto could feel Jack's gaze on him. Ianto didn’t dare look up.

"Owen was by the Manipulator. I told him to stop or I'll shoot. I shot his shoulder, thinking to disable, but…" Ianto raised his eyes and met Jack's.

"He still had the key, Jack. I could have fired again, stopping him. H-head shot." Ianto set his mouth. "But I didn't."

"Doesn't that make me just as guilty, Jack?"

Jack appeared speechless. He stared at Ianto, as if he was a ghost. His mouth snapped shut and Jack pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked drained. 

"Doesn't it?" Ianto pressed.

Jack opened his mouth. Then he shut it. Then he opened it again.

"What is it?"

"I…" Jack started to say. He stopped. Jack absently massaged the skin under his strap. "Back there…The date…It was seventeen days before I met the Doctor and Rose for the first time, when I…when I was still mortal."

The room shrank into an airless space. Ianto thought he could hear his ribs crack as his entire body clenched.

"And here," Ianto said tightly, "I thought all I had to worry about were the guns and the pills."

Jack's head shot up. "I didn't do anything."

"But you thought about it, didn't you?" Ianto could barely refrain himself from shouting. "What were you going to do? Walk up to yourself, say hello and _shoot yourself_? That's murder!" Ianto balled his hands into fists. "No, that wouldn’t be murder, it would be suicide!"

Jack's mouth pressed thin. "I only thought about it. Once," he said thinly. "I didn't, okay?"

"No! It's _not_ okay!" Ianto thumped his fists on the desk. Jack would only look at him with a blank expression, no remorse, no fear, and it scared him more than the red streaks of the cracking Rift on that bloody map. 

"You have all this life," Ianto said desperately. "Is it so terrible to spend some of it with us? With _me_?"

Shock bled into Jack's pale eyes. His face cracked, shifted a little. 

"God forgive me, but I'm glad we got the Rift open," Ianto whispered. He didn't care if the fists Jack was making on his lap swung his way. "It meant getting you back here with us." 

Jack's hands uncurled. "I don't think I would have stayed," Jack admitted. "Even if I had the choice." Jack took a deep breath. "I wanted to come back."

Ianto's eyes burned. "Good," he croaked. "That's good." Ianto stroked the wooden surface of the desk. He spied the snuffbox hidden behind the phone, always within reach. Ianto smiled waterily.

"You said this wasn't the end of the world," Ianto rasped. "This can be fixed, then?"

Jack met his gaze and nodded. "I'll fix this," he whispered.

"Good," Ianto repeated. 

Before Ianto could think of something more to say, there was a knock and Gwen came in. She was still white from before, but subdued. She clutched her mobile, gave Ianto a weak smile before looking at Jack.

"I just received a call from Andy. Jack, we need to get down to that station."

 

 **Act III:** _"It's coming…from the darkness."_  
 **Cardiff A &E**

Bloody Jack Harkness was right.

Owen's chest heaved as he clutched the SUV's steering wheel. He was a hair's breath away from pulling up to a curb and vomiting his guts out. He still couldn't get the taste of stale air out of his mouth from the isolation suit. His hands felt dry and cracked from the disinfectant powder he snowed over Tosh and himself before they climbed into the SUV.

The Black Plague. _Christ_.

Immunity systems of the 21st century were strong enough to defend against most modern diseases; every insidious filthy thing mankind thought up—on purpose or not—they have good proactive solutions. But smallpox? Cholera? Or the 1918 pandemic? And the Rift didn't just go back in time. It didn't just spit out people like Diane or a dying 14th century woman. No, the Rift could also go through the future. Antibiotics that were already developed there were not even conceived yet here. There were no defenses. Their DNA, stem cell system, might not recognize some of the protein strands. Quarantine, mass sterilization might not even help. People literally could drop dead where they stood. Fucking shit.

The road in front of him was empty for which Owen was thankful. Owen didn't want to think about negotiating through traffic or barrel through bystanders because some idiotic decides today was the day he was going to obey the law. 

Tosh was far too quiet for Owen's liking. She stared out the windshield, clutching her scanner like it was her mother's hand. Owen needed her to fill the SUV with her endless prattle about numbers and computers and parameters and shit. For once, he wouldn't have minded it; it meant she was thinking up a solution. As dull and teeth achingly impassioned as she could be about her numbers, Toshiko Sato was, above all else, very clever.

The need to get back to Torchwood was bordering on childish; as if getting back to that hollowed out metal bunker could do some good right now. But Owen was holding onto the slim hope that their mysterious Captain Harkness—not even his real name according to Tosh's past research—would have their plight's version of penicillin. 

Jack knew about a lot of the aliens and tech they had encountered. And while he mimicked Alex's constant mantra about how everything will change in the 21st century, Jack actually seemed to be preparing them for it. Preparing himself to stand alongside them for whatever was going to happen whereas Alex acted most of the time like he was just there to pass the reins. It made the purpose more tangible. There was a dark prediction neither Alex nor Jack would share, but Jack seemed to have a strategy for it; as if he knew what needed to be done to keep this happen. Owen, for the first time after a long time, felt a renewed purpose in Torchwood. 

Jack better have some answers. Otherwise, they were all screwed.

"Jack will figure it out," Tosh murmured all of the sudden next to him.

Owen just grunted, but he did press harder on the pedal and the kilometers shrank.

 

Ianto found the Weevil alone, snacking on discarded stale chips under the wharf just outside the Tourist office. How convenient. Ianto didn't have to travel far, didn't need his car—they really should consider a second SUV—and thankfully didn't need anything more than the anti-Weevil spray to subdue it.

Ianto kept behind the Weevil, a fist on the back of its collar, the other gripping the handle of his utility light and the spray.

The vaults were slowly filling up on all nine levels, each compartment filled with either the odd Persian warrior, Weevils, and the occasional Hoix or Dogon. As Ianto passed each door, he could hear banging, snarling. The Weevil would stop by each one before lurching away with a nudge from Ianto. 

Owen had called on his way back from A&E with Tosh. Brusque, his voice terse with stress, he warned everybody to stay away from anyone who looked human, out of time, and most importantly, _sick_.

Ianto was afraid to ask for more details. Jack, on the other channel, made some sort of connection, and snapped back he and Gwen were on their way back as well with a Roman soldier.

…

Ianto wasn't going to ask about that either.

The Weevil in front of him grumbled, moaned and fidgeted. Ianto tensed, spray ready. The PV-35 solution that originated from London was a frighteningly effective chemical most of the times. Ianto didn't want to think about Jack being held under it for so long.

A snarl and the Weevil lurched. A quick puff in its direction and it whined submissively, shoulders stooping, making it shorter than Ianto.

"It isn't so bad," Ianto murmured. He had found talking to them for some reason calmed them, whereas listening to Gwen or Owen's voices made them garble frenziedly. They tilt their heads as if listening, as if they understood. Ianto certainly hoped not; lord knows what they think of the one sided conversations he has during their feeding.

The Weevil huffed in a half bark.

"The accommodations aren't terrible," Ianto told the back of its enlarged skull. "They're very well kept, there are no wake up calls, occasional poking from our resident doctor and all the Weevil kibble you can eat."

The Weevil grumbled at him. It shuffled begrudgingly in front of Ianto down the long corridor.

The vaults were soundproof up to a certain extent. Ianto could still hear the muffled sounds of confused and enraged victims the Rift had spewed out into 21st century Cardiff.

They sounded like howls.

His flashlight gripped firmly in his hand provided a lurid glow that extended past the Weevil in front of him and a few strides more. The spot of light swung left to right as Ianto tried to manage his bearings. The Weevil had no trouble finding its way. Light sensitive, possibly? Perhaps why they favored the sewers so much.

Making his way more by memory than light didn't sit well with Ianto. It reminded him too much of when he first arrived in Cardiff. Jack had happily hired him, welcomed him like a long lost friend while he quietly built a converter unit in their lower levels. He wondered morbidly if Jack ever once regretted hiring him; would Jack have even shot him with Lisa back then? How different things were now than just a few months ago.

_"…an…to…"_

Ianto stiffened. He heard a whisper brush by him as swift as a wind, like fingers grazing lightly across the back of his shoulders. It even felt like the hair on the back of his head ruffled.

The Weevil stilled and sniffed the darkness around it.

"Don't tell me Jack has fallen into a well," Ianto murmured, his lips twitching because the Weevil pawed the air. It huffed again, head craning, sniffing.

_"…Ianto…"_

This time, the fingers drew ice across his back. The skin on his shoulders, under his suit rippled into a line of goose flesh that actually felt painful. A violent shiver ripped through him, enough so that Ianto took a step back, his light zipping around in a quick arc before returning to face front. The coppery green doors flashed in splotches of jade and iron reds as the light passed them. Just doors. 

Nothing more.

The Weevil turned its head and grunted at him, a short snarl and hiss. It almost sounded like an inquiry.

Someone down the passage quietly howled in response and the Weevil cringed and whimpered.

Ianto's mouth went dry. 

"Yes…Well," he began. His fist on the spray shook minutely. "Perhaps a suite on the upper levels instead?"

Beady eyes in sunken sockets squinted towards him, canines bared into a feral grin, its teeth white under the light. It barked softly.

And promptly, the flashlight went out.

"Shit!" Ianto jumped. 

The Weevil surprisingly didn't try to escape. It stood an arm's length away, half crouched, its bound hands in front of it. It turned its skull, too large and misshapen to ever be mistaken for human, but its tiny, close-together eyes were clear. It stared hard at Ianto and woofed. 

_Let's get out of here._

Ianto cleared his throat. He nodded towards the stairs leading out of the vaults. The Weevil was still complacent—probably the spray at work—and it dutifully shuffled up the steps. But not before giving the air one final sniff.

As his shoes clanged loudly up the metal steps, it occurred to Ianto that they had just passed the vault where he once hid Lisa; where she died. The revelation stole his breath, quickened his steps and by the time they reached the main cell area, Ianto was panting.

 

"Coming through!"

Ianto could hear Jack and Gwen inside the cell area, their voices hurried and urgent. They didn't bother to lower them and he caught a fragment, Bilis' name, trickling through as soon as he opened the door.

The Weevil just then decided their unofficial truce from down in the vaults was over and rose to its full height in challenge. Ianto set his jaw, waved the spray and it simpered, shuffling into the cell. As soon as it was in, it began moaning again. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand.

Jack frowned mildly at Ianto because no one told him Ianto was out Weevil hunting alone. Ianto could feel his examination, scanning him from head to foot.

"Thirteen more reports of Weevils on the loose," Ianto spoke up before Jack could find an imaginary wrinkle on him. Ianto ran a hand through his hair to give himself a chance to catch his breath. He had run up the steps like some scared schoolboy. "We're not gonna keep up at this rate," Ianto reported, feeling a little steadier. 

That frown never completely went away but this time, it was directed towards the cell. The Weevil stood there, staring cross-eyed back at them, making that low sound deep in its throat.

"Everything's on the increase," Jack said, glancing over to Ianto again. There was no expression but his eyes were dark when he looked over. They were hard and his mouth was unsmiling. 

That quiver returned deep in his belly.

"Can we stop them from making that noise?" Gwen complained. She made a face. She stared at the Weevil. It stood there, its paws on the thick glass, head tipped back and gave another mournful bray. 

Ianto resisted rolling his eyes. Yes, why didn't he think of that? "If you've got any ideas how."

Gwen, realizing how it sounded, offered Ianto a sheepish grimace in apology. 

Jack studied the Weevil, not noticing the silent exchange. "Maybe they're time sensitive," he mused. "This disturbance may be too much for them." His brow furrowed.

The Weevil simply moaned. It began to pace the entire cell, which wasn't much.

"We're now full in all vaults across all nine levels." Ianto didn't fancy going down there again. The goose bumps on his back haven't eased yet. "Do you want me to activate the vaults below?" When Gwen frowned, Ianto cleared his throat. There was an odd notation in Suzie's files, cautioning that anyone venturing into the sub-levels should go in pairs. "It's just we've never used them since I've been here," he explained more for Gwen's benefit. 

Horror was seeping into Gwen's eyes. There were dozens of vaults on each level, vaults they all thought were a bit excessive. Now, they were inadequate.

Jack scowled when he reached the same conclusion. "Do it." He turned back to Gwen. "Gwen, maybe you're right. Let's run a search on your dance hall buddy. We need to find him."

"Okay."

As they left, Ianto felt Jack brush his fingers to the back of his hand, but before Ianto could grab them, embrace them and absorb what his touch could provide, Jack was gone.

Ianto set his hands on the glass and exhaled slowly. It took him aback how bereft he felt when Jack's fingers vanished from his skin.

The Weevil surged up towards him, but instead of snarling at his face like most Weevils tend to do whenever anyone approached, it turned its alien head and growled at something to Ianto's right.

The lights flickered. 

Ianto spun around. And there she was.

Dressed still in the red top and jeans when he last left her, Lisa Hallet looked vivid, flawless, and very much _human_.

_"Hello, Ianto."_

A ghost. She could only be a ghost. Ianto staggered a step back, his back smacking into the glass. But her voice sang clear, rolled smoothly like she was here— _oh God_ —unhampered by alien cyborg technology.

"What do you want? Why are you here?" Ianto cracked, riveted to the approaching specter. Lisa, God, Lisa, as beautiful now as she was back then. She stood there, a finger absently fixing her hoop earring just like when Ianto last saw her. He left her standing alone on the tenth floor, left _everyone_ to go to the MX-CR chamber. They had never said goodbye. He couldn't remember what they had said to each other. He'd never told anyone goodbye.

"This isn't happening." Ianto was dizzy as she approached and nearly wept when he could smell jasmine.

When Lisa took his hand, Ianto's heart seized. Long, manicured fingers wrapped around his hand. They were both fragile and strong and they were warm to his touch. It would be his undoing.

Lisa, he wanted to say, but the words wouldn't come out. 

Lisa's eyes were oddly dark, serious, as they were fixed to his face. Her hand simply held his and Ianto didn't dare try to squeeze her grasp. He was afraid she might not return the gesture.

 _"There's only one way to stop this before things get worse."_ Whereas her voice before was always high with excitement, vibrating with the thrill of witnessing the opening of the void ship, of witnessing the spatial breach, her tone now was flat, serious. It made her almost alien, in-human despite the lack of metal skin.

_"People will die, Ianto"_

His insides grew ice cold. The wails of Torchwood's alarms bang about in his head. He could smell burning flesh and the shrill screams of drill on bone. He thought he could taste ash and copper.

 _"Thousands of people,"_ Lisa warned. There was no sympathy in Lisa's gaze, only cool consideration when she added, _"Unless you open the rift."_

Ianto closed his eyes when nausea threatened to consume. "Lisa," he croaked and finally dared to apply pressure to the fingers limp yet warm in his grasp. Don't go. "Lisa, I'm so sorry." Ianto squeezed them again.

The fingers vanished and his hand was empty.

Ianto's eyes flew open. His breath choked in his throat as he pivoted to his left then his right. The corridor was bare. 

The Weevil behind the glass pressed its skull to the barrier and stared down the corridor and growled.

"Lisa," he whispered, his hand that just held a ghost, a memory, he was afraid to know, twitched. Her presence was gone and left his palm cold, clammy, and bereft. Hands on his hips to steady himself, to try and regain some sense of equilibrium, Ianto looked again, searched the shadows for her, but Lisa was gone. No, Ianto thought dazedly. Lisa was never here. She was buried far from Cardiff, close to the spot they favored in the summer. It couldn't have bee—God, he'd forgotten how little her hand always felt in his, how jasmine followed her like a second skin. How could it have smelled, felt, looked so much like his lost Lisa?

The vaults skewed sharply and he staggered until his shoulder slammed into the wall. Ianto covered his mouth with a hand and breathed through his nose. That couldn't have been real, could it? The rift. Time was cracking like an eggshell everywhere, spilling and oozing. It didn't mean she was alive. It meant…it just meant…

It was hard to think. Ianto slid to the floor, gasping. It was all Ianto could do as he thought about how cool Lisa looked to him before she was lost to him again. His apology was left unanswered.

 

 **Act IV:** _"Where did you end up?"_

Seeing Bilis descend the spiral stairs amidst of hundreds of ticking clocks, Jack couldn't help but clench his jaw. Why wasn't he surprised? "You're from 1941." Judging by the way Gwen tensed, Bilis had also made a show in the present to her.

Bilis, with his large eyes on his narrow, pinched face, paused and offered a polite, lipless smile. "As you were. Hello, again." He walked by them to behind the counter and carefully set down the clock he was carrying. It looked old, Roman, and too well kept to have been salvaged from somewhere. "I thought you had found a dance partner, Captain." Bilis studied Jack with that damning secretive smile. "His fox trot was not to your liking?"

Jack bit back a growl. He stood there, feet apart, fists hidden by his sides, and took a step in front of Gwen. And to his irritation—Jack was no longer amused with her resolve to show her independence—Gwen edged back up front. 

Jack considered Bilis. Hm, still a nice cravat but now odd looking in this time. Bilis was dressed as he was in the Ritz, yet there was nothing out of place in his outfit. "How can you be in two time zones at once?"

That thin, little condescending smile returned. "I can step across eras, like you'd walk into another room." Bilis shrugged. He picked up another ornate looking timepiece, cradling it with both hands, like it was a child. "At first, it was the most incredible gift. Now I know the reality." Black pupils drilled through Jack. "It's a curse."

Gwen's brow knitted. "Why?"

"I can see the whole of history." Bilis looked dreamy until his eyes landed on Jack again. His mouth stretched to a thin white mouth from ear to ear when his gaze fell upon Jack. 

"But I don't belong anywhere within it." 

Jack set his jaw.

Bilis' smile then turned feral, his eyes glinting like dark coals.

"So, your return to this time had a price. Time's splintering." 

Gwen darted Jack a look but he didn't return it. He stared hard at Bilis, trying to pick apart the face before him. Time lord? Alien?

"This city exists on a rift in time," Bilis declared, chuckling under his breath when Gwen flinched. "The only way to make it right is to fully open that rift. Let it suck back what fell through."

Everything went cold inside him. "No way," Jack bit out. He could still remember how the TARDIS shook with the extrapolator, how it screamed as the rift opened and flooded the TARDIS with a deluge of unstoppable energy. Rose told him the Plass was splitting apart as she ran across it. "It's too dangerous." 

"Can we even do that?" Gwen asked skeptically. She turned to Jack. 

"Of course you can," Bilis answered before Jack could. The air seemed to still when he faced Jack. 

"Isn't that right, _Captain_?"

Damn it, Bilis knew far too much to be safe to leave around.

"Jack?" Gwen's voice rose. She never even questioned how Bilis knew.

Jack stared hard at her. "You've seen what happened. If we open that rift, millions will be at risk."

"And yet, if you don't," Bilis pointed out in that mild tone, "more will fall through. Lives will be lost."

Jack gave a short laugh. He narrowed his eyes at the old man, if he was human that is. Jack yanked his Webley out off his holster. Gwen started. "You know so much, you're coming back with us."

Bilis froze but Jack wasn't fooled. The old man looked at them with something like pity, his hands going up. "I'm sorry."

Less than an eye blink later, Bilis vanished without a sound.

A snarl rumbled deep in his throat. Jack shoved the gun back into his holster, his eyes darting to all the corners of the shop. Clocks ticked and ticked manically. "Damn it." Jack twisted around towards the door, already reaching for the handle. "Trace the temporal activity round this location. We need to find out where he is. Come on."

A few steps down the arcade and Jack stopped short. "Gwen?" He spun around and Bilis stood there. Jack stepped back, but no one else seemed to notice or care.

"You shouldn't have come back here, Captain." Again, that pitying look like he was a stray. "This is all wrong, but everything is already in motion."

Jack had his gun out already by the time Bilis started talking. "What's in motion?" Jack demanded. Where the hell was Gwen?

"You _will_ be sorry." Bilis shook his head. He paused, his head cocked. 

"Excuse me." Bilis bowed his head and once again, disappeared.

"Damn it!" Jack shouted. A bystander jumped and shot him a dirty look until he sighted Jack's gun and suddenly he was in a hurry to be somewhere.

Jack observed his surroundings. No one reacted to a man popping in and out in mid-air. He sheathed his gun. Illusion? Would explain why no one else panicked when Bilis vanished. Another dimension?

Before Jack could think of another theory, Gwen bolted out of _Stitch in Time_ , her eyes stark with fear, but not for herself. She ran full pelt, past Jack, past his shouts and disappeared before he could catch up to her.

Jack stood there, staring at the street, Gwen nowhere in sight. A sinking feeling began to form in his gut.

 

Owen wasn't sure about two things.

One, he wasn't certain if the bitterness in his throat was because he knew, right now, people were bringing in people they found to the A&E. Idiots dragging strangers into Cardiff A&E, unprepared for any diseases or infections, ignorant of any contamination, simply because it was the decent thing to do.

Two, Owen wasn't sure if the bitterness in his mouth could be because he knew that in the next twenty-four hours, everything he knew, everything he saw, would be gone. How would they do it, Owen thought fatalistically. How were they going to explain a loss of nearly three years of secrets and wonders? Was he going to be found wandering from a car accident? Wake up from a coma? Maybe it wouldn't matter. Retcon is worth shit if there was no one to do it to. Owen Harper might get to die with his memories intact. God, he wanted to laugh so badly, he could puke. World might end after all. 

The thought made him swallow convulsively. Owen clutched the brandy and knocked it back. He could taste the burn still from the three shots he'd consumed previously. Maybe the bitterness was from that. Maybe he should have just had a pint instead. Maybe it would be better to get Retcon-ed; he could die ignorant of the fact that Owen Harper brought forth the end of days.

It was too early in the day for anyone to be nursing a drink with him. The music, picked by the staff, was loud, metallic and chaotic enough that it made it hard to think. It was exactly the way Owen wanted it.

Everyone else not squandering his or her life away in an office was staring flummoxed at the telly in every pub Owen saw. Aliens in India. A 19th century whaler showed up to dock in the Cape. A stampede of wild horses was thundering through Oklahoma City. Every ruddy sod was gawping up at the news, their pints half-drunk and warm from neglect in their hands. Their reasons bounced from government conspiracy to terrorists dumping hallucinogens in the water. 

They were all wrong. They were all fucking idiots.

Owen motioned the barkeep for another one, tossed more quids at him than the drink actually cost and stared thin-lipped into his glass.

Jack's words still bung around his head. Owen scoffed. Jack wanted their trust? How can they trust a man who doesn't really exist? It worked both ways, Captain, Owen thought bitterly. He scowled and took a sip.

He could imagine them all right now. Floundering as the world goes to shit. And despite his anger towards Jack, Owen also knew his captain was right.

He did this. 

Damn rift, Owen thought darkly before finishing his drink. Again, it beat him, hefted a price for wanting to save them. Tosh said she was glad he'd opened the rift. Is she still, now?

_"…Owen…"_

The music suddenly died. The flickering, wavering blue light dulled. Owen looked up blearily and the bitterness soured to longing in his throat.

_"…Owen."_

Diane stared back at him, still garbed in her aviator outfit. The white scarf that smelled like her and Katie wrapped snugly around her elegant neck, her hair free from her aviator's cap and tumbled down her shoulders like the dark silk he remembered. 

"Jesus, Diane," Owen gasped. His body went numb, then hot as Diane drew closer and he could _smell_ her. "Oh, Jesus," he cracked.

Diane looked up at him mournfully, that gleam of dare and rebellion nowhere in sight. _"I'm lost, Owen."_

His hand shook as he reached out, his arm straight and set on her left shoulder. He nearly cried when he felt the oily cracked leather of her jacket. "I can touch you," Owen breathed. His fingers curled and he watched the leather flex under his fingers. "I don't understand." Owen looked at her eyes, her lined forehead. "Where did you end up?"

Diane's face crumbled and suddenly it was like looking at a stranger. _"Please, bring me back, Owen."_ Diane cocked her head, her eyes pleading.

_"You can do that, can't you?"_

"I-I don't know. Everything's out of sync." Owen's mouth was dry. His heart was hammering far too fast to be healthy. Her scent, her eyes, her lips, _Christ_ , how was she here? 

"Ah, Diane," Owen croaked. His vision blurred and Diane looked ethereal. "Why did you have to go through the damn thing?"

Diane didn't answer, but her eyes were almost black with remorse. _"Please,"_ Diane sounded like she was crying yet her eyes were dry and sad. Katie had cried, curled in their bed the night before the surgery. She died and Owen woke up to Alex Hopkins telling him Katie never could have been saved. The surgery was for nothing. She died and he went home to an empty flat. He cried then as well, hugging her pillow, until he fell asleep.

 _"Please, bring me back,"_ Diane whispered as if from a long tunnel. She stared at Owen, staring and begging to be saved. _"Open the rift."_

Owen felt another walk between them.

Lights sparkled.

The obnoxious thump-thump of the music returned.

And Diane was gone.

Owen stared at the space where she stood. He could feel her essence, like a lingering heat on his skin. 

Diane was still alive. And Owen was going to save her. Save them all.

Money was dumped in a pile of pocket-crumpled quids Owen gave the bar one last look. Not even the shadows bore a resemblance.

Owen savagely wiped the tear off with the back of his sleeve and left the bar for Torchwood.

 

Ianto can still hear Gwen's scream; it was like Gwen's very soul had shattered with that anguished cry.

Eyes blank, face white with shock and smeared with Rhys' blood, Gwen sat on the stool by the gurney with Rhys' body. No one knew him. Gwen brought him in unconscious. No one even knew what he sounded like.

Gwen brought him here to be safe. She left him down in the cells because she thought it was safe. She was trying to save his life. She had failed.

Ianto wondered what Rhys was thinking as he watched Gwen walk away. Was he mad at her when he realized he was dying? Did he forgive her before the Cyber—

Something in his chest crumpled. Ianto bit back a groan. His heart literally seized. A fist had reached in and grabbed his heart.

Jack stood over Gwen, quietly cleaning up the blood from her fingers. She had stared at her hands in horror, stood there by the cells, in front of the whimpering Weevil until Jack guided her upstairs to Autopsy.

God, they would have to perform an autopsy. Owen wasn't even here. Retcon procedures needed to be implemented. The world was spinning beyond belief. How could this have all happened so quickly? It didn't feel real.

Ianto gulped. It felt like the wall behind him was the only thing propping him up. The stairs were the only thing keeping him standing.

"I'll have to tell his family," Gwen said dully, not seeming to notice Jack was still cleaning her left hand like she was a child. 

"We'll deal with it," Ianto told her. Out of the corner of his eye, Tosh flinched and Ianto closed his eyes. It had been automatic. 

Jack, finished, stepped back, silent, his face only covered in grief, bloodless. He stood there and said nothing, poised as if he was waiting for something.

"The way you dealt with that porter first time I met you," Gwen accused, but she didn't face his way. She stared with empty eyes at the wall of cold storage drawers. Her mouth twisted darkly and she shook her head once.

"No, you won't deal with him, Ianto," Gwen said coldly.

Ianto knew she wasn't looking, but mutely he nodded all the same.

"Gwen, I'm so sorry," Tosh whispered to his left.

Gwen laughed strangely. Her face was blotched red from Rhys' blood, making it a gruesome, odd little smile when she turned towards her. "You never even met him." 

Tosh ducked her head.

"This is what happens here," Gwen said numbly, an empty singsong voice empty of life. She studied at Rhys' profile. "We all end up alone." Something flickered across her face.

"Not me. No way." Gwen turned sharply towards Jack. She levered off the stool and stalked slowly towards him.

"You bring him back." It was veiled in hope and something darker.

Jack shook his head regretfully. "No."

"The Resurrection gauntlet," Gwen pointed out with an edge of desperation. 

"Was destroyed," Ianto reminded quietly.

Gwen looked crushed then her eyes hardened. "We've got to have something else."

"I said no." Jack's words were firm.

"No." Gwen stood there, between the dead and the always living. Her hands wavered between the two. 

"There's something wrong with time so we can go back to the moment. To the very moment." Gwen's voice rose higher and higher, almost shrill. She stumbled back to Rhys and stared at his face.

"Gwen." Ianto flinched at the gentle tone Jack sported. He knew that voice, tasted for so long after Canary Wharf, when he was young. He hated that Jack needed to use that voice today.

Gwen gave her head a violent shake. "Well, there's got to be something that you can do otherwise what's the _fucking point of you_?" Her head shot up, eyes wild.

"You, you bring him back! You bring him back!" Gwen practically threw herself at Jack, her fists easily captured in a loose grip of her wrists. 

Gwen sagged.

"Bring him back to me! Bring him back to me!" she wailed. Jack wrapped his arms around her shoulders and she slumped against him, weeping. "You bring him back! Do you understand me, Jack fucking Harkness?" 

Jack held tighter, shook his head and shushed her.

"Do you?" Gwen sobbed. She screamed into his chest.

"I'm so sorry," Jack croaked as Gwen made an animalistic keen that echoed one from Ianto's memory. Tosh covered her mouth and looked away. "I'm sorry."

There was a slap of shoes, a skid before Owen appeared at the top of the steps. "Oh shit," he breathed. "What happened?"

"You came back!" Tosh brightened even as Owen ran down the steps and pried Gwen away from Jack.

Owen ducked his head to look up at her. He gripped her shoulders lightly. "Are you all right? You okay? Are you all right?"

"Don't touch me!" Gwen shoved him aside. Owen stumbled, his own face white as if he'd seen a great shock.

Whimpering deep in her throat, Gwen staggered back to Rhys.

Owen stared after her. Then, he spun around at Jack. "How many other people have got to suffer?" Owen demanded, his voice rough with unshed tears. 

Jack just looked at him and said nothing.

Owen set his jaw and lifted his chin. "I'm gonna fix this." Owen's eyes dared Jack to say anything. "I'm opening the rift."

Stunned, Jack let Owen race past him, up the steps. His eyes followed until they landed on Ianto.

"Make sure you stop him," Jack said. His voice never hardened to an order. He looked at Ianto, looked at him like the countless times before when Jack expected him to be like everyone else.

Ianto almost replied with a "Yes, sir." But then he stared at Gwen holding Rhys' hand, getting her hands bloody again. The emptiness hurt to see, to remember, to even taste. It was too much grief to swallow. 

Ianto turned back to Jack. "No," Ianto whispered and pivoted away from Jack's stunned expression and climbed the stairs to find Owen.

They needed to fix this.

 

 **Act V:** _"What are you afraid of, Jack?"_

It was like watching someone else; it didn't feel like it was happening to him. Not again.

Ianto looked right at him, said no, and wrenched away, never looking back. Tosh left a quiet but resolved "We going to help him" in parting before Gwen followed her up the steps.

Jack was left standing there, the stench of fresh spilt blood in the air, the tang of ozone hanging heady and sharp above him like a harbinger. 

He wanted to laugh. He should have known. Why did he ever think it could be different?

 _This_ was what it was all going to lead to eventually. It never changed. He was still staring at the result of believing his faith was the right choice. Only distinction was that this time he wasn't on a space station filled with bodies.

The alarms blared as the Rift Manipulator was activated upstairs. Jack pressed his mouth together and picked up his gun that had fallen to the floor during Gwen's frenzied grief. He gave Rhys a regretful look then took the stairs two at a time.

They were already clustered by Tosh's workstation, his _team_ , pulling up the Emergency Protocol One that no one should have known about.

"Get away from the computer, Gwen."

Owen stood to block him and a little part of Jack was proud of him finally standing firm on something; something he believed in, even if it was the wrong thing. 

"This is a trap," Jack tried to reason, but no one looked his way. They huddled around the station. 

"All these cracks around the world, they're diversions." Like the vision Gwen saw and judging by Tosh's stunned face when she'd returned with Owen, one was probably revealed to her as well.

"Opening the rift will fix that," Owen tried, his hands up to ward Jack back.

"And who told you this?" Jack snapped. At his look, Jack laughed harshly. "Did Bilis give you a vision, too?"

" _Diane_ told me," Owen hissed, unhappy to say her name, like he was talking ill of the dead.

Jack narrowed his eyes. Did they all see something? "This is what Bilis wants," he hissed. 

"What are you afraid of, Jack?" Owen asked him. Owen gave him a pitying look too eerily close to Bilis. 

What was he afraid of? Nothing. Not anymore. Nothing that matters to the world anyway, only to Jack. 

Gwen's back was to Jack and visibly stiffened when the screen dissolved and in bold red capital letters, asked for a master password. Jack's password. Protocol One would never activate without—

"Rhea Silva," Ianto murmured low to Gwen. Jack flinched. His stomach iced over, that lump now as sharp as a razor. It cut into him, bled him out cold when Ianto didn't look his way, focused on the access code he revealed to Gwen.

Perhaps it was that, that final straw, more than anything else that made Jack pull out his gun. He first pointed it to the back of Gwen's head, wavered at Tosh, shook over Ianto, and then steadied on the screen.

"I said _move_."

"What the hell are you doing?" Tosh cried out in disbelief.

Jack wanted to say he was returning the favor. They all stared, stunned and a little frightened at the Webley aimed at them.

Gwen looked calm, stripped of her very human fascination and wonder that Jack thought the team needed. What she had brought instead was this. Even still, his gun never fired as she walked up to him, her face frozen and a little too fraught, a little too drained. 

"Come on, Jack," Gwen murmured. Gwen gazed at him, begged in that dead voice that told Jack she no longer cared about her actions. She stood directly in the line of fire. Gwen looked tired, standing there looking like a wind could knock her down.

"You're a united front now," Jack said bitterly. Ironically, it was what he had hoped for, hoped to shape them into for a future he now knew he would never be a part of. Hopkins was wrong. He was never part of this future. 

Bitterness and rage at his own stupidity boiled inside him. He didn't even hear clearly what he was saying once he started. All he knew was he wanted to see on their faces what he was feeling inside. Just once, to have something in common with them. 

"Toshiko, the poor girl who'll screw any passing alien that gives her a pendant?"

Tosh stared and stared at him, her eyes bright, her mouth parted in shock as if she didn't recognize the man before her. Then, she averted her gaze minutely, just enough so she could no longer see him.

The rejection shouldn't have hurt. But Tosh had waited for Jack, refused to leave when the rift reopened. She had looked at him like she believed he would take care of her. Jack thought that was enough, but he was wrong.

"Owen? So strong, he gets in a cage with a Weevil, desperate to be mauled."

Owen's face gave away nothing, but his eyes narrowed at what Jack were saying to him, his jaw clenched. It felt like Jack was screaming, his throat burned as if he was, but his voice was steady and low. Owen thought he was saving them when he opened the rift. He told Jack he had wanted to go with Diane Holmes into that rift yet he stayed here with them.

"Ianto…" Jack set his mouth and didn't finish. 

He…he didn't want to think about Ianto.

Ianto's eyes were huge, stark, and indecipherable when Jack didn't finish. Ianto lowered his gaze.

That lump in his stomach had flared up with a vengeance and carved flesh out of him from the inside. He lashed out at Gwen, the one he thought could be the missing piece to his team—turned out it was never his—but she only ended up to be far too human, after all.

Gwen pleaded, her hands out and curled entreating towards him. "I've got to get Rhys back."

"Yeah, 'cause you're so in love with Rhys that you spent half your time in Owen's bed," Jack spat out.

Something dark and unbridled flashed in her eyes and Gwen's fist sailed across the air like a whip. " _Fuck you_!"

Jack staggered, his head snapping back, not because it hurt, but because even through it all, it had only been words. There was no turning back after this.

His gun spun away from his grasp and Jack tasted blood as he slammed to the floor on his knees. Out of the corner of his eye, Jack thought he saw Ianto tense, poised as if to reach for the gun.

But Owen beat him to it.

"We're relieving you of your command, Captain!" Owen shouted, his words jumbled together. If Jack didn't know better, Owen sounded almost hysterical. "We're opening the rift and getting back what we lost!"

Ianto and Tosh looked away from the computer now, gaping at Owen with a stare a bystander would have coming across an accident. 

"Shit," Gwen swore and Jack smirked bitterly to himself, but there was no satisfaction in it. The retina scan screen must have just come up. Jack raised his chin at Owen. What would they do now? Jack hoped it meant he could reason with them, talk to them, calm them down. Jack crouched there, balancing on his heels and staring at his own gun.

"Stay down!" Owen's hand shook and he grasped the gun with both hands.

"You wanna be in charge, Owen?" Jack hissed. He could see the gun waver. "You got to have significantly bigger balls."

"I said stay down," Owen warned, his throat working. He shifted his weight and the gun steadied. 

"Think of what you're doing," Jack continued. He tested getting up. Owen flinched and Jack froze. "That wasn't Diane. It couldn't have been. The rift will not fix this. You're all playing into Bilis' hands." 

Doubt flickered in Owen's eyes. 

Jack could see Gwen, uncaring, hands gesturing as she tapped furiously at the computer to somehow bypass it. Ianto turned away, towards Gwen to help and Jack had enough. He choked back the angry sounds that wanted to come out and surged to his feet.

Owen jerked and fired.

Just as darkness came and ripped him from the sight of the other three turning away from the screen, Jack thought he shouldn't have been surprised at all no one tried to stop Owen.

Then, there was nothing.

 

Ianto had turned when Gwen uttered "Shit." Only for a second, a glance and then Tosh gasped and the distinctive, sharp report of Jack's gun echoed the Hub.

Ianto spun around, in time to see Jack falling, blood spraying out from a hole too neat, too concise to be real. Ianto stood transfixed as Owen fired another, then another.

"I'm sick of people doubting me," Owen choked out wetly. Then, as if from a dream, Owen started.

"Shit," he strangled out. " _Shit_."

Tosh just stood there, her hands over her open mouth. Gwen pulled away from the keyboard and took a tentative step towards Owen.

Ianto went the other way. He dropped to his knees by Jack's head. Jack stared up at the ceiling, his eyes wide with a permanent shocked look.

"What have you done?" Ianto breathed. He gazed up at Owen, seeing a stranger standing before him, staring up at the gun that killed Jack Harkness. 

Gwen murmured something to Owen, who stood over Jack's body trembling, his face white . Gwen stared at Owen with a bit of fear, her hand cautiously reaching for the pistol in his hands. For a moment, it didn't seem like Owen would let go, but he finally did with a shudder. Owen stood there, swallowing, his eyes overly bright and looking sick.

Ianto crept a hand over Jack's hair and settled there. He had to believe Jack would wake up soon and hopefully by then, everything would be fixed.

But as he watched Gwen give him a look before pulling out the digital camera, Ianto knew somehow that some things had been irreversibly broken.

 

Owen couldn't look at the body. At Jack.

It was like a cinema picture, one he could only watch as the gun fired, his finger to the trigger, two more shots were fired before he could stop himself. Now, he stood there, his stomach dropped to his shoes.

Gwen stood there, the digital camera clicking as she took his picture, concentrating on his left eye. She stared at him, no words for what he had done, but she failed to hide the look over her shoulder towards Jack.

"We still have to do Jack's," Gwen said, subdued. She handed him the camera. Owen was too numb to protest. He walked over and dropped to his knees by Jack's head.

Pale blue eyes, dull and lackluster, stared past his shoulder to the high vaulted ceiling above them. Owen was grateful he didn't have to touch him or pry an eyelid open. It was for the best, Owen told himself as he held his other wrist to keep the camera steady and zoomed in on Jack's left eye. Jack never would have given them his retina otherwise.

"Done," he whispered and felt a hand on the device. He looked up and saw Gwen by his shoulder.

"The rift will fix everything," Owen rasped when he caught Gwen staring at Jack again. "You'll see. It'll be alright."

Gwen's eyes drifted to Autopsy. She nodded before helping him back up on his feet.

Irises flashed as the images are downloaded into the computer. Each name flashed with each scan, verifying and approving.

Gwen Cooper. _Authorized._

Ianto Jones. _Authorized._

Toshiko Sato. _Authorized._

Owen Harper. _Authorized._

Jack Harkness…

There was no real recordable delay but everyone tensed at the pause it needed, the meter below slowly inching its way to a hundred percent.

"Come on," Gwen murmured, not realizing it was loud enough for everyone to hear. "This can't be for nothing."

Owen closed his eyes shut at Gwen's words. Opening them again, he saw the meter reached the end.

_Authorized._

Owen could have wept. 

Gwen took a deep breath as the screen changed once more. The warning on it probably held some meaning; Owen didn't know and at this point, he didn't care. They had come too far, lost so much, done so much, to turn back now.

A finger paused at the _Enter_ key. Gwen looked around at everyone. Tosh sniffed loudly and looked behind her at Jack. Gwen's gaze drifted to the Autopsy area. Her eyes hardened, her mouth pressed grimly together and with more force than necessary, punched the _Enter_ key.

Torchwood began to wail.

All the lights turned blood red as the emergency lights came on after main power shut down. Things began to rattle. Badly. 

Klaxons barked in the darkness. It felt like someone had taken the Hub and began to shake it. 

Pencils tumbled out of Tosh's drawer, something in the kitchen area shattered, and the pterodactyl above _screamed_. 

Everyone took a step back from the computer. Owen gulped as he could hear the combined howls of trapped Weevils down in the vaults. In the morgue, he could hear doors exploding out from empty—he hoped they were empty—drawers, sounding like large champagne bottles uncorking.

Owen looked at Tosh and she looked at Gwen. Gwen stared around her, mouth opened as the lights switched from white to red. 

The floor bent and swelled and it was everything Owen could do to stand straight. Christ, what was happening? Was it working? Owen ducked as sparks sizzled from torn cables above him.

Then suddenly, Gwen screamed.

Owen turned around and saw Jack Harkness come back to life.

 

Ianto had been waiting for a gasp to tell him Jack was back. He was still unprepared for it. Ianto still jumped when Gwen shouted. It appeared Gwen had forgotten as well.

"What have you done?"

Jack was staring at Gwen, but it felt like the weak question was directed at all of them.

Tosh stared at Jack. Owen was still breathing harshly in shock, nearly stumbling onto the couch, his mouth agape. 

Ianto edged closer. Gwen stared at Jack. Jack still held her ankle, trying unsuccessfully to pull himself up. When he hissed in pain and nearly fell back, Ianto pushed past the other two still staring stupidly at Jack. Ianto didn't know what they were thinking. He didn't care.

Gwen had snapped out of her stupor and slipped her arms under Jack's left. Ianto reached to his right and felt Jack jerk when he grabbed him.

"Help me move him!" Gwen shouted above the din. Ianto only nodded as he struggled to haul Jack up.

Glass exploded from above and Tosh cried out, startled, rousing Owen out of his own fugue state. He bodily grabbed Tosh, yanked her closer to him. A chunk of concrete the size of her head shattered on the spot where she once stood.

"Quick!" Gwen warned as she ducked under Jack's arm. Ianto grunted, but did the same and together, they got Jack to stand. 

Owen was practically dragging Tosh down the steps, leaping down the last three to get to the gate. It sparked when he opened the gate, manually struggling to get the cogwheel open. He shouted—what no one knew—and held the door open for all of them to pass through.

Ianto could feel Jack shaking next to him, Jack's legs barely supported him up, his body cold against him. Jack never said a word the whole time, not even when he nudged Ianto on the shoulder to go when Ianto twisted around to retrieve his greatcoat. Ianto waited by the bottom of the stairs to duck under Jack's arm again.

They didn't dare take the lift. The Hub vibrated and threatened to collapse around them. It was a painful climb up the stairs. Ianto could hear the sirens and alarms behind him, Owen and Tosh's frantic breathing in front of him.

Jack shouldered into his coat outside of the Hub, still moving sluggishly as they fled to the back of the Plass. He could hear screaming as the Plass heaved, the water sculpture shaking and sparking like a lightning rod. 

"Okay?" Ianto whispered to his ear, but Jack never replied. 

"Come on," Owen called out to them, rocking from foot to foot, impatient to keeping moving.

Gwen looked at Ianto. He nodded to the unspoken question. They both each took a firm grip of Jack's arm, looped under, his wrists held just as tightly.

Jack's feet couldn't quite meet the ground and he made faint grunts as his knees buckled and wobbled. Hanging between Gwen and Ianto, Jack had no choice but to stumble along.

Ianto wished they could stop, give Jack a chance to rest. Jack looked horrible, pasty white, his lips bloodless, and his eyes shadowed and sunken. And cold. God, Jack's hand was so cold in his grasp, like ice.

"Keep moving!" Owen jogged in front of them. Tosh kept looking back, checking to be sure they were catching up.

"Right, Jack," Gwen panted. She tried to smile reassuringly. "Everything is going back to normal."

Jack never answered. He grunted softly again when his ankles turned, unable to find a footing. His stance was drunken, uncoordinated.

Ianto pressed closer to Jack, shivered as he could feel the chill coming off Jack's skin. He held tightly to Jack's arm. They kept going, never stopping, Jack's breath growing harsher and harsher. 

Abruptly, they stopped.

Jack fell heavily against him when Gwen let go. Ianto hissed, suddenly finding himself trying to support Jack on his own. Jack tensed and tried to pull away, his hands pushing uselessly at Ianto, but Ianto just kept a firm grasp on his arms.

Gwen walked up to something in front of them; a man in a long dark coat. Bilis, Ianto recognized and tensed. Jack, gasping, heaving, wearily looked up and stiffened as well.

Even from here, the smug gleam was clear on Bilis' cold eyes.

"From out of the darkness, he is come," Bilis declared to them all.

And in the distance, something roared.

 

 **Act VI:** _"My work is done."_

"How do we stop it? Tell me what to do, Jack."

Gwen stared at him. They all were, posed and ready. Tosh stared like she did when they were trapped in 1941. Owen lost the wild-eyed determination it held before when he shot Jack. Gwen met his eyes like before, when she insisted he could bring her Rhys back. He didn't look at Ianto, but felt his arm around his middle, supporting him. 

Jack wished it were in him to say he had warned them. He wished it were in him to be bitter and just walk away.

He wished…

"Get me to the SUV," Jack rasped. 

"Why?" Owen asked, no longer belligerent, no longer defiant. 

Jack glanced over. They all looked at him, waiting for the answer. It was all laughable. It really was.

"I need to find an open space." His body ached. It felt stripped raw. The wind blew through him and Jack swayed on his feet. Death was never an easy thing to recover from.

"We'll go with you," Gwen decided.

"No," Jack said immediately. He couldn't take this abrupt about face. He didn't recognize the faces in front of him anymore. Maybe he never knew them in the first place. 

"Get back to Torchwood if you can. Shut that rift down." Jack stumbled towards the direction of where their garage was. A hand clutching his right arm stopped him short. Jack looked down at it. A sharp stab pierced him in the chest when he followed the hand up to Ianto's face.

"Let go," Jack barely kept himself from snarling.

"You can barely walk to the car, much less drive. And I know all the shortcuts." Ianto was being reasonable. Jack knew this, but he growled anyway.

"Fine," Jack seethed and tried to keep most of his weight off Ianto as the other took his arm again over his shoulder.

 

Jack's eyes were closed while he concentrated on his breathing. The rasping was loud and the only thing between him and Ianto. 

Ianto took the road opposite Abbadon's path, back through where he came, to avoid the beast. The view was horrific. Bodies had dropped where they stood, whatever they were doing left broken and neglected on the ground.

Cars littered the streets, their drivers slumped over their wheels. One car was halfway up on the curb, into a sidewalk café. Tables were upturned, arms fanned out under mangled furniture.

It was silent. Ianto had rolled down his window, desperate to hear anything. There were no police sirens, no cars, no flurried sounds of people running. Even the sky was silent; there were no planes, no birds. Far away, a thin curl of black smoke indicated an aircraft was in flight when Abbadon passed. It now lay burning in the park, giving the streets a faint, acrid smell.

Ianto wanted to close his eyes. Dead upon dead lay on the street, silent and fallen as if sleeping. It was quiet, so quiet it was actually deafening and suffocating in its own unique way.

"Almost there," Ianto whispered. He was desperate to fill the air with something, anything. There wasn't even a stray dog barking or a squirrel scampering by. There were no fires snapping at the passing SUV, no emergency vehicles zipping by. There was nothing. There was no one.

"God," Ianto whispered as he drove around a pink stroller that had tipped over on the road. The woman, presumably the baby's mother, was slumped over something. Only a tiny leg was visible beneath her.

"What did you see?"

The voice after nothing but the labored sounds of breathing for so long startled him. Ianto recovered quickly, before he could hit a PC lying prone on the road, the whistle still in her mouth.

"Visions," Jack whispered, his voice barely audible. "Bilis gave you all visions. What did you see?"

"I didn't see anything," Ianto said. He kept his eyes on the road and made the turn for the waste grounds across the Bay. The Bay lay foggy and silent in front of them. There were no boats in the water.

"Liar."

Ianto swallowed painfully. "You were right. Bilis must have tried to tempt us to open the rift." They were all such fools. Ianto's face twisted. "It was a trap." 

"Us? So you did see something." Jack turned his face, ashen when it was chalk white before. It couldn't be called an improvement though. 

"What did you see?"

Ianto pressed his mouth together. 

Jack coughed. He sat against the corner made by his seat and the window. Jack stared out the front and closed his eyes briefly at the row of children fallen like dominoes in front of a school entrance.

"You said I could trust you," Jack whispered. His voice failed to completely hide the tremor. His words strengthened. "You said I could t-trust you, damn it."

The vast wide space opened up to welcome them as the SUV drew near. The car rocked as tires rolled over gravel and dirt.

"What did you see?" 

The SUV rolled to a stop at the top of a small hill. 

Ianto squeezed the steering wheel. 

"Lisa," Ianto said brokenly with his eyes shut. "I-I saw Lisa."

The SUV rocked when Jack closed the door shut.

"Wait!" Ianto cried out. He spilled out from the driver's side. He saw Jack stumble, slamming into the front of their vehicle before straightening. Jack walked away jerkily from Ianto.

"Wait! Jack!" Ianto caught up to him easily. Jack batted his arms away, mumbling Ianto needed to get back in the SUV. "What are you gonna do?"

"Get back in there and drive as fast as you can." Jack stared off into the horizon. In the distance, Abbadon stormed through downtown Cardiff. The new residential construction collapsed like sticks when the beast stomped through.

Ianto gripped his elbows harder. "What is your plan?" Ianto demanded breathlessly. "Jack, look at me!"

Jack tore his eyes away from Abbadon and really looked at Ianto and something shriveled inside Ianto. Jack's eyes were empty.

"Abbadon is the bringer of death," Jack said succinctly. "And I have a surplus of life." The smile he made was brittle and gave away easily to anguish again. With surprising strength, Jack wrenched away and fell back a step before he righted. "Let's see how he does with me."

"What do you mean?" Ianto cried out. He struggled up, slipping on loose rocks as Jack staggered towards the open field with renewing strength. "Jack, stop! What are you saying?"

"If he feeds on life," Jack sneered faintly as he kept walking, "then I'm an all-you-can-eat-buffet." He shoved weakly at Ianto, who kept blocking him, trying to slow him down. 

Ianto grew rigid when the words sank in. "No." Ianto grabbed Jack's right arm with both hands. "You're too weak. This won't work!" Panic threatened to drown him when he realized Jack was still staring into the horizon, this time with longing. 

"You have a better idea?" Jack snapped. He yanked his arm free and suddenly dropped down to one knee before he got up again.

"You can barely stand. It won't be enough to stop him, there must be another way!" This time Ianto grabbed him by the shoulders and spun Jack around. When Jack didn't reply, Ianto felt like screaming.

"Then I'm coming with you!" Ianto tried desperately. He guessed right when Jack's gaze whipped from the far away Abbadon to Ianto with horror.

"No," Jack croaked. 

"Then let's stop to think!" Ianto pleaded. "There's _got_ to be another way! Or I'm coming with you!"

Jack's face crumbled. His shoulders slumped, giving up. "Ianto…"

Ianto relaxed.

"I don't _want_ another way."

Before Ianto could respond, Jack punched him. A thousand stars blinded him and Ianto sagged into Jack's arms.

 

The plastic tie tightened around his wrists, looped around the steering wheel. Jack grimly settled Ianto on the driver's seat, the keys in the back seat. 

Ianto groaned and his head lolled back.

Jack reached over, turned Ianto's head back to his seat. He cradled his jaw. Then, he remembered and Jack snatched his hand back, his eyes stinging.

Jack growled under his breath and forced himself to lever out of the SUV and slammed the door shut. Tired. He was so sick and tired of trying to figure out how to cope, how to survive with no hope, how to come back from blow after blow.

Abbadon howled in the distance and rose to its full towering height.

Jack's lips pulled back. How fitting something like _him_ would go against the son of the Beast.

His ears sang with the _thrum-tap_ , his companion, the only one constant in his miserable life. Jack smiled to himself. Out of everything, it was the only thing that remained even when his Doctor left him behind. He stumbled a step, glanced over his shoulder to the SUV before with a sob, Jack made way down the path, far enough away from the SUV, far enough away from Ianto.

_…thrum…_

Let this be over.

_…thrum-thrum…_

He'd tried. He'd believed. He thought it was okay to grasp for happiness.

_…thrum-thrum-tap-tap…_

They all stood as one against him, tempted by the dead and denied the value of his living.

_…thrum-thrum-tap-tap…_

"Bring it on!" Jack screamed as he took huge strides, his long legs eating the distance until he stood center of the waste ground.

A place for garbage.

Jack laughed hysterically into the wind. "Come on!" Jack shouted towards Abbadon. His eyes blurred and blinded him for a moment. "I'm right here, you bastard! Dinner!"

Abbadon paused and tilt his head to the wind. It turned towards Jack and roared.

Jack watched as it veered away from the buildings, veered away from the boat that had suddenly stopped and bobbed when Abbadon took to the water in two easy strides. Jack stared at it's horns, it's short snout. He waited, his heart hammering against his chest. 

Abbadon's shadow crept up the grounds even before it finished crossing the water. Jack didn't feel fear, only desperation when Abbadon paused and glanced Ianto's way.

"Right here," Jack whispered. "Come and get _me_. You can have it. All of it."

_…thrum-thrum-tap-tap…_

Abbadon growled and shook its huge head before turning back towards Jack. 

Jack stood there, shoulders wide, feet apart and waited for his fate. This was why he was still here. It had to be.

_…thrum-thrum-tap-tap…_

Alex Hopkins was wrong. This…this _was_ the end of the world. And Jack was more than willing to go along with it.

When its shadow finally touched the edge of his body, fire scored his body like knives, tearing and crackling shrieked in his ears when muscle collapsed, revived then depleted again. 

Abbadon roared triumphantly. It will be fed.

Jack screamed.

 

Ianto came to. 

To Jack. Screaming.

It was pure agony, like pain ripped violently from flesh.

Ianto started, gasping. Disoriented, he tried to twist around to see his surroundings only to discover his hands were bound to the steering wheel with plastic ties.

"What?" Ianto gasped. "How did I—Jack!"

Jack was on his knees, at least a dozen meters away, arms spread, his head tilted back in a scream that reached all the way into the SUV.

At first, Ianto couldn't see what was happening until he heard a roar. Looking up through the window, Ianto was horrified to find Abbadon, a writhing tower over Jack.

"No," Ianto whispered. He tugged at his ties. "No! Jack! _Jack_!"

Whether Jack couldn't hear Ianto, or his own agony drowned everything else out, Jack didn't turn to look at him or even try to move away. His body was rigid and arched back like a bow; his arms opened wide as if in gruesome welcome. And the screaming. Oh God, the _screaming_. 

Ianto was screaming himself before he was aware of it. He yanked and tugged at his ties. Tears dribbled down his face as plastic cut into tender skin.

Ianto thought he could strike the car horn, distract Abbadon, draw it away, but he could see the frayed edges of red and yellow wires where Jack had disabled it. The keys were also gone from the ignition so Ianto couldn't speed up the SUV right at them. 

Shouting, kicking, Ianto couldn't get Abbadon to look his way. Desperate, Ianto twisted in an agonizing contortion until his shoes faced the driver side window, his arms twisted to a point he thought he might dislocate his own shoulder.

Ianto kicked hard using his heels to try to shatter the glass. His knees rattled with each shock, but he kept kicking in blind panic until glass showered out and onto his lap. Ianto used the largest piece he could find, used his mouth to transfer the sharp glass to his hands and began to saw.

The noise never tore Abbadon away. It looked, though, as if it was trying to get away from _Jack_. It howled, shaking its mighty head. Tendrils of blue light coiled around and through it. Blue light, Ianto realized in terror, which was coming out of Jack. 

The plastic ties, stained in Ianto's blood, finally snapped. Ianto didn't wait, didn't even grab his gun and fell out of the SUV just as cracks began showing on Abbadon's gray skin. Before Ianto could take another step, Abbadon gave a powerful bellow, collapsed in front of Jack, and vanished in a burst of light that slammed Ianto to the ground. Jack in turn dropped to the ground abruptly silent.

The world darkened for an instant. Just a moment, and Ianto lay prone to the ground, dazed until he heard it.

A plane flew over him. A seagull cawed in the distance.

Ianto got up shakily. The building that collapsed under Abbadon's wake was back up again. Boats that were still before now sailed by on the horizon.

Jack never got back up.

Running, slipping, Ianto skidded to a halt over Jack and dropped to his knees. He was shot before and came back in minutes. How long here? Minutes? Hours?

"I'll wait," Ianto whispered and carefully gathered Jack up to his lap. He cradled Jack's upper body.

Jack's skin was waxy, translucent, to the point he'd almost glowed. Jack was strangely stiff, flawless save the bullet holes on his shirt marking where Owen had shot him. 

Jack felt light, depleted in his arms.

Ianto stroked his face. Another plane roared overhead. Life had renewed.

Ianto kissed his hair. "I'll wait," he promised shakily.

He was still waiting, two hours later, when the others drove up in Gwen's car, their faces filled with shock when they ran up to the two men.

 

Ianto held Jack, his head bowed over him as they drove back. He and Owen carried him through the debris ridden Hub to the Autopsy area. He didn't flinch when Tosh wrapped his wrists. Ianto didn't laugh when Gwen joked weakly he had his work cut out for him in this mess.

When Gwen had realized the gurney was empty, Rhys' body gone, her face lit up then fell almost immediately when Ianto looked at her. Gwen shrank back, whispering apologetically she needed to see Rhys and fled.

Now it was Ianto's turn to sit on the stool.

Jack laid white and silent on the gurney, a carbon copy of how Ianto found him in the MX-CR chamber. Ianto sat there, watching Jack and wondered if he should talk to him.

"Ianto."

Ianto blinked and lifted his heavy head. Owen stood at the foot of the stairs, looking a little red-rimmed, garbed in his medical lab coat. Ianto bristled.

"No," Ianto hissed. He stood closer to Jack.

"I need to—"

"I said _no_."

Owen appeared distressed but Ianto was beyond caring. The medic took a step closer. "I need to check, be sure, get him ready—"

" _Don't. Touch. Him_." Ianto gave Owen a shove but the medic stood firm.

"Least let me change him out of those things," Owen said, his voice gruff. "Let's make him more comfortable."

Ianto looked down at Jack, at his hand covering Jack's cool one and the clothing still flecked with gravel and blood. Ianto tried to give it a squeeze but Jack's fingers had stiffened.

Ianto deflated.

"I'll do it," Ianto whispered.

Owen could only nod.

 

 **Act VII:** _"The right kind of doctor."_

It had been two days.

Ianto paused by the archway leading to the morgue. He hated the fact Jack was there, hated the fact they couldn't keep him at Autopsy—not that the name made it any better—and hated the fact Gwen Cooper, short of breaks and getting something to eat, had not left Jack's side.

"She feels guilty," Tosh murmured from behind.

"And we don't?" Ianto returned bitterly. He felt Toshiko flinch. "Sorry, I—"

"I know." Tosh slipped her arm around his arm and gave it a hug. "How are you, Ianto?"

Ianto sighed and backed away from the morgue. "You wouldn't believe me if I said I was fine."

"No." Tosh led him away from the morgue. "It's not good to be here." Toshiko made a loud sigh. "I haven't been in there since…"

"He's coming back, Tosh," Ianto told her. "He …like Gwen said, Jack can't die."

Toshiko stared up at him. Then, without warning, she wrapped her arms around Ianto's arms and body and gave him a hug.

"Of course, Ianto," Tosh said softly. She gently steered him towards her repaired workstation. "Now come. Help me fix the mass spectral scanner."

 

**Day Three…**

"How long is she going to do this?" Owen rasped. He wanted to kick something.

They all stared at the CCTV. Gwen was trying to warm Jack up, rubbing his exposed limbs briskly. 

"Gwen feels he'll come back," Tosh spoke up. She stared at the screen, her arms folded across her chest. 

Owen just grunted. He'd checked Jack's vitals every other hour. There was no change in vitals, brain activity, or even body temperature. It never went up. Never went down either.

"Jack will," Ianto whispered but Owen thought he heard his voice quaver this time.

Owen winced. He stared hard at the screen, as the blue hued Gwen sat back down on the stool.

"He better," Owen muttered, but he closed his eyes when Gwen pleaded " _Jack_ " one more time.

 

Toshiko glanced back up again towards Jack's office. Ianto had gone in, saying he needed to straighten up in there. That was thirty minutes ago. She chewed her lower lip and tapped on her keyboard as if it could speed up the defragging. It, of course, wouldn't. 

The morgue was to her right, Jack's office to her left.

Gwen, for whatever reason she wouldn't share, thought she alone was fully to blame for their downfall, for them turning against Jack. Toshiko wished it were true. It would be easier to think she had no part in putting Jack in drawer seven. 

It was lonely here. Owen was off somewhere again making repairs, checking on hospitals, verifying that everything was alright, everything was back to normal. He would come back later, stop by the morgue and stare. What he saw, he never said and Tosh never turned on the impassive CCTV again to see for herself. Owen would then shake his head and return to Autopsy.

If his eyes were a little red when he returned, neither one of them said anything to each other. That's just Owen's way.

Toshiko sniffed.

It was during times like these, buried in machine parts and monitors that churned out excessive numbers, when she missed Jack the most. He popped up in the oddest times about some reading or another that needed checking. He even let her drive and shared with her a knowing grin each time Owen complained he needed to readjust the driver seat.

Another sniff.

God, how could she have been so _stupid_? Rift temporal energies used as visual delusions had been done before. Rift energy could easily be manipulated into hallucinations, time bubbles, portals, dimensional breaches, incendiary—

Toshiko scowled at herself and stepped back from her workstation. She half-expected Jack to appear and cheerfully drag her outside to check on a random rift activity. And if they happened to pass by his favorite coffee shop Chambers, well, that's just good fortune, isn't it? 

When Jack's booming voice didn't echo in the Hub, her eyes blurred. 

Suddenly, standing here alone, waiting for Owen to return or for another damn computer to fall apart was simply unbearable. She headed for Jack's office. 

The morgue was never an option.

Ianto sat on Jack's chair, Jack's greatcoat on his lap, staring at something under the desk blotter he had lifted up. Ianto was looking a little teary eyed.

Whereas Owen would deny it, Ianto simply sniffed and gave her an apologetic shrug and a watery smile.

"I uh…" Ianto gestured to the pile of blue wool on his lap. "I was sorting out his desk, brushing out his coat and…" Ianto sucked in his breath, shook his head and didn't finish.

Tosh made her way around Jack's desk. She blinked at the little yellow squares peeking out from under the desk blotter. Post-its, Tosh realized. They papered the desk, squares of golden tiles.

"I can't believe he kept them," Ianto choked. He lifted away the blotter completely to reveal them all. "Every last one of them."

They were lined up carefully, each flattened and placed flushed with each other. They fit under the blotter, hidden from view. Tosh was afraid to touch them. 

When Ianto stroked one with a finger, she tentatively plucked the outermost one.

It was a toss-up between crying and chuckling, so Tosh chose the less painful of the two. A giggle, partially garbled with her runny nose, broke free at the crude stick figure drawing and the Zs trailing on top. Despite the rudimentary drawing though, Tosh recognized the concise lettering. She looked at Ianto questioning.

"I failed art," Ianto croaked. He tried for a smile but failed and his face scrunched up as if he was trying again.

Tosh blinked and carefully set it down and watched Ianto set the blotter on the desk, precisely, like the top of a glass box.

"You knew about Jack," Tosh said quietly, a little hurt. "Was it like Gwen? With Suzie?" She watched Ianto stroke the greatcoat like a pet.

Ianto looked like he wasn't going to answer, but then he slowly nodded.

"Yes, but I knew him longer than that though," he rasped. "I met him in London." Ianto fiddled with the collar, ironing it flat with his fingers.

"Oh." Tosh lowered her head.

"He didn't know how you would have reacted," Ianto lifted up his eyes towards her. "If we weren't there, I doubt he would have ever—"

"It's okay, Ianto," Tosh interrupted. What did it matter anymore? "It's fine."

Ianto nodded to himself and stared at the blotter.

Tosh sat down on the floor; Ianto's knees reached her head. He said nothing as she laid her head on top of the greatcoat. Her eyes burned. It smelled like Jack.

"How are you, Ianto?" Tosh asked again because she suspected no one ever asked except Jack.

"Not good," Ianto rasped. "Not good at all."

Tosh wiped a tear before it could mar Jack's coat.

"What are we going to do, Ianto?" Tosh asked, almost whimpering and hating herself for it. It didn't feel odd to ask the younger man. He was the only one right now who would listen and answer her.

"I don't know," Ianto whispered.

Tosh wished she had never asked at all.

 

**Day Four…**

Ianto stood by drawer nine, taking over Tosh's spot in the shadows. He stared at Jack on the pulled out platform. The gown, the colorless skin, the stillness that was never Jack Harkness bore too many other memories for him. He stirred uneasily.

"How many days has it been?" Gwen's voice was raspy and wispy. She looked haggard when she raised her head.

"Four," Ianto told her quietly.

Gwen gave an odd laugh. "Tosh thinks I should let him go."

Gwen blurred before him. Ianto pinched between his eyes and said nothing.

"I thought…I thought he would have come back by now," Gwen admitted. "I didn't want to think Jack was the cost of…" She lowered her gaze and absently fiddled with the zipper of the body bag. Nylon crinkled.

Ianto closed his eyes. He folded his arms in front of him and took slow, steady breaths.

"You and Jack."

Ianto's eyes flew open. Gwen stared at him wearily.

Gwen smiled, tried. It turned out to be a grimace.

"Copper's instinct," she explained. Her brow knitted. "But you were with Lisa. I—"

"I'm not gay," Ianto told her. His throat tightened when he gazed at Jack's face and hated the fact Jack looked so peaceful and Ianto couldn't be happy for him. "It was…" Ianto laughed shortly at himself.

"It was just Jack." Ianto shook his head. He bit his lower lip. At Gwen's cocked head, Ianto laughed again, this time bitterly.

"It took me _months_ to figure that out. I-I was never gay. I…It was just Jack. Always had been." God, he could cry. Ianto's shoulders shook. 

"Jack has this way," Gwen offered, her mouth crinkled. 

"He does…did—God." Ianto made a fist as if to strike one of the doors, then remembered. 

Gwen sniffed. "He's really not coming back, is he?"

Why were they asking him? Ianto wanted to scream to Gwen. Why him?

Ianto approached and hesitantly settled a hand over Jack's right arm. He choked. So cold. Ianto didn't care what Gwen thought, Ianto bent down and kissed each closed eye because he couldn't swallow the thought of kissing Jack and not taste him in there. It would be too much.

"I'm sorry, _cariad_ ," he whispered to his ear. Ianto screwed up his face, willed the tears back and pulled away.

Gwen had no such qualms. She dipped her head and touched Jack's lips briefly, parting with a smack. She looked at Ianto. Then she reached out a hand, took Ianto's and they both started walking away. As they got further away from the wall of drawers, Gwen squeezed the hand she held. Ianto sniffed.

Someone _sighed_. 

Ianto felt Gwen stiffen before he heard it again: a barely audible exhale.

They both twisted around and bolted back towards the platform.

At first, Jack looked like he did before: pale, marble white skin, his hair in spikes, his eyes shut. Ianto feared they were mistaken, that they had deluded themselves.

But the moment Gwen touched his left arm and Ianto his right, Jack's eyes opened half-mast.

Gwen gasped.

Ianto bit back a sob and whispered, "Jack." When pale blue eyes glanced over, Ianto smiled tightly.

"Welcome back," Gwen managed out. She held back her hair and leaned in closer so Jack could see her. "Took you long enough you cheeky bastard," her voice broke.

Jack gave a breathless chuckle. He made a feeble gesture to sit up.

She helped Ianto pull Jack up, grunting when Jack fell forward.

"Easy," Ianto murmured as he maneuvered to sit next to Jack, his arms snaking across Jack's shoulders.

Jack stared at him strangely. 

"What?" Ianto was unnerved by the intent look.

Jack shook his head wearily, breaking eye contact. Then, he shivered.

"His clothes," Ianto whispered to Gwen. 

Gwen nodded, stared at Jack as if she couldn't believe it still and reluctantly slipped away.

Jack's eyes tracked Ianto the whole time they were talking. He was strangely quiet and moved like an old man, his arms awkwardly around himself as he tried to get warm. 

Ianto wordlessly took off his jacket and slipped it around Jack's shoulders.

As soon as the material still warm from Ianto's body heat draped over him, Jack made a sound. His entire body shook so hard, Jack nearly fell off the slab.

Ianto's eyes stung as he wrapped his arms around Jack to keep the jacket on him and Jack flinched. He could hear Jack's teeth chattering violently.

"She's coming back with your clothes," Ianto murmured low to Jack's ear.

Another pained sound and Jack twisted, curling into himself away from Ianto.

"Jack," Ianto choked. "I…" 

Jack grunted softly and shook his head carefully. He sat facing the wall of drawers, arms straight down on the slab. 

No, Jack was right; they should talk later. "Over here." Ianto shushed Jack's pained mutterings as he pulled Jack around. "We need to get you warmed up."

Jack felt stiff, coiled in his embrace. Head bowed, hands pressed to his chest, Jack shivered within Ianto's arms and said nothing.

"Here," Gwen announced, a bundle of a shirt and trousers under her arm. She peered anxiously up at Jack. "How is he?"

" _He's_ fi'e," Jack rasped all of the sudden. He ignored their sobbed laughter, his eyes on the folded clothing Gwen carried.

It was awkward trying to dress Jack. He kept trying to help before he finally gave up when he kept missing a sleeve.

Gwen helped Jack with his shirt. It was almost comical to watch Gwen trying not to look when Jack stood swaying, his hand on Gwen's shoulder for support, Ianto pulling up his trousers. Jack suffered through it all, his shivering easing.

"'o who und'essed me be'ore?" Jack asked hoarsely as he struggled to pull the braces over his shoulders. He grinned weakly at them both. Gwen sputtered.

Ianto flushed from where he was by Jack's feet, tying his boots. Gwen had the foresight to get warmer socks from his dresser. He could feel the minute trembling through the trousers when he cupped the back of Jack's calf to pull up his socks. He looked up, a quick reply ready on his lips. It died through when he saw the maelstrom of emotions that darkened Jack's eyes.

When Jack realized he was caught, that grin faltered and Jack averted his gaze.

Ianto ducked his head and swallowed. Something hot pricked at the corner of his eye.

"Jack," Gwen cracked. "What I did…"

"Don't," Jack warned, his voice growing stronger. "It's done."

"If I hadn't—"

"It's _done_ ," Jack hissed. Gwen recoiled but stepped back closer when Jack staggered back against the pulled out platform. Jack's hand shot up, halting them both.

"It's over," Jack rasped. He didn't look at either one of them. Jack took a deep breath, then another, steadying himself. He nodded curtly and straightened.

Gwen looked relieved as Jack took a faltering step out of the morgue. Ianto offered a shaky smile at her shining face but he couldn't push the ill feeling in his stomach away as he watched Jack's steps firmer and stronger as he distanced himself away.

 

He wanted to scream, cry, rage when he felt himself walking up. A voice beckoned him. Something warm in the cold dark crooked a finger towards him.

No, Jack, told it. I'm staying here.

Another bit of warmth, sparks that shone bright in this nothingness, cooed.

But it'll hurt, Jack had whimpered to whatever it was that tugged and cajoled at him.

Invisible hands caressed his cheek, his hair, hushing him, smoothed away the tremors. Jack thought he heard Rose sing and he cried dry-eyed in the dark.

_"…iad…"_

It wasn't fair. He…he just wanted to rest. He wanted it to stop. He…he wanted to feel nothing. He should feel nothing in here.

Reluctantly, Jack found himself drifting towards the pinpoint of life until the light broadened and agony danced throughout his body with icy fire.

His first breath was a sob. He felt deceived into coming back.

Jack hobbled painfully out to the main Hub. His vision still foggy, he didn't quite make out the fast-moving blur until it flung itself at him. Automatically, his arms went up when Toshiko Sato threw herself at him.

Toshiko cried, really cried, as she pressed her face to his chest. Jack caught hiccups of apology, hiccups of Japanese, as Toshiko hugged him.

Jack patted her shoulder. It felt like it should be the proper response. It was. Toshiko held tighter and her tears dried to runny nose and sniffles. Toshiko pulled away, laughing nervously at herself. Gwen responded with her own watery chuckle.

Jack simply smiled again. Maybe when the lingering cold left his body, Jack could bring himself to laugh too.

Steps on metal halted and something heavy dropped. Toshiko glanced over her shoulder and paused. She touched Jack briefly on his arm and moved away.

They met halfway on the ramp. Owen stared up at Jack in a mixture of disbelief and relief.

"I…" Owen's face twisted and he tried again. "Jack, I…"

Owen had only ever wanted to fix it. He never lied about that. He made it pretty clear. Fix everything. Shooting Jack was probably kinder, a kind of euthanasia because watching them gather around the computer, conspiring, betraying, would have torn his heart.

"I forgive you," Jack rasped. He couldn't bring himself to feel anything more than resignation.

Owen looked startled at the absolution, startled enough that his eyes watered. He nodded to himself, acting like it didn't surprise him, but his face began to crumble.

Like Toshiko, Jack did what he thought should be the proper response. He pulled Owen in and held him.

Owen cried.

Jack rubbed the other's back, felt what could only be weeks of grief for someone lost to the rift. Owen was left behind. He couldn't wait forever like Jack could.

Something thawed inside him and Jack held him tighter, rubbed his back and kissed the top of his head. Owen shrank like a little boy, wept into Jack's chest and clutched his shirt with a fist.

Ironically, Owen never surprised him at all. Everything had led up to this. Jack smiled darkly into Owen's hair. He stared at the armory past Owen's shoulder, his hand going up and down Owen's back. 

The hand in the jar was turned towards them, standing higher on the column, moved, probably because the rest of the area looked to be in shambles. It wiggled its fingers at him. And Jack still felt cold.

_"…Jack?"_

He was tired of waiting. Tired of trying to figure out how could he be so wrong in the universe?

Footsteps clamored behind him. Owen wiggled free. They all blurred, hands gripping him anxiously.

Jack kept staring at the hand. He thought he could hear the _thrum-t_ ap behind his eyes, and thought how he wanted someone to tell _him_ he was forgiven for still being here.

 _"…Jack? Shit, come on. Lean on us. Let's get you sitting down…"  
_  
He felt himself being turned, but he tensed. No, he didn't want to go anywhere. He was tired of being taken to places where he wasn't wanted.

His body grew numb.

His vision grayed.

_"…catch him!"_

Jack sagged against a body. He stared up dully at faces he used to know. He felt a hand to his throat and waited for it to be slashed.

As darkness returned, Jack knew it would only be fleeting and his head lolled back despite the frantic calls. He had only one thought left.

Why did he come back?

 

**Conclusion: _"The right kind of doctor."_**

The remaining Weevil in the cell stared stupidly at Ianto. It barked softly, sniffed the air, then went back and crouched at the corner. It looked at its bowl of dry food and old takeaway with disdain.

"Either this or nothing," Ianto told it. The Weevil scowled as if it understood. It pawed the bowl tentatively.

Ianto had retreated down here after faxing all of Jack's paperwork to UNIT and the Ministry of Defense and fixed what he could of the kitchen area. Apparently the end of the world didn't change the fact that paperwork needed to be filed, dossiers to be updated. 

Jack had collapsed rather spectacularly after Owen's apology; everyone had been taking turns sitting by the couch while Jack slept. Hypothermic, Owen explained as he readied an IV line of warm saline. Jack's core temperature was still too low; it never warmed since he woke.

Every so often, Jack's eyes would groggily open, watch the happenings around him and go back to sleep. He would sometimes mumble, but his eyes never opened larger than a slit.

The Weevil poked at one brightly orange morsel and growled at it.

Owen surprised everyone by sitting with Jack the longest. The medic griped and grumbled about his Autopsy lab being too much of a mess to work in, that Ianto was deliberately cleaning up his last, but other than that, he said nothing else. Owen cleared the coffee table and set his medical kit down on it. He sat with a determined expression, perched on the edge. He only left after Jack made a weak swipe towards his head.

"It's good," Ianto murmured. He watched the beast pick up a piece of pork and gave it a sniff.

Ianto wished Jack would say something, talk to _him_ at least. The silence was growing unbearable, although deep down inside Ianto felt like he probably deserved it. The hurt and devastation on Jack's face was something he would never forget. He was spared Jack's verbal lashing as he faced down Gwen, but Ianto doubted it was due to luck. Something utterly raw and gray with despair flashed across his face when he came to Ianto. Jack tore his gaze away and it felt like a knife scoring his heart when Ianto realized Jack couldn't look at him anymore. Ashamed, he had dropped his gaze when he heard the shot. He just wished Jack would shout or yell or wave a fist at least. React instead of retreating. Anything but that resignation Jack wore like his greatcoat.

Ianto smiled tiredly when the Weevil finally started eating the odd mix. Owen had said the cooked proteins shouldn't be a problem mixing in with their kibble. Most of what they usually fed the Weevils was crushed under debris.

"Bit of a mishap in the kitchen. No more of today's special," Ianto told it. He watched as the Weevil grunted, crunching loudly on a kibble. "Our fridge has gone to fritz and better to not waste perfectly good takeaway." And after the week they had had, the Weevils that remained in the vaults hadn't eat for days. They spent their time howling and snarling. 

The Weevil, chewing on cold sweet-and-sour-pork, scoffed. It picked out a pineapple piece and continued eating.

"Things will be alright soon," Ianto said softly. His face twitched and he sucked in his breath. "Everything will be fixed."

Another grunt and then it made a rough sounding belch.

Ianto winced. "My thoughts exactly."

 

"What would have tempted you?" Gwen's question, while soft, was clear as Ianto climbed up the stairs leading up to Jack's office.

"The right kind of doctor."

Ianto froze mid-step.

"I-I don't understand," Gwen stammered. "A doctor? Is something wrong with you?"

Ianto squeezed his eyes, pressed his forehead to the stair rail at Jack's immediate and flat, "Yes."

Jack then laughed, his voice cracking at the dying fringes of the sound. "Bilis wouldn't have given me that vision though. He knew I would see right through it."

"Why?"

Ianto didn't want to hear the answer and he made the rest of the way up the steps rather loudly.

Gwen turned and offered him a wan smile. 

Jack glanced over, grimaced and clamped his mouth shut.

"The Weevils are eating finally," Ianto announced as he approached. He frowned mildly at Gwen because Jack avoided looking at him.

"I told him he still needed to rest," Gwen shrugged. "But he insisted he needed to get back to work."

" _He_ can still hear you," Jack grumbled, not looking up at the forms he had been squinting at. "And _he_ can get some rest once all the work is done." He glared at Gwen. "If _he_ wasn't constantly getting interrupted."

Gwen shot Ianto a frown. "Is the coffee machine working?" Gwen asked all of the sudden.

Ianto shook his head. "Sadly, no, I'm afraid the parts I need will take weeks."

They both glanced over, but Jack never reacted.

Gwen looked disconcerted. "Uh…how about I get some coffees for us, then?" She gave Ianto a nod towards Jack's bowed head. 

"That would be nice, thank you," Ianto smiled tightly to her, his stomach churning more when Jack never even looked up or replied.

Gwen gave him another look, a frown and slipped out of the office.

Ianto stood there as Jack rifled through the forms. 

Ianto cleared his throat. "Jack, we—"

"Has it been confirmed all fatalities have been reversed?" Jack abruptly asked.

Blinking, taken aback, it took a moment for Ianto to reply. "Uh…yes, all deaths from the appearance of Abbadon have been reversed." Ianto paused. "Except for Abbadon, of course."

"Thank God," Jack muttered as he stared at one form with a frown. "Otherwise, we would have been here all day." Jack snorted.

The screams still stayed in Ianto's memory, even when he wasn't thinking about it.

"Yes, thank God," Ianto agreed with fervor. "I uh…" Ianto swallowed.

Jack sighed and lowered the form he held. "Don't." Jack shook his head slowly. "Just…don't."

"We need to talk about this."

"It's done. It's _over_. I forgave you all. Drop it."

"No you didn't."

Jack gazed up at Ianto.

His eyes felt gritty. Ianto gave him a terse twist of his mouth.

"You forgave Owen. You probably forgave Gwen and Tosh, too." Ianto sucked in his breath. 

"But you haven't forgiven me."

Jack's jaw twitched. He looked away. "I have," he muttered.

"Then why won't you look at me for longer than a minute?" When Jack didn't answer, Ianto felt sick. "Jack…what I did, there was no excuse—"

"Bilis tempted you," Jack reminded him.

"Stop defending me!" Ianto burst out.

"Then stop talking about it!" Jack snapped. He breathed harshly. His head dropped low to his chest.

Ianto walked around the desk and gingerly sat at the edge. "We need to," Ianto told him quietly.

"What the hell do you want from me?" Jack exploded.

Startled, Ianto stared. "N-nothing."

Jack gaped at him. He made a strangled noise and looked away.

Stung, Ianto reached out but stopped short of touching. "Jack…I-I'm sorry."

"…Don't."

"What I did. Yes, I s-saw Lisa. She told me thousands could die. I just couldn't let that happen. And then Gwen—"

" _Don't_ …" Jack hissed.

He could see the tension growing along Jack's back, the trembling increasing in the fists balled up in front of him.

"I thought we were doing the right thing. I thought we could—"

" _I said don't_!"

Ianto found himself slammed back across Jack's desk. He grunted, his shoulders aching. Pens, glass shattered to the floor. Jack stood over him, arms straight on either side of his head, Jack's red-rimmed eyes glaring at him with too many emotions to count.

Ianto looked up steadily at Jack. Despite the weight and feel of his captain on top of him, the fury heaving his broad chest against him, Ianto felt strangely calm.

"You have every right to be angry," Ianto told him soberly.

Jack stared down at him, breathing harshly as he bent over him like an approaching storm.

Jack's face crumpled.

"Fuck you," Jack rasped. He pushed off the desk and staggered away. He dropped to the couch in the back and covered his face in his hands.

Ianto exhaled a shuddering breath and slowly got off the desk. He shakily tugged his shirt straight, tightened the knot in his tie. Swaying, dizzy with the near-miss, Ianto watched Jack.

"What will you do if he comes back?" Ianto blurted out.

Jack tensed but never looked up.

Ianto felt a well of panic bubbling up his throat. He deliberately moved himself in front of Jack. He crouched in front of him. Jack looked up. He appeared worn, tired, his eyes resigned.

"I never hid the fact I was waiting for him," Jack said quietly. "I never lied to you about that."

"So you'll go to him?" Ianto demanded, feeling not anger, but fear, to the point of irrationality.

Jack met his gaze squarely but said nothing. He started when Ianto grabbed his shoulders.

"You would go to him despite…" Ianto choked. 

"He's the only one who can f—"

"You don't need to be fixed!" Ianto shook him. "There's nothing wrong with you! There's something wrong with _him_!"

Blue flared to deep cobalt and Jack reached up to loosen Ianto's grip on his shoulders, his eyes fixed on him.

"What do you care?" Jack snarled at him and wrenched free. He levered off the couch, steering for the door.

Ianto knew once Jack walked out, this would never be mentioned again. He darted in front of Jack.

"Jack, that m-man," Ianto spat out the last part. "He hurt you. He r-ra…He hurt you!"

"At least I knew to expect that from him!" Jack snarled back and gave Ianto a shove.

Ianto froze. He gaped at Jack. "What are you talking about?"

"What are you doing?" Jack paced around in a small circle. "First you're all—no, that was just because you were hiding your _girlfriend_ in the basement, then you keep insisting you were different, that you're not like…it wasn't just about se— _ **I believed you, damn it**_!"

The words burned his ears and his vision grew misty but Ianto stood resolutely and took it. All of it.

Jack's face contorted between rage, grief, despair. "I should have shot you on the spot when we found her."

Ianto mutely nodded.

"I never should have gone with you to the archives."

Tears brimming, Ianto reached for Jack. This time, Jack didn't resist. He came easily with a tug and Jack buried his face in the crook of Ianto's shoulders. Jack clawed his arms, fingers digging deep enough to bruise.

"I never should have gone after you," Jack went on, his voice too cracked to be recognizable anymore. "I should have let the Daleks kill you."

Something hot trickled down Ianto's face. He nodded against Jack, staggering until they fell as one onto the couch.

"You son of a bitch," Jack choked. "You fucking son of a bitch."

"I'm s-sorry," Ianto whispered into Jack's hair. His fingers carded through the strands in the back. They felt cool, cold as death still and his hand curled, tugging harder than usual.

Jack's breath stuttered against his collarbone.

"I should have just let Suzie kill you. I should have just let those bastards carve you up like…like…"

Ianto just kept nodding. He pressed his wet face into Jack's hair.

"Son of a bitch," Jack bit out. His shoulders shook.

"Jack, I'm so sorry."

"You said I could trust you."

"I know. I know…"

"I asked you to stop him…"

Ianto swallowed. He couldn't speak. He sniffled loudly. 

"What the hell do you want from me?" Jack asked brokenly, lifting his head. His eyes were bleak. "Why can't you just leave me alone?"

Ianto's eyes burned. "I can't," he whispered. "I don't think I can walk away from this. Not anymore."

Jack dropped his head, shaking and huddled against Ianto.

Ianto closed his eyes, held Jack as close as Jack would allow and just listened to Jack weep into his shoulder without shedding a tear. Ianto did it for him.

 

Time had passed to the extent that when he woke, his eyes were swollen, Jack was shivering next to him, and his mouth felt gritty and dry.

First thing first…

Ianto settled a hand to the back of Jack's neck. He frowned, disturbed to feel the cold clamminess of the skin.

"Jack?" Ianto murmured.

Jack turned his head away from Ianto's shoulder and looked up at him with dull eyes.

A finger traced Jack's jaw. "You're shaking," Ianto gently pointed out to him.

"'old," Jack slurred. He blinked heavy-lidded at him. Jack was still gray and reminded Ianto he had only revived a scant few hours ago.

"I recall a jumper downstairs," Ianto whispered. "Why don't I get it? And Gwen went out with the others for coffee. That should help."

"It better still be warm. They'd been gone a while," Jack mumbled, closing his eyes. He settled his head back over Ianto's shoulder.

Ianto rested his head against Jack. "I'll make them go back if it isn't," he promised. Ianto hesitated.

"Are…are we okay?"

"I don't know," Jack admitted. He fidgeted uneasily against Ianto. "What _are_ we?" Jack sighed, spent. "What the hell do you want?" Jack repeated a variation to him.

Ianto blinked rapidly to look at Jack. "I just want you to give me a chance," he whispered. "Give me, give us a chance to show you that you weren't wrong about us."

Jack said nothing.

Ianto brushed his lips against Jack's brow. "Think about it," he pleaded quietly. 

Jack again didn't say anything but his hand cautiously reached over for Ianto's and slowly interlaced their fingers.

"Thank you," Ianto said softly to the dark wisps of hair tickling his chin. "Thank you."

They sat on the couch, never talking, hands just woven together in a bond neither one was willing to break. But when Jack shivered again, Ianto reluctantly detangled himself from Jack.

"Let me get that jumper," Ianto told him. Jack stared up at him, his eyes now clearer, his face warmer. He couldn't help himself, Ianto leaned in and kissed him.

Jack stiffened then relaxed as Ianto's kiss deepened. Jack still felt cool when Ianto pressed his lips against him, his fingers massaging in tiny circular motions on Jack's scalp. Ianto whimpered when he felt Jack's tongue shyly probing his mouth, asking, slipping in and swiping carefully against his teeth.

There was nothing hurried or hungry about the kiss. Fingers touched, explored like the very first time. Exhales were swallowed by the other, chests rubbed flushed and hot, and heat slowly pooled in their groins. 

When a nip and a lick from Ianto found cold skin on Jack's collarbone, he breathed warm, moist air on it. Jack quivered.

"Jumper," Ianto whispered regretfully and pushed off from Jack. 

Ianto climbed down the ladder, relying on memory as the lights were destroyed when the rift was opened. He heard the phone above in Jack's office ring, the sleepy shuffling of Jack's feet and the hoarse "Hello."

Ianto grimaced. He really hoped it wasn't another government calling to yell at Torchwood. Ianto had a suspicion he might yell back.

The jumper hung next to the old flight jacket Ianto found buried in the back. He gave it an appreciative look—Jack mentioned he used to wear it—and tugged the wool jumper free from its hanger. Ianto gave it a shake, coughed at the collected dust, and headed back up the ladder.

"That wasn't the President again, was it?" Ianto called as soon as his head popped above the floor. "That man can be such a bore, I might want to have a row with hi…" Ianto stopped.

"Jack?" The couch was empty. Ianto glanced around, noted the door was opened, but nothing else amiss.

"Jack?" Settling the jumper on Jack's chair, Ianto studied the phone. The phone beeped loudly from being disconnected. Ianto hung up the receiver on the cradle and happened to glance on the table.

His eyes widened.

Jack's brown leather wrist strap was folded carefully and placed on the center of the blotter. A crisp yellow Post-it was stuck on its face.

He came back.

Ianto's breath quickened. He snatched the wrist strap, the note and reread it. No, no, no. God, no.

Jack's wrist strap clutched in his left hand, Ianto bolted out of the office. In his panic, he hadn't realized he knocked over the samples moved out of Owen's lab. They spilled formaldehyde and odd alien bits to the floor and stained the ground like blood. 

" _Jack_!" God, this can't be happening!

The cogwheel door rolled open. Ianto spun around, his face falling when Gwen, Owen and Tosh came back with their trays of coffees.

"Got brownies, too!" Gwen chirped. Her smile faded when she had a good look at Ianto. 

"Have you seen Jack on your way down?" Ianto asked anxiously. The wrist strap dug into his palm.

Gwen frowned. "No."

"Christ, I thought we cleaned up in here!" Owen complained. He gestured to the ground with his beverage.

Gwen stared at Ianto. "What is it? What's the matter?"

Ianto gripped the wrist strap with both hands. "He came back. Jack's gone."

"What? Who's he?" Owen demanded. His head whipped around to check for himself. "Jack? Oi?"

"The Doctor," Ianto hissed.

"Doctor who?" Gwen pressed. Her head darted to Tosh when she gasped.

Ianto crushed the note in his fist. 

"We have to find him," he croaked.

And just then, the jar that held the hand began to beep.


	36. "Utopia"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning For This Chapter:** violence, strong language
> 
>  **Notes For This Chapter:** Note there are parallels to DW "Utopia" and briefly mentions DW "Utopia" and briefly mentions things from DW's "Hand of Fear" and "Arc of Infinity" and TW's "Cyberwoman" "Boomtown" "Blink" and "Lazarus" but hopefully even without seeing them, the story's fine.

**Act I:** _"I was a different man back then."_   
**Cardiff**   
**Present day…**

Martha Jones was looking forward to their next hop. She hoped, however, that they avoided anything carnivorous this time and that it was hopefully not as dangerous as the three stops before, too. No creepy statues or giant half-man, half-monsters either. It was hard to run for your life in these shoes. The Doctor once suggested trainers like his, but Martha gave him such a look he never brought it up again.

The Doctor, his brown hair in its customary mad scientist disarray, wiggled a knob, jiggled a lever, before skidding to a halt by a monitor. The TARDIS lurched as it landed.

Martha looked at the Doctor expectantly.

The Doctor squinted, tapped his monitor and snapped his fingers. "Cardiff!" he announced triumphantly. The TARDIS chirped. 

" _Cardiff_?" Martha yelped. That was neither dangerous nor carnivorous. 

The Doctor looked equally excited as if it were both. It was always hard to gauge when anything actually was. The time traveler always thought everything was fascinating, brilliant, and fantastic, and usually his enthusiasm was contagious.

But _Cardiff_?

The Doctor was running past her—always running as if he'd never learned to walk—to flip a switch across from where she stood, still flummoxed. 

"Ah, but the thing about Cardiff—it's built on a rift in time and space," he explained, pausing long enough to gesture with his hands like he was shaping the air into something wonderful, "just like..." His brow furrowed before it smoothed out when he brightened. "California on the San Andreas Fault. But the rift bleeds energy." 

The Doctor frowned at a dial and flipped a couple of toggles. The TARDIS squeaked and he absently gave the console an apologetic pat before he fiddled with a dial.

"Every now and then I need to open up the engines, soak up the energy, and use it as fuel."

Around her, the TARDIS cooed in agreement.

Ah. Understanding dawned. "So it's a pit stop," Martha guessed with a grin. Why didn't he just say so? 

"Exactly." The Doctor nodded. He beamed. He pursed his lips briefly in calculation. "Should only take twenty seconds." He squinted at a screen and frowned to himself. "The rift's been active."

Martha nodded, not quite listening. Short stop, oh well. She had thought to give Tish a ring, maybe pick up some sweets, and perhaps do a little shopping. No bother. She was a little disappointed though. Martha was hoping for a more eventful stop.

Nothing _ever_ happens in Cardiff. 

 

As soon as the jar began beeping, he _knew_. 

"Great, first Jack disappears, now his creepy jar is making noises!" Owen complained.

While everyone else was staring at the hand that had been silent for as long as they can remember, Ianto darted around to stand directly in front of it. He braced his arms on either side of the column it sat on and stared hard at it. He whipped around, and with a few quick punches of his key code, grabbed the closest handgun he knew was loaded in the Armory.

"Shit, what are you—Ianto?"

"Stop!"

"Ian—wait, what the hell are you do— _Ianto_!"

Ianto didn't know who was shouting. He didn't care. He jammed Jack's wrist strap into his pocket along with the ominous note and darted for the cogwheel door because the invisible lift wouldn't come when he slammed his hand down on the button by the railing. That told him something was on top of it. It was all he needed to know.

Someone made a grab for his sleeve but he wrenched free and someone swore. He slipped through the narrow opening between the cogwheel and the archway as the cogwheel slowly rolled open. Owen swore when he banged into it. They were still shouting his name, but Ianto couldn't explain. There was no time. Ianto just _knew_ there was no time.

The lift closed on everyone's faces and Ianto thought he heard Owen kick the lift's doors uselessly. Ianto didn't hold the doors open though. He could imagine them now trying to clamor up the stairs in pursuit. It felt oddly reminiscent of when they had chased him when he'd darted back into the Hub to save Lisa. The reminder made him queasy.

Panting, Ianto leaned against the lift wall and took a steadying breath as the lift ascended to the level of the Tourist Information Center. His hands shook as he checked his weapon, his clip, and the safety like Jack taught him. Done, Ianto slipped it into his shoulder holster. His hand trembled violently and he missed a few times before the gun dropped securely inside his jacket just as the doors open.

His shoes rang hollowly and alone as Ianto raced down the hidden passageway behind the office. All he could do was pray he wasn't too late. 

 

"Wait a minute..." Martha twisted around back towards the Doctor. She leaned forward, braced on the console. She stared hard at him between the crystal pillars. "They had an earthquake in Cardiff a couple of years ago, was that you?"

It was as close as she had ever seen the Doctor flustered. His hairline rose, the corner of his mouth twitched. "Bit of trouble with the Slitheen." He tugged at his ear and delicately cleared his throat. His face shadowed like when he talked about his home and suddenly he looked much older than his face appeared. Then again, Martha always thought his eyes were far older than his face.

"Long time ago," the Doctor murmured, his face twisted as if something pained his hearts. He made an unconvincing shrug. "Lifetimes…I was a different man back then," the Doctor explained in a way that never really explained anything. His breadcrumbs often didn't lead to anywhere, yet you couldn't help but follow them in hopes of something grand. 

Martha found he could be both downright infuriating and endearing during these moments.

"You get more and more cryptic each day," Martha complained good-naturedly.

The Doctor flashed her a quick grin that she couldn't help but copy. 

 

As soon as the doors opened, as soon as sunlight met his face when he burst out of the Tourist office, Ianto ran. 

He thought of when he first met Jack, when he found Jack in the dark, silent TARDIS, barely able to sit up, too dazed to do anything more than watch another man button up his shirt. 

Ianto's legs pumped furiously up the dock, towards the Plass.

He thought about Jack white and still, bound by IVs and surrounded by impassive strangers, and Ianto begged himself to go faster.

His lungs burned as his legs ate up the distance across pavement, up the wharf, across the Plass and towards a shimmering mirage of a blue police box that stood in front of the water sculpture. It was hidden out on the open, sitting perfectly on top of their invisible lift, but Ianto had worked long enough in Torchwood now to able to discern the wavering image from the distance. And that box had been emblazed into his memory as charred as the smell of blood and fire at Canary Wharf. 

He ran towards it.

His left ankle ached, surely because he must have turned a foot, bruised a shinbone, when he came barreling out of the office and into the postman with his trolley. Someone had cursed at him but Ianto didn't stop to apologize.

The little alarm that sat on top of the call box was beginning to revolve; its electric strobe winked, a blue light started to spin. Ianto didn't know what it meant, but knew it was a signal for something. His throat clenched and he raced towards the blue box. 

Don't let him be too late.

 

The TARDIS beeped; its own delicate way of saying it was done. The Doctor brightened and whatever dark thoughts shadowing the time traveler fled so dramatically, it was like as if it were never there.

"Ah. All filled up!" he announced and gestured towards the console. 

Martha gripped the edge of the one part of the console she knew was safe—she was always afraid of bumping into a toggle or a button she shouldn't have—and nodded she was ready. The Doctor beamed at her and reached for the lever for the main engines.

 

He never ran this hard before, never in his life, not even at Canary Wharf. His ears roared, his mouth soured, and his heart hammered when he realized he might not make it. One desperate burst of strength and Ianto nearly slammed bodily into the faded blue painted door. Ianto’s head rang when he collided with the immovable object, all elbows and knees knocking.

No one on the Plass took notice.

Perception filter, Ianto thought briefly to himself. It was a fleeting notion as he staggered a step back and yanked at the door.

It wouldn't open. Of course it wouldn't open. He didn't have a key and Jack was possibly locked inside.

Ianto stared helplessly at the police box.

 

"All right, then! Here we go!" the Doctor declared and flipped a switch with a flourish.

Martha gripped the console tighter. She shared a broad and expectant smile with the Doctor as he pulled down the main lever with a flourish.

The TARDIS rumbled. Then it screeched, rattled, and sputtered. Something above her head sparked. The TARDIS shrieked.

And then…everything went dark.

"What?"

 

Something squeaked when he tugged violently at the door again and Ianto could have sworn it was from the box. Ianto placed both hands splayed on the doors that refused to open. He stared, sweat dripping into his eyes, at the faded and ink smeared 'Free For Use of Public' sign. His palms registered the age-smoothed blue painted wood—only a camouflage, Ianto reminded himself—before he slammed his right fist hard repeatedly on the surface.

"Doctor!" Ianto shouted. His hand hurt as he smacked the wood again and again with his fist, but he didn't stop. He wasn't leaving. 

Not without Jack. 

" _Doctor_!"

 

Someone was suddenly knocking on the door. Very loudly. In fact, the doors rattled under the assault. It reminded her of an old children's tale.

"'I'll huff and puff and blow your house down,' says the Big Bad Wolf," Martha muttered. She winced as the pounding only increased.

Martha could hear a man's voice shouting. Nothing coherent; it sounded like it was just one name over and over.

Martha darted the Doctor a look.

The Doctor never glanced up, still muttering as he poked at a few buttons. The TARDIS lights flickered, the entire ship shuddered, but did nothing else.

"Come on, come on. You've had your fill of the rift like a good, little, fat TARDIS," the Doctor muttered, scratching his head.

And like the female of any species—Martha was certain it was female as the Doctor treated her like one—the TARDIS squawked indignantly at the remark, and then made a rolling, glass crunching sound. If Martha didn't know any better, she could have sworn it just told the Doctor rather impolitely to sod off.

Martha rolled her eyes. Yes, it didn't matter the species, the Doctor had the tact of a bee—far too direct for his own good. She cleared her throat.

Not even a grunt as the Doctor folded his arms in front of him, tapped a foot, and contemplated the console. His right eyebrow rose high as he read whatever it was flashing on the console.

"What do you mean _I_ told you to stay put?" the time traveler complained. Now both eyebrows rose into his hairline. He was beginning to look cross. "I did no such thing."

The TARDIS bleated.

"Um…Doctor?"

"This is the last time I let you come here to this century for a snack. The last time nearly ripped the solar system apart…"

Martha trailed off, her eyes wider. 

She was _not_ going to ask about that one, but the door rattled something fierce, demanding at least some sort of interruption. "Uh…"

The TARDIS made a sad cooing reply and the Doctor gave the coral vine that snaked up the pillar a stroke of his fingers.

"I know. I know. It wasn't your fault that time. The extrapolator didn't agree with you. But what's the matter with you now? Indigestion?"

Both the TARDIS and Martha growled.

"Doctor!" It was uncanny, but her exclamation came in exactly with the shouting outside. It was loud enough and in such perfect unison, the knocker was startled and the thumping stopped. But then it started up again.

The Doctor, chewing his lower lip in thought, lifted his head.

"Hm? Oh, Martha, could you see who's at the door?" The Doctor scratched his head as he frowned down at the console. "Was it one of the temporal ices? I thought they were all replaced. Did I miss one? Maybe the ionic compressor clogged up again?"

The TARDIS just chirped helplessly. 

Martha stared. "M-me? B-but…I…ah…I give up." She threw up her hands and fought the urge to stomp over to the door. 

It was Cardiff. Probably a PC here to complain they were parked somewhere they shouldn't.

As Martha started to open the door, another thought occurred to her.

Wait a minute; no one should be able to _see_ this police box!

Before she could change her mind and close the door again, a hand slapped against it square and flung the door open wider. Martha jumped back.

A rather nice looking man around her age, unruly dark hair plastered to his forehead, stared back at her with very blue eyes. He was dressed in a charcoal suit, his gray shirt rumpled, his navy blue tie tossed over his shoulder. Despite the somber colors and current disheveled appearance, Martha could see the suit would have hung very nicely on him. 

He looked startled to see her. He was panting as if he had been running.

"Doctor?" he repeated, considering her up and down. He looked confused.

"Not yet," Martha said brightly. Goodness, he was pretty. Now she was glad to have opened the door. "Maybe another year in school."

If anything, the man grew more perplexed. "S-school?" he stammered.

Martha took pity on him and called out over her shoulder. "Oi! Doctor!"

"Yes, yes, what is it?" The Doctor squinted towards her, over the console he was crouched by, wires grasped firmly in one hand, the ever-present sonic screwdriver on the other.

"It's for you."

"For _me_?" 

"Only Doctor in here." Martha winked at the young man, but he didn't wink back. Poor bloke was still trying to catch his breath. He tensed for some reason and stared around her into the TARDIS.

The Doctor's brow rose and whatever caught his interest by the console lost its power. He clapped his hands together to clean them off, brushed off his sleeves and trotted over. Martha stepped back and let him through. 

"Hello?" The Doctor blinked at the gaping man with a curious expression. It faded to a perplexed mild frown. 

The young man stared up at him. "Y-you're the Doctor?" he asked hoarsely with a bit of uncertainty.

The Doctor gave the man a congenial, if not mystified, smile. "Yes?"

The other gaped at him. Then something shifted a fraction on his face. "Regeneration, of course," the other muttered to himself. 

The Doctor blinked.

"What did you just say?" the Doctor blurted out, his eyes growing larger.

Martha scrunched up her nose. Regen- what?

"Do I know you?" the Doctor asked, his brow furrowed.

"In another life, yes," the man said before he drew back a fist.

And punched him. Hard.

Martha yelped. The Doctor never made a sound. He fell back into the TARDIS, stumbling back and awkwardly dropped to the floor on his rear. Startled, Martha ran over and dropped to her knees next to him. 

The Doctor braced his jaw and looked up at the young man now three steps inside. The Doctor looked quite astonished. 

"Hello again, Doctor," the man said stiffly and he pulled out a gun and pointed it right at the speechless Doctor. The pleasant demeanor now darkened to something that didn't quite match his face yet fitted perfectly with the reed-thin tone in his next words.

"What have you done with him?"

Martha stared at the man, then at the Doctor. Only one thing came to mind and she blurted it out to the Doctor before she could help herself.

"We just got here! How did you get us in trouble already?"

 

**Act II**

Ianto stared at the stranger's face. He looked completely different from before—brown hair where it was once lighter, taller when he was previously shorter by a few inches, and warm eyes when they were once cool. Ianto almost lowered his weapon. Despite what Jack had told him, the results of regeneration were still very disconcerting to behold. The easy smile still plastered on the Doctor's face, however, made him steady his gun again. 

"What is it about people in this century that they have to either hit or slap me?" the Doctor complained plaintively. He sat up and winced as he dabbed the corner of his mouth with his sleeve. "First Jackie Tyler, now this fellow."

A sliver of satisfaction wormed into his churning stomach to see a trickle of blood from the Doctor's split lip. Ianto hoped it hurt. His hand certainly did.

"I'm assuming by the rather violent greeting by the door, we've met," the Doctor commented far more calmly than Ianto would expect. 

"I doubt you'd remember me, Doctor," Ianto said grimly. "I was mostly down in the Archives when you were there." He remembered Jack's advice to keep his enemies in sight at all times. He backed up a step until both the Doctor and the young woman were in front of his gun. Ianto was caught off guard by her appearance by the door. She looked young, very cheery, and had been grinning impishly when she had greeted him in a way that was too much like Lisa. Ianto couldn't look at her for too long. His heart ached dully at the sight. He wavered his weapon between the alien and the girl.

"Martha," the Doctor murmured. He didn't make an attempt to get up. He was on his back, propped up by his elbows. He gazed at Ianto with unnerving intensity. "Back away. It's me he wants, not you."

"What's going on? Who are you?" the girl called Martha demanded. Her eyes flashed and she didn't move away from the Doctor's side.

"Ianto Jones," Ianto hissed more to the Doctor than to her. "Torchwood."

The Doctor's eyes darkened and his smile faded. There it was. The bastard hid behind a deceptively friendlier face but the shadowed promise of something more sinister was still there in some fashion.

" _Torchwood_ ," the Doctor repeated in a terse voice. Martha fidgeted uneasily at his expression. It was like a mask dropped over his face; it was like another person entirely. "I thought Torchwood burned with the Cybermen and the Daleks at Canary Wharf."

Ianto's eyes stung but didn't spill. "No thanks to you," he rasped. "Where is he?"

The Doctor pressed his mouth thin and stared at him.

Ianto could feel panic bubbling up his throat. He cocked his weapon. Ianto made a mental apology when he saw Martha start at the loud sound of the hammer's click. He didn't know who she was, but he doubted she was involved. She had opened the door and greeted him with Maygin's enthusiasm and obliviousness to any danger.

"Where. Is. He?"

"Who?" Martha exploded and Ianto started. "What are you doing barging in here, pointing your gun at us—" She sat up higher as her voice rose.

"Martha," the Doctor warned. He lifted a hand and placed it on her right shoulder. She calmed almost immediately.

Another Companion, Ianto realized at the stark sign of compliance. The urge to shoot the alien was threatening to drown him now. But panic, the fact he could only see the two of them, made him call out instead.

"Jack!" Ianto shouted out. He hoped it would carry beyond the main chamber. " _Jack_!"

No answer.

When Ianto faced the Doctor again, the alien's expression had turned thoughtful.

"Where is he?" Ianto seethed. Bile rose up his mouth at the silence. God, he wanted to shoot right now. He'd never had the desire to pull the trigger as strongly as he did now. His hand shook when he veered the gun towards Martha. He did it with regret as she raised her hands nervously, her face paled in shock. "Tell me. What have you done with him?"

"We don't know what you're talking about!" Martha protested, her voice cracking. 

Ianto couldn't look at her, not at yet another young face, far too young to be another Companion for the Doctor. He stared hard at the alien instead and thought about the nightmares he braced Jack against almost every night; the ones Jack claimed he couldn't remember in the blunt truth of morning. 

"Who do you think I have here?" The shadows were gone from the Doctor's face. He now merely looked curious, misleadingly innocent, and very patient. 

"You know who," Ianto bit out. "You came back for him."

Martha nervously tapped the Doctor on his shoulder. "I thought you said it was just a pit stop," she whispered, but Ianto heard her quite clearly.

The Doctor stared at Ianto, his mouth pursed. "It is. Was. But obviously this young man here thinks we're a ferry service." To Ianto, he shook his head. "There's no one here but myself and Martha Jo—say, is he a relative of yours, Martha?"

" _What_?" Martha yelped and spun around. She gawked at the Doctor. She gestured towards Ianto and then towards herself. 

The Doctor blinked. It dawned on him. He nodded. "Jones was a common name for this century, of course. Why, even your Prim—"

"Doctor!" Martha sounded exasperated as if this had happened many times before.

"Hm?"

Martha gave Ianto a wary glance. "The gun?"

The Doctor peered around her at Ianto. He made a little sound that was between a snort and a cough. "That gun won't work in here." The Doctor rose to his feet with a sigh and Ianto narrowed his eyes and backed a step. 

"Stay where you are," Ianto warned. He was suddenly feeling foolish. How was he going to find Jack by himself?

The Doctor frowned at Ianto. His eyebrow rose when he saw Ianto didn't lower his weapon.

"Well, go on, shoot if you don't believe me."

"Doctor!" Martha sounded very cross now.

Ianto's finger flexed but sure enough, the gun wouldn't fire. 

At the third _click_ , the Doctor's brow rose. "You would think after the second try, you would believe me," he chided.

Martha backed away from Ianto anyway, her hands still up. "Uh, it would have been nice if you had mentioned this before," she hissed out of the corner of her mouth.

The Doctor blinked at her, disregarding Ianto's weapon. 

"Didn't I? Oh, sorry. The ship's in a state of temporal grace; ah…say it's sort of a flux or reality timed stasis bubble." He turned towards Ianto, his hands fluttering in the air like a magician. It was like watching French and Saunders. Ianto tensed when the Doctor gave him what looked like a patronizing smile. "So long as a weapon is within the TARDIS' interiors, it can't fire so we weren't really in any dang—"

"Ianto!"

"Ianto, are you in there?"

"Where the hell are you, Jonesy?"

The Doctor sighed. "Blimey, more visitors? I hope they're not also here to punch me as well."

Ianto jerked, hearing Owen's distant bellow. "In here!" He felt relief hearing the trio of feet storming up to the police box. Hopefully, they came armed.

"What the—" Owen stopped short of the door. The three paused; just minutely as they gawked at the contrary interior before they pressed themselves on either side of the door, away from view.

"Ianto, are you alright?" Gwen shouted. "What's going on?"

"Did they hurt you?" Toshiko shouted anxiously. 

"Us? Hurt him? We wouldn't—" the Doctor sputtered, stepping forward. Martha yanked his arm back and hissed something in his ear.

"Don't come in!" Ianto shouted as he ducked behind a column. He ignored Owen's sputter. "Just fire through the door!"

"What?" Gwen exclaimed, but Ianto could see her pulling out her weapon out of the corner of his eye. 

"Guns won't work from inside!" Ianto could see the two staring at the new arrivals and he flattened himself behind a twisting pillar of coral. 

"What about you?" Tosh hovered hesitantly just outside, peering in. Owen had an arm on the door to keep it open as they clustered outside.

Ianto edged towards the doorway he knew led to the inner corridors. "Just shoot!"

The Doctor perked up. "Now hold on!"

"What the hell is going on here, Jonesy?" Owen yelled. He stayed where he was.

"That's what _I’d_ like to know!" Martha shouted back.

"Ianto?" Gwen barked. She ignored Martha, her gun ready before everyone else.

"They have Jack!" Ianto shouted out desperately. "Just _shoot_!"

Three Glocks whipped out and simultaneously fired.

 

She changed her mind about Cardiff.

Apparently _everything_ happens here.

The Doctor muttered something in his language that the TARDIS wouldn't translate and grabbed Martha by the wrist. With a yank that startled a squeak out of Martha, he pulled her behind the central console just before the three newcomers fired. They also came with guns! Was this really Cardiff?

Despite the 'temporal grace' the Doctor claimed the TARDIS had, bullets flew past the opened door and into the chamber. Martha shrieked. The TARDIS vibrated but did nothing more. Tiny pops and cracks like fireworks flared when each bullet met a target. Martha pressed her face against the Doctor's arm as sparks exploded above her head and felt the Doctor wrap an arm around her head, cocooning her.

"I thought you said weapons can't fire in here!" Martha tried to shout above the din, muffled over his jacket.

The Doctor wiggled around, pushed Martha lower to the floor, and scrambled like a crab on sand until his back was to the pillar. His hands patted his pockets. 

"They're not firing from inside the TARDIS." The Doctor gave a short "Hah!" and snapped his fingers.

"Oh, ho ho ho, clever that Ianto Jones! Clever man, indeed! He realized he could bypass the flux by introducing projectiles outside between the TARDIS's temporal barrier and the fluid stasis in the environs. _Brilliant_! But how did he figure out that the velocity of such a small mass would—"

She could throttle the man sometimes. "Doctor!" she snapped. "I thought the TARDIS shields prevent them from shooting at us _outside_!" That shield had proven useful many times before.

Brown eyes blinked back at her. "Yes, but you left the door open."

" _I_ left the door open?" Martha nearly sat up but the Doctor quite firmly pushed her head back down. Martha cringed when one shot got too close to her foot. She felt the Doctor pull her by her waist and tugged her closer to the pillar.

"Well, what do we do now?" she exclaimed, her cheek—oh God—on his lap. Lord, her mother would have a spare if she could see her now!

The Doctor appeared thoughtful. "Well…we'll just close the door!" 

That said, the Doctor twisted around, ducking as one spark zipped past his cheek, streaking his jaw with red and pointed his sonic device towards the door. With a thud as loud as thunder, the door slammed shut in front of the trio.

"Oi!" The male in the group exclaimed as the door shut on their faces. There was a pause and then banging on their door. Again.

Bullets that were in-flight hung mid-air before they dropped to the floor. They rattled and plinked like coins.

Martha screwed up her face. Only the Doctor could make even something as innocuous as a pit stop into something more. "Maybe we should just go?" she suggested.

The Doctor got up to his feet cautiously. "She won't fly. Keeps insisting I told her to stay where she is. Besides, even if we can, Torchwood or not, I won't risk any of them getting caught up in the vortex when we dematerialize, they would never…" The Doctor trailed off. His brow furrowed.

Uh oh, she didn't like that look. It usually meant she needed to start running for her life again. 

"Doctor?"

"Where did the other one go?"

Martha whipped around. They were alone, standing in a chamber full of coral shards and bullet pellets.

Ianto Jones of Torchwood was gone.

 

It was muffled, but still clear enough on the other side. 

"Be with you in a tick!" A male voice sang out, far too cheery considering they'd just emptied three clips into the odd-looking police call box.

Owen blinked. He stared at the shut door, shared a look with Gwen, and then faced the door again.

"What the hell was _that_?" Owen exploded. 

"That," Tosh uttered. She looked a little dazed. "I think was the Doctor."

Owen stopped short. He stared at Tosh.

"You're not serious." Owen stuck a thumb towards the shut door. " _That_ bloke?" He looked a little young and too…geeky to be the infamous Doctor.

"Blue box, enormous room, sitting practically on top of the Rift? I think so," Tosh counted out the list. She looked both horrified and fascinated at the same time.

"Pardon, but what are you two talking about?" Gwen asked, exasperated.

"Enemy number one," Owen said brusquely before he rammed his shoulder against the door. He bounced off it. The door never budged. Despite its appearance, the police box was remarkably sturdy. Owen stared up at it and wished for a bigger gun or at the very least a bomb. 

"Reason Torchwood was ever created in the first place was to capture the Doctor," Owen puffed as he gave it another go. All he received for his troubles was an aching shoulder. 

Owen glanced at Gwen as she positioned herself by the door, her body pressed up against strange police call box. She gave him a curt nod and he tried again. The door merely rattled.

Owen glared at Gwen. 

"Didn't you read any of those bloody Torchwood manuals when you first started working here?"

"Did _you_?" Gwen returned. She grimaced and lent her shoulder to his efforts. She grunted as she threw her weight into it, only to stagger back from the rebound. 

"Jack showed the manuals to me once, then tore them up right in front of me. Said the original Torchwood establishment was wrong, that the Doctor was not the enemy but a friend to all humanity."

"Well…" Owen yanked at the stupid handle. "This _friend_ of humanity." He kicked the door. Shocks raced up his leg like needles. 

"Apparently has our Captain." He threw his shoulder at it. 

"In this stupid…ruddy…blue box!" Owen grunted when he rammed his entire body He grabbed the door handle and gave it a yank. "Oi!"

"Ianto's still in there, as well," Gwen murmured.

"Bloody good that will do us; we can't get in," Owen said tersely as he yanked out the empty clip and snapped on a new one with an efficient _click_. Damn Jonesy had to run off like a startled puppy. Tea-boy took off; the beeping jar was the starter's pistol. "Of all the stupid, _stupid_ things he had to… _Damn_ _it_!" Owen shouted wordlessly at the door. 

"Go away!" someone from inside shouted, thoroughly annoyed. She sounded very young, very human.

"Go away?" Owen repeated. He set his jaw and tried again. "Shit!" he swore and gave the box a kick. He could have sworn something squawked in return. "What we need is more firepower," he griped. Owen gestured jerkily towards it. "Blow this ruddy box to bits."

"With Ianto and Jack inside?" Gwen glowered at him.

"You saw that room. It was bigger inside. Wherever they are, they'll be fine." At least, Owen hoped so. He brightened. "Maybe that FR-87 in the Armory?"

Gwen gave him a look. "Jack promised the constable no more target practice. Do you know how much it cost to replace that building?"

"Fine," Owen grumbled. Wasn't really his fault. He'd slipped. It had a sensitive trigger. And there wasn't anyone in the building. He snapped his fingers.

"That ion laser."

"Too unstable."

"The sonar grenade."

"What? _You're_ unstable!"

"That cannon that came through the Rift!"

"Owen! We want them back in one piece!" Gwen yelled.

"I can hear you!" the girl shouted from inside.

"Good!" Owen bellowed back. He grimaced. People around them gave them funny looks; they couldn't see what he was yelling at. Damn box sat completely on their invisible lift. Owen breathed sharply through his nose. "Tosh, sweetheart, any ideas—Where did she go?" Owen frowned when he realized he and Gwen were alone.

"Tosh?" Gwen's voice rose in alarm.

"Here!" Tosh popped in breathlessly, her hair in wild tufts from running. "Here," she repeated, panting. She braced a hand on the police box, a hand up to tell them to wait as she caught her breath. Before Owen could ask, she pulled out the alien lockpick.

"You're brilliant!" Gwen burst out into a grin as Tosh nudged through to place it on the door. After a pause, it chimed loudly as it tried to work its magic.

"I thought you were putting that back in the safe, Tosh," Owen commented. He smirked when Tosh's shoulders stiffened.

"Do you want this door open or not?" Tosh said archly. She looked over her shoulder to Owen. "Or did you want to keep throwing your skinny body against it for fun?"

Owen growled, about to answer when the lockpick beeped and the door flew open

 

**Act III**

Ianto could hear the rapid beat of his heart pounding in his ears as he made his way down the winding corridors. He searched his memory but all he could remember was how silent and how dark the police box was before.

He had been sent to _fetch_ Jack Harkness.

Ianto's lip curled in memory. God, even now, the distaste in his mouth was as fresh as if the Doctor had just asked, no, _requested_ , him to retrieve his Com—

Stopping short next to one door, Ianto balled his fists and took a deep breath. Now wasn't the time, Ianto told himself, but oh, how he wanted to fire at every gilded and curve of this strange ship. He hated every part of it, every shimmering wall he felt that stood between him and Jack.

Ianto wanted to rest his face on the wall. Each room so far bore nothing. In fact, it felt like the ship was larger now; more rooms than he'd recollected. He found an eating area, what looked like an enormous library, and a bedroom with the messiness of occupancy. 

There were other bedrooms further along the corridor, differently furnished, some more decorated than others. There was no mess save for a scattering of items either neatly placed on the made beds or lined up on top of stray bits of furniture: a leather jacket, a paperback book, an odd Union Jack shirt, a scarf, but no Jack. His legs trembled from exhaustion; he had raced from room to room, but nothing.

"Jack," Ianto croaked. "I'm not leaving without you."

Something cooed. 

Ianto tensed, his head whipping around but no one was around.

While the ship itself looked the same, it _felt_ different. It had felt cool, empty, and hollow when Jack had first invited him in. As amazing as the ship was when he'd first entered it, it had always felt listless, artificial, and alien. The walls appeared flat and plain.

Now, there was a quiet hum that floated to the back of his mind, like the mechanical whir of his fridge. Always present but so low, it was more like white noise. It was almost soothing, like a lullaby one couldn't quite remember but still recognized. The walls sparkled from within, iridescent with its tones of pink coral and gold flecks. The surfaces looked like they pulsed impossibly with life. Ianto couldn't stop himself from gingerly touching a wall as he turned the corner.

It…it felt warm.

A door to his left, across the winding hallway, quietly parted open like petals.

Ianto darted his eyes furtively to both ends of the passageway. He couldn't hear the others, hadn't since the moment he snuck out of the main chamber. There was a moment of regret that had drained as soon as he found himself on familiar ground, on a path he hoped would lead him to Jack.

"Jack?" Ianto whispered. He pressed his body against the wall and peered around the door. 

"Jack," Ianto repeated, hissed this time.

Despite what the Doctor had said, Ianto pulled out his firearm again, both hands gripping it with an intensity that shook his arms. He aimed, letting the gun enter first, his body following.

The room, despite the dim lighting, was still a familiar one. A small suite bathed in more coral, washed in gold and copper, was simply furnished with a bed, a wardrobe and a reading table tucked at a corner to his right.

Ianto had never seen it except under a cloak of darkness and at the time, his attention was more on the nude figure sleeping on the presently empty bed. But he recognized the wardrobe when he brushed his fingers across the closet that seemed to have grown out of the ship itself. He opened the closet. The doors swung out without a sound, eerie in its silence.

The left half of the closet was filled with random pieces of period clothing. There was a leather vest, some articles of denim, and a short aviator's jacket Ianto recalled seeing a twin of in another closet. On the right…

The similar looking RAF greatcoat that hung forlornly on the right half of the space made his eyes burn. It hung from a hanger, center of the space, the cap, brushed and dusted, sat below it on the bottom of the compartment. Nothing else was allowed to occupy the same space as the coat.

Ianto's fingers trembled when he reached for it and he choked back a sob when he felt the powdery feel of the thick wool between his fingers. The coat was darker than the one Jack wore, thicker than the one Ianto knew so well. Jack's was thinned in some places, darker in others as it was patched and repaired. This one was thicker and had almost a new, unworn feel to it, but the stripes, the brass buttons, the polished fastenings were all the same. Ianto had to stop himself from burying his face into the material to see if Jack's scent lingered.

Jack needed to be found. He needed to be found now. Ianto's skin crawled, tightening over his bones as he thought of the minutes, the seconds that had rolled by since Jack was gone. And here Ianto was, in this damn endless ship, only to encounter one empty room after another.

"Where are you?" Ianto whispered. His vision blurred.

"I can assure you he's not hiding in there."

Ianto jerked at the voice that seeming materialized out of nowhere by his left ear. He backpedaled with a shout, which in turn, startled the Doctor, who hopped back a step as well.

"Stay back!" Ianto warned, his gun up reactively, his fingers flexing.

"I already told you, your gun won't work in he—"

 _Bang_.

A bullet zipped by the Doctor's ear.

They both stared at each other in shock. Then, galvanized, Ianto rolled across the bed, to put some distance between them, and stood behind it. He trained his weapon on the alien across the other side of the bed. Ianto panted, his chest heaving, his head dizzy as he kept his arms locked in front of him. 

The Doctor merely stood there, his eyes tracking Ianto.

Ianto's mouth worked again. He glared at the alien, oddly dressed in not the dark, somber suit he remembered, but a slightly rumbled brown pinstripe one. "I thought you said no weapons can fire in here," Ianto bit out. 

The Doctor looked around with a crooked eyebrow. He shrugged. "No one's perfect, even me." He stared over to where Ianto was.

"Who were you looking for?" The Doctor set his jaw when Ianto didn't answer. The time traveler, unperturbed about the gun tracking him, studied the room with a mild frown. His eyes widened.

"You had called out for Jack," the Doctor murmured in a low voice that rankled Ianto's nerves.

"Where is he?" Ianto demanded.

The Doctor stared at him. "Jack Harkness?" he said in an incredulous voice. "You're looking for Jack _Harkness_? _Here_?" The alien paused. His brow furrowed. 

"Why would you be looking for him here?"

"Jack waited for you," Ianto managed to spit out. He wanted so much to shoot that innocent expression off the beast's face. His hands twitched. He wanted to wrap them around that throat. He had never felt this way before, even when he had called Jack a monster. Ianto was wrong then; he had met the real monster. "He waited all this time for you and now you're back and he's missing and—"

"He's not here."

Ianto raised his gun. "You're lying," he hissed.

"I do not lie," the Doctor told him in a serious voice.

But he had lied; when he told Jack he was wrong. He had lied when he said Jack needed to be fixed. Lies, all lies. Ianto didn't lower his weapon.

The Doctor stood taller. He looked coolly at the gun.

"Who's in charge of your Torchwood?" the Doctor rumbled. "I want to talk to this person. Is it still Hartma—"

"Director Hartman's dead." 

The Doctor stopped short. 

"She fell with Canary Wharf that day." Ianto readjusted his grip and moved the nose of the gun towards the Doctor's head. He wasn't sure, but it looked like regret crossed over the Doctor's face. "We're Torchwood Three," he croaked. "Now where is Jack? _Tell me_!"

Something strange crossed over the Doctor's face. "I haven't seen Captain Jack Harkness since…since a long, long time…on a space station."

"Liar," Ianto seethed. Yet another lie. He wanted to throw his gun away, tear at the alien with his bare hands. "You came back for him in 1941."

The Doctor's face scrunched up. "What?" He shook his head. "No, I did no such—"

"I saw you with him!" Ianto cried out. His hands shook, his gun trembling. 

The Doctor stared. "You…you _saw_ me," he repeated slowly, "with Jack Harkness?"

Ianto's eyes filled with the memory. "At Canary Wharf. A few months before it fell. I—"

"Wait, he was at Canary Wharf?" the Doctor blurted out. He looked stunned. "He was there when the breach was opened?"

Ianto backed up a step when the Doctor's face shadowed like a cloud passing. "Jack Harkness was captured by Torchwood?"

"No," Ianto croaked, his throat squeezing tight at the pretense the Doctor stubbornly presented him. His finger twitched at the trigger, but Ianto needed him alive, needed him to tell him where he had hid Jack.

"You _left_ him there; to be used to open the breach."

"I did no such thing!" the Doctor exclaimed. He looked appalled. He gestured in the air, stopping when he saw Ianto tensed.

"I'd never been to Canary Wharf until the day it burned and it wasn't with Jack Harkness, it was with—"

"With Rose Tyler," Ianto interrupted. A mean bit of him was glad to see a flash of pain cross the alien's face. 

"He told you about Rose?" The Doctor stilled. 

Ianto didn't know what the Doctor was trying to pull. The Doctor acted surprised and he absently wondered if regeneration had something to do with it. Did memory change with the face? 

"So all this time," the Doctor said dangerously. A cold sliver tingled down Ianto's spine. "You have kept Jack Harkness as a prisoner of Torch—"

"He _is_ Torchwood," Ianto ground out.

It was like an eclipse; every bit of joviality that might have been left vanished. "Jack Harkness _works_ for Torchwood?" the Doctor said tightly. His face grew stormy. Ianto gulped. "The same Torchwood that opened the breach? The same Torchwood that let Cybermen and Daleks into Canary Wharf—"

"We're not the same Torchwood. We're different," Ianto couldn't help but defend it. "Jack changed it." His mouth twisted. "Probably in your honor," he added, unable to hide the bitterness in his voice.

The Doctor scoffed. "You threatened my friend with a gun, your comrades attack my ship." He narrowed his eyes. "It sounds like the same Torchwood to me. And you expect me to believe you're _different_?"

"And you expect _me_ to believe you don't have Jack?" Ianto challenged.

"I think you can see for yourself." The Doctor made no move towards him as Ianto cautiously turned his head to check. 

"There are more rooms," Ianto remembered. He could feel desperation rising up again, his stomach churning. There were far too many rooms in this place. He could feel panic threatening to overwhelm him again. "He's here somewhere. I won't let you hurt him again! Damn it, where is he?" Ianto was dismayed to hear his voice crack.

The Doctor stared hard at Ianto. Something eased a fraction in his brown eyes.

"I can show you every inch of this ship if you like," the Doctor offered quietly.

Ianto wished the other would stop staring like he was visibly peeling him apart layer by layer; his gaze was as deep and fathomless as it had been in London. It wasn't as cool as before, but the intensity still made him fidget. 

"Why would you do this?" Ianto didn't lower his gun, but his mind spun. This man was _different_ ; it was something he couldn't pinpoint like a pebble in the sand. It was there, whatever it was that made this Doctor dissimilar. 

"Because you called him _Jack_." There was an almost flicker of what closely resembled melancholy in the Doctor's eyes. "And because I believe you when you said your Torchwood is different." The Doctor smiled grimly.

Ianto's arms ached but he kept his arms straight and steady. "But I-I don't believe _you_."

The Doctor shrugged. "Someone has to take the first step here." He considered Ianto with a tilt of his head. 

Ianto tensed, wondering if his mind was being manipulated, telling him that this Doctor was no threat, that this Doctor truly didn't have Jack. Ianto grit his teeth. He tried to imagine a great wall, around him. Torchwood had given their employees psychic training, although rudimentary at best. 

"It's not a trick," the Doctor told him, his voice softer.

"You're reading my thoughts," Ianto accused and his gun went back up higher, towards the Doctor's eyes.

"Just reading the look on your face," the time traveler replied. The Doctor was maddeningly calm and it only served to raise Ianto's hackles. "I know you have doubts. And I, for one, have questions, as well." The Doctor's scrutiny was unnerving. 

"You're trying to manipulate my thoughts," Ianto bit out. Maybe just shoot him in the arm; a little pain to start an interrogation. The thought appalled him yet what was even more frightening was that Ianto found he was considering it.

"You know something's not right here, Ianto Jones," the Doctor murmured. "You can feel it in your gut, can't you? You might not know what it is, oh, but the human instinct is a marvelous thing. You don't need to know what's wrong; just that it _is_."

Ianto swallowed. But if this man didn't…Ianto swallowed again. His gun wavered.

"We'll find him, Ianto Jones." It sounded almost like a promise. It seemed only fitting Ianto gave one in return.

"We better," Ianto said shakily. He took a steadying breath and slowly lowered his gun. "Or I'll kill you."

The Doctor didn't react with anything more than a nod. "Yes," he said slowly. "I believe you would." The Doctor suddenly broke out into a broad grin. "Or try. I'm very hard to kill." 

It was almost an audible snap, his mood quicksilver. The time traveler gestured Ianto to follow. "Come now, show me this unconventional Torchwood of yours and we'll see where our Captain has gone off to." The Doctor barely finished talking when he was already out the door. 

Ianto stared blankly at the space where the Doctor once stood. He looked around the room again.

The Doctor popped his head back in. He appeared a little miffed.

"Well? Are you coming or not?" And pop, he was gone again.

When had the situation spun out of his hands? Ianto gave the closet a pained look. He prayed he was making the right move.

Ianto reholstered his gun, his hand lingering briefly on it to reassure himself of its presence. Swallowing, Ianto followed.

 

Gwen stood stubbornly by the double doors. She didn't know where they lead or if Ianto had gone through them, but she stood fast. Even if her gun was useless (They checked. Twice.) Gwen was determined that no one would get past her. 

Especially not a fancy heel-wearing girl like her.

The woman, who was with the Doctor, glared at her, caught between Owen and Gwen, pinned by Tosh's steady aim from just outside the strange ship. And to make sure the young woman knew they were serious, Tosh's weapon was armed with a laser scope, the red dot square and unmoving on the woman's forehead.

"You got it, Tosh?" Owen called out, his mouth still in a twisted grimace that looked intimidating even to Gwen.

"She even scratches her nose, she's dead," Tosh confirmed in a barely reined voice that would have made Gwen look at her twice. If she dared look away, that is.

The woman—girl, Gwen corrected herself—glowered at them with admirable defiance. It didn't look like Tosh's gun scared her. The moment they had the door opened, she ran for the double doors without hesitation, but years of chasing pickpockets had proved to be Gwen's advantage and she cut off her escape. Gwen felt oddly like a lion in one of those nature shows Rhys favored on Channel Four, cutting off a lone gazelle.

The girl looked as graceful as one, wearing shoes Gwen would never consider practical, dressed more for a party than for time-traveling with an alien. She paced, shifting weight from foot to foot, always making sure she stood in-between them.

"What's your name?" Gwen asked quietly. 

The girl set her mouth, unwilling to answer.

"Ask her where Jack is," Owen hissed, never removing his gaze from her.

"Ask her yourself," Gwen hissed back. "She's not deaf!"

"No," the girl spoke up with a dry wit that eerily echoed Ianto's, " _she's_ not and she doesn't know where Jack is, whoever he is."

"A friend of mine," a light brogue announced himself just as he waltzed through the double doors. "Used to travel with me, back in the old days."

"Jack?" Gwen blurted out. She exchanged Owen a look. It seemed like they knew less and less about Jack everyday.

"Doctor?" the girl asked tentatively. She gave her and Owen a wary look. "What's going on?"

"Oi! Where's Ianto?" Owen demanded. Gwen stiffened, realizing now the Doctor came out alone.

The Doctor twisted around, glancing over his shoulder, his body completing the turn as he considered the door. "Now where did _he_ go? I'm losing people left and right," the Doctor muttered, hands on his hips. He gave them a wave, gesturing them all to hold on, and then trotted back out the doors again. 

Gwen gave Tosh a mystified look across the room. The girl visibly relaxed now that the Doctor was here.

Moments later, the Doctor returned, a still wary Ianto at tow. Ianto was scowling at the Doctor's back, but his gun was holstered.

"Alright, bit of a misunderstanding here. Easy to remedy!" The Doctor hesitated, his eyes drifting over to Gwen. He looked taken aback before he shook his head seconds later, muttering the universe wasn't _that_ strange. He paused and frowned towards Martha.

"Who let them in?" The Doctor shook his head again when Martha sputtered. "Never mind, try to catch up, Martha!" And he was out the door, pausing briefly to give a stunned Tosh an enthusiastic double handed handshake and a "Oh, hello again, Doctor Sato! Seen any more pigheaded astronauts? They fixed up Big Ben yet? Which way is it to your Torchwood? This way?" Tosh gave Gwen a mildly freaked expression before hurrying after the Doctor when he went off the wrong direction.

Gwen, Owen and Martha looked at each other. 

"W-what just happened here?" Owen managed out. He glanced over to Ianto, who merely shook his head, and went after Tosh.

"Will someone tell me what's going on?" Gwen exasperated.

"Now you know how _I_ feel," Martha muttered. She rolled her eyes. "Come on, we're not going to find out standing here."

It felt anti-climatic, stepping out of the police box, watching as Martha simply locked it with an ordinary key. Owen gestured towards Gwen, silently mouthing something rude and characteristically impolite. Gwen silently agreed.

 

**Act IV**

"T-that was a dinosaur!" Martha jumped as something flew past them flapping large leathery wings before zipping back into its nest.

"More bird than reptile, Martha," the Doctor muttered, distracted as he studied the Hub. He pulled out a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles from his pockets, oblivious to how Gwen jerked as if she was about to tackle him. The Doctor squinted through them. "Never call them dinosaurs, they tend to get a bit defensive about that…"

Ianto saw Owen and Gwen, their hands deep within their jackets, trailing behind the pair as they wandered the room. Tosh surreptitiously took a scanner off the closest workstation and waved it towards them.

"The girl's human," Tosh whispered to Ianto as he drew closer. "As for him…" Another wave and her brow wrinkled delicately. "Bi-cardio system, tri-lobe, I…I…there's no match in our systems." Tosh gave Ianto a worried look.

"Course not!" the Doctor spun around, hands in the pockets of his long brown coat. He grinned brightly at Tosh's jump. "I have very good hearing, too."

"So…you're not… _human_ ," Gwen hedged. They all tensed. Bilis was far too fresh on their minds.

"Human? No, thank goodness. No. Time Lord. Last of." The Doctor's smile faded somewhat at their blank expressions.

"Heard of them? Legend or anything? Your Captain never mentioned me? Public enemy number one?" The Doctor ruefully scratched the back of his head. "Blimey, this new Torchwood is a bit humbling."

Ianto's head was pounding. It irked him that all they were doing was talking. Jack's wrist strap and note burned a hole in his pocket. "Look—"

"Oh. My. _God_!" Martha gaped at something sitting on the pillar in front of the armory. She gestured wildly at the Doctor and pointed at Jack's stasis jar when everyone gathered around her. 

"You've got a hand! A hand in a jar! A hand, in jar, sitting on top like a bloody lamp!"

The Doctor stooped and squinted at the blue, bubbling liquid. His brow rose high and he stood up. "What t-that...that's my hand!" he sputtered, pointing at it.

"Your hand?" Owen repeated. He gave the time traveler a look up and down.

"Yes, yes, it's my hand. Is this a habit of Torchwood to pickle bits of me?" The Doctor bristled. He reminded Ianto of a ruffled hen had the Doctor had feathers.

"It was Jack's Doctor detector," Ianto explained wearily. He glowered at the alien. "It began beeping. That's how I knew you were here."

"So Jack made this," Gwen digested, "to know when you came so he could…find you?"

"But he didn't," the Doctor replied. He gave Ianto a frown. "Only person came knocking at my door was you."

Martha was still gawping at the jar. She appeared afraid to touch it. She glared at the Doctor, her hands on her hips. "What do you mean that's your hand?" Martha demanded. "You've got both your hands, I can see them!"

The Doctor winced. He studied the jar with fascination. "Long story," he murmured. "I lost my hand, Christmas day, in a sword fight."

"So…" Tosh began, "you _grew_ another hand?"

"Um, yeah, I did." The Doctor blinked at the stares. He raised his right hand and unconsciously mimicked the one in the jar when he wiggled his fingers a little in the air at everyone. "Hello."

Owen's face turned speculative. "So…if we lop off another piece, will you grow it back?"

"Owen!" Gwen hissed.

"I'm a Time Lord, not a worm!" the Doctor exclaimed. He pursed his lips. "That was a very Torchwood thing to say."

Owen looked as if he wasn't sure if he had been insulted or not.

"Grew another hand?" Martha absorbed with a furrowed brow.

The Doctor turned back towards her, his hand up once more. "Hello again."

Martha made a face.

"It's fine." The Doctor made a small chuckle. "Really, it's me." He shook Martha's hand and she grinned.

"All this time and you're still full of surprises," she happily griped.

"This doesn't help Jack," Ianto interrupted. God, he needed to hit something. "If he's not with you…"

"Ianto," Gwen began tentatively, "we don't know if Jack left to find him," she nodded towards the Doctor, "or because…" Tosh and Owen looked at each other uneasily.

Ianto swallowed. Could they even blame Jack if that was true? "No," he croaked. "Jack left a note. He said you came back." Ianto directed the last part to the Doctor. "He went to find you. He thought you came back for him."

The Doctor winced. "I didn't."

The Hub spun. Ianto exhaled shakily. But where had Jack gone? He was sure. So sure the answer was standing in front of him. 

Owen grabbed Ianto by the elbow and led him towards the couch. "Sit down before you fall down, Jonesy," the medic said gruffly. He all, but pushed Ianto down on the furniture. 

Ianto watched as the Doctor stood by the water sculpture, his lips pursed as if in disapproval, a finger tapping his chin. Martha stayed close by. She still stared at the others warily.

"You control the rift with this."

The Doctor looked darkly at Ianto. He didn't wait for an answer and studied the sculpture again. 

"We don't use it," Gwen told him. She stood by the couch. Ianto smiled faintly as he felt her presence cross his shadow. 

"We monitor with it," Tosh volunteered, but she lowered her gaze and her fingers worried a button on her shirt.

Owen, his mouth pressed thin, said nothing.

The Doctor stared at Gwen for a moment. He scoffed.

"Yes, well, it always starts with the best intentions."

"Look," Owen grated out before Ianto could. "You here to lecture us or tell us where our captain is?"

The Doctor blinked at them. "I don't know where he is." He held up a hand when everyone started to speak at once. "All I told Mr. Jones here is that we'll find him."

"Jack went to you." Ianto's accusation rung out loudly in the Hub. Everyone turned back to the Doctor.

The Doctor's face was pure puzzlement. "But he didn't. I also wasn't with him at Canary Wharf."

Ianto caught Tosh giving Owen a startled look.

Martha spoke up. "Look, why don't we start over?" She tentatively smiled, giving everyone a tiny wave. "I'm Martha Jones."

"No relation," the Doctor muttered. Louder, he added, "And you're Torchwood."

"Thank you for stating the obvious," Owen muttered under his breath.

The Doctor gave Owen a wide grin that threw Owen off. The medic blinked, unsure how to respond.

"Yes, well, Ianto Jones!" The Doctor clapped his hands together. He didn't notice Gwen and Owen flinching, their hands twitching towards their holsters. "Tell me, why did you think you saw me with Jack Harkness?"

Ianto glared up at him. "I didn't _think_. I saw you."

The Doctor appeared surprised. He stared speechless for a beat before, with both hands, pointed at his own face. " _This_ Doctor?"

Ianto could see everyone giving each other a confused look but he ignored it as he shook a negative. "Another." He looked at the Doctor, his chin stuck out. "Jack said you had regenerated." A dark corner inside him reveled in the fact that it meant the Doctor must have died to regenerate again. He hoped it was painful. 

"Excuse me, he re-what?" Owen interrupted.

The Doctor fixed his eyes on Ianto. " _Jack_ told you this?" 

Ianto nodded, his gaze matching the intensity of the Doctor's.

"Doctor," Martha spoke up. She had been listening with a furrowed brow. "What are you two talking about?"

"It's a way for my kind to cheat death…sort of," the Doctor murmured, deep in thought. "A biological metacrisis initiated during expiration using particle energy to transfigure cosmetically new biological unit, but maintaining the DNA structure." 

"A-a you what?" Martha stammered helplessly.

"So you…" Tosh tentatively spoke up. "You change bodies at time of death?" She looked both shocked and intrigued. 

Owen raised an eyebrow and gnawed on his thumb as he mentally dissected the Doctor.

"Doctor! Then why didn't you just say so?" Martha huffed.

The Doctor looked at her, befuddled. "But I did."

Martha stared upwards and muttered something. The Doctor turned his attention back to Ianto.

"Are you sure?" the Doctor stressed.

Ianto bristled. "Yes! I know what I saw! You came out of that box with him in front of hundreds of people!" Only they were all dead except for him. Ianto shoved that thought to the back of his mind.

" _My_ TARDIS?" the Doctor repeated.

"Maybe a past…um…you, then?" Martha suggested.

The Doctor shook his head. "I would have remembered." He folded his arms. "What did I look like? This…this other me."

Ianto wanted to shout at him "Who cares?" It felt like all they were doing was talk. Time felt like it was shrinking, all the air shriveling around him. He took a deep breath to steady himself.

"Light hair," Ianto murmured, remembering. "Brown eyes." Cold eyes, frigid. Ianto suppressed a shudder. The couch gave when Gwen sat down next to him, her knee knocking against his to remind him where he was. "You wore a dark suit, black mostly. And you were thin, short." Ianto checked around the room. "Around Owen's height."

"Oi!" Owen glared at him. Ianto offered him a weary smirk.

"Doctor?" Martha glanced back at him.

The Doctor was frowning to himself. Ianto's stomach dropped when the alien shook his head.

"No," the Doctor muttered, his forehead lined. "That doesn't sound like me at all. None of me."

"You're a time traveler," Tosh spoke up again. "Maybe a future self was with Jack?"

The Doctor looked pained. He rubbed his jaw. "I was getting attached to this face." He shook his head again. "No, it couldn't be that either. I wouldn't do that."

"But, Doctor, if it was you in the future, how would _you_ know?" Martha pointed out.

"You would make a poor defense attorney, Martha," the Doctor complained good-naturedly. "You would have me hanged by now." He patted Martha's arm to soften the blow. The Doctor set his jaw. "And in answer to your question, no. Future or not, I would never do that to the universe." 

"What are you talking about? You're talking in riddles." Owen grumbled. 

The Doctor opened his mouth, and then shut it. He appeared frustrated, his finger tapping his chin again, one-two-one-two until the Doctor brightened.

"Do you have any citrus? Or onions?" He beamed at Ianto's wordless finger pointing to their fridge. Everyone, including Martha, watched the Doctor bound up the kitchen area, and ran back to the sitting area with an orange.

"Fantastic! I haven't seen these this small in years!" the Doctor enthused, lifting up the citrus fruit for show. "Why, I always thought they were much more enjoyable when they weren't the size of cats—"

Martha cleared her throat. This, apparently, was nothing new to her.

"Hm? Oh, right." The Doctor shook himself out of his reverie. "Pretend this orange is time and the universe itself. All of time starting in the center where the seeds are and wrapped layer upon layer over itself is time passing—Oh, it's much better explained with an onion or maybe a Bakoritan cantaloupe—"

"Doctor!"

The time traveler shot Martha an exasperated look. "Anyway, this here," he tapped the skin, "is your present. If I was to going digging back into the past and cross timelines I should…." The Doctor bit his lower lip as he dug his thumb into the fruit. Juice squirted out in his wake. "And if I go unraveling the bits of past like so…" The Doctor pressed his thumb deeper into the fruit. Ianto grimaced at the sticky, dripping mess. The Doctor then set the fruit down on the coffee table. He gestured at it. "This would happen."

Everyone leaned in for a better look.

Abruptly, without warning, the Doctor stomped on it. 

The orange splattered in a mess of sweet pulp and juicy bits. It scattered as far back as to Gwen and Ianto seated on the couch.

"See?" The Doctor tugged at his sleeves. "The universe would implode." He made a face at the remains. "Would be very messy." The Doctor looked at them triumphantly. "See? Now do you understand why it couldn't be me?"

"No," Ianto bit out. He plucked off some pith from his trousers and from Gwen's shoulder. "Not really."

The Doctor blew out, annoyed. Sharply, he turned to Tosh. "Tell me Dr. Sato, is it standard for all you Torchwood people to have that?" He pointed at her earpiece.

Tosh drew up a hand to her ear. "Our mobiles," she murmured. Her ears pinked. "I forgot all about that."

The Doctor rocked on his heels. He wore an expectant smile. 

"We could track Jack by his mobile, oh so stupid!" Tosh pivoted around to her workstation.

"Why didn't you do that before?" Martha wanted to know.

"Because he," Owen stuck his thumb towards Ianto, "took off running after your extra hand started beeping like a bloody alarm clock!"

Ianto narrowed his eyes at Owen. "You didn't have to follow."

"I didn't _want_ to," Owen shot back, "but the girls dragged me along!"

"Nothing!" Tosh reported, cutting Ianto before he could say something. She threw her earpiece to her desk. "Jack's phone's been turned off. No GPS. He didn't take the SUV either and no," she interrupted when Ianto opened his mouth. "Nothing on CCTV. There was someone that might have been Jack, but he got into an unmarked SUV. I can't get the plates."

"Great," Owen grumbled. "Now what?"

The Doctor snapped his fingers. "Dr. Sato, try calling again."

Tosh blinked. "Why?"

"Just call him again."

The Doctor shook his head and went over to Tosh. He gave the telephone a squint before pressing the redial number. He left the speakers on and the numbers chimed loudly out into the Hub.

"It'll just go into voicemail—"

"Ah ah ah ah!" the Doctor just said, a finger in the air, telling her to wait.

"Are you sure he's the Doctor?" Owen muttered under his breath. "Or in _need_ of one?" 

Martha shot him a look before turning back towards the Doctor.

After the fifth ring, the Doctor pulled out of his pockets, a silver looking rod. He aimed it at the phone and a loud whine could be heard as the tip began to glow.

Everyone tensed. Their guns were whipped out at the Doctor, Tosh nearly stumbling as Owen yanked her back away from him. Martha squeaked. She scrambled back up against the Doctor, bumping into him. He looked up and blinked. He scoffed.

"Don't worry, it's just a sonic screwdriver. Very handy." The time traveler shook his head, muttered something about Torchwood under his breath and continued. He stared intently at the phone, his odd device on it like a futuristic wand.

"Come on, come on," the Doctor muttered. "I know you can hear it ringing, Captain. And with the most annoying sound, too. You can't ignore it. Pick it up. Pick it up."

"A sonic screwdriver?" Owen repeated dubiously. "Do a lot of cabinet building, Doctor?"

The time traveler paused. "Funny, that's almost what your Captain said to me when we—"

 _Click_.

Ianto shot up to his feet when he heard the dial tones stopping and the click of someone picking up the phone.

"Jack?" Gwen spoke into the built-in microphone. Everyone crowded around her and the phone.

"Jack?" Ianto called out, trying to hear anything. He squeezed past Gwen and Tosh, his fists on either side of the phone.

The line, while still connected, was silent. The lack of noise, of any noise, made the hair on the back of Ianto's neck rise.

The Doctor frowned mildly at the phone. He held up a hand and leaned closer to the phone. "Jack? Are you there?"

There was a low beating coming through the speaker, a rapping too slow to discern the tempo; fingers thrumming against wood.

Ianto gripped the edge of the table when he realized where he had heard it before. 

And suddenly, the rapping stopped.

And someone chuckled.

"Is…is that Jack?" Martha asked timidly.

Ianto stared at the phone, his heart hammering painfully in his chest. "No," he whispered, "someone else. Someone far, far worse."

The Doctor lifted his eyes up sharply. He narrowed them and directed the hard gaze to the phone. 

"Who is this?" His voice, never rising, felt like it boomed throughout the Hub.

The chuckling abruptly stopped.

The familiar smooth tones nearly purred into the phone and Ianto squeezed his eyes shut. Oh God, no.

 _"Hello, Doctor."_

 

 **Act V:** _"Use my name."_

Ianto felt the floor drop beneath him. He clutched the edge of Tosh's desk. His chest squeezed as he recognized the voice despite the phone's flat digital quality. He wanted to throw up.

The Doctor stared hard at the phone as if he could discern a face. 

"It's not possible," the Doctor breathed. He didn't acknowledge Martha's worried murmur or her tentative hand on his arm. "Who are you?" he demanded but it appeared as if the Doctor already knew the answer.

The question seemed to have amused the speaker Ianto _thought_ was the Doctor. 

_"Ha ha! Doctor, I'm hurt! After all we've been through—Ah yes, of course...you haven't heard this one yet…ooh new voice! Hello, hello! Hello!"_

"Christ, not another nutter," Owen muttered, his face twisted with worry. He stared at the phone with the same intensity as everyone else. 

Ianto…he couldn't look at the phone any more. He felt ill. Ianto turned his head away but he couldn't help but listen, to try and hear past that hated voice and find something else beyond; a whisper, a coat rustling, _anything_. 

"Where's Jack Harkness?" the Doctor demanded. He glanced over to Tosh. She brightened and nodded. Her hand over her mouth, Tosh silently broke away from the crowd, to the next computer. With a few quick yet quiet clicks, maps flashed in rapid succession on her screen.

Ianto lifted his heavy head and stared at the screen with growing hope. He felt his stomach uncoil as the satellites narrowed down the location square mile by square mile.

 _"Now, Doctor,"_ the voice tsked, the phone's digital quality was lending it a mechanical tone.

_"Shouldn't you have asked yourself this question a long time ago?"_

The question was cold, smug, and demanded an answer from the time traveler. Ianto saw the others glanced uneasily at each other. He focused on Tosh, on her fingers as her face glowed in the monitor's light. She indicated with a finger twirling mid-air to keep talking.

The Doctor flinched. His eyes glittered darkly. "Where is he?" 

_"Where he belongs,"_ the voice hissed.

Ianto couldn't stand it any more; the way the voice filled the Hub like nothing else could exist. 

"Let me talk to Jack!" Ianto blurted out.

The line went silent and Gwen gasped softly, fearing they had lost the connection.

But then, the false Doctor laughed.

_"Ianto Jones, is it? You are turning out to be much harder to kill than I originally thought. The Cybermen or Daleks should have dealt with you along with the rest of them."_

The room shrank airlessly. Ianto felt numb suddenly. "What?" he whispered.

The Doctor shot Ianto a concerned frown. "Don't do this," he spoke into the microphone urgently. "Whatever you think you're doing, don't." He lifted his eyes. Tosh shook her head and lifted up two fingers. The Doctor grimaced. 

_"Practice makes perfect, Doctor. Of course I'm doing this. I always will. Anyway, why don't we stop and have a nice little chat while I tell you all my plans and you can work out a way to stop me? No, I don't think so."_

Martha, who had been silent throughout the whole exchange, frowned to herself. "Hold on, I know that voice!"

"I think I do, too," Gwen murmured next to her. Her brow wrinkled, mimicking Martha.

The Doctor took no notice, his attention still on the phone. "I'm asking you really, properly, just stop, just _think_."

There was a pregnant pause.

 _"Use my name,"_ the voice hissed angrily.

Something odd crossed the Doctor's face. He closed his eyes briefly. "Master..." he murmured, his face pained. The Doctor looked indescribably sad. "I'm sorry."

 _"Tough,"_ the phone crackled loudly. 

"Wait! Don't do this! Jack Harkness has nothing to do with us—"

 _"He has_ everything _to do with you!"_ the other snarled. _"He was the factor. No more! He's_ mine _now."_

Ianto rushed back to the phone, shrugging off Gwen's hand on his shoulder. "What have you done with him?" Ianto cried out angrily. "If you hurt him—"

 _"Too late,"_ the Master chirped cheerfully.

"Master! What have you done?" the Doctor shouted, so sharp, so sudden, even Owen jumped.

_"Correcting the future."_

The Doctor looked horrified. "What?" he whispered. 

"Hang up," Tosh suddenly said.

Ianto's head shot up towards her. "What?" He could see the maps were still scrolling. 

"Hang up! Disconnect the call!" Tosh shouted, her eyes wide with panic.

The Master began to laugh.

"Something's getting into our systems!" Tosh cried out, her fingers flying across the keyboard. The other monitors' screensavers flickered off and lines began to show across the screen like a meter bar.

Tosh's fingers were a blur. "It's getting into everything! It's the phone lines! He's using our phone lines to get in!" She twisted around, her face white with shock. "He's keeping _us_ on the phone! Cut off the main outside lines!"

The laughter simply grew louder.

"Shit!" Owen spat out. He and Gwen darted around the workstations and began roughly yanking out every phone and data line from the back of their computers.

 _"Bye, bye, Doctor…"_ the Master crooned just before Owen yanked the line out. He yanked so hard; the phone jerked off the table and flew behind the medic, smashing against the railing to Autopsy. 

The lines that were stacking up on the screens blipped out and the coiling electric blue ripple screensavers came back up again.

Tosh breathed a sigh of relief. "I think that did it." She gestured towards her screen; the maps were up again on her desktop. "I was able to narrow down the GPS before we lost the connection."

"Where?" Gwen asked, still breathing heavily. She dropped the cords of telephone lines in her fists. 

Tosh was a portrait of concentration as she typed away. "Mm, I got as far as beyond Wales. I think I can narrow it down a bit mo—What?"

There was a tiny beeping sound coming out of the monitor's speakers; a four beat that the Doctor stiffened to. Each computer one by one began beeping in unison, growing louder and louder. Their pterodactyl screeched unhappily high above. 

"Doctor, what is that?" Martha cried. 

_One-two-three-four, one-two-three-four, one-two-three-four._

"No!" Tosh cried out. She thumped the desk. The pens on the surface rattled; one rolled off to the floor in her wake.

"We were too late! Whatever that was before, it was still able to get in!"

"Should we shut down the servers?" Ianto came up besides Tosh. He watched anxiously as each map eroded away into pixels and digital artifacts. Even from here, he could hear Jack's computer wailing, joining the morbid choir.

"Maybe turn the power off?" Gwen shouted; her hands were slapped over her ears. It was growing loud enough to hurt.

"They're already infected. The routers, the hard drives, _everything_!" Tosh said, anger sharpening her voice. She set her jaw. "But I think I can erect a secondary firewall up beh—"

"Get away from the computers!"

It was the last thing Ianto heard; the Doctor's outcry a roar that rose above the beat. The sizzling registered before it did for Tosh, so focused on saving their systems. Ianto grabbed her by the shoulders, saw Owen do the same with Gwen, the Doctor yanking Martha against him.

There was an explosion of light so bright it felt like it burned his retinas. Someone screamed his name. _Pain_.

Then…nothing.

 

…tearing…

…ripping…

The walls shredded around him, inside him. He thought he cried out, but a hand clamped over his mouth claw-like in its grip. He sank back into the shadows he fought so hard to climb out of.

 _…thrum_ …

He was not alone in the darkness.

There was something else in here with him; wherever this place was in the crevices of his mind.

Like with a sledgehammer, memory after memory was pulled out for show then violently shattered to show him the bleak truth.

Something sneered at every face his mind conjured up. Something gloated as it watched him stand alone against those he thought he could finally open his heart to, give his soul to, his life.

…fool…

They didn't want it.

…freak…

They didn't want _him_.

… _thrum_ …

He should have known.

He lied to himself all this time. This time…maybe this time…

They stood by their dead, rather than him, the still living…

…always living…

… _thrum-thrum_ …

A fool. An inexcusable, worthless _fool_. They broke his heart. They stood by with his secret and watched him fall because it was easier to take what they needed from a dead man. 

But he was already dead, oh so long ago. He just didn't know it then. 

… _thrum-thrum_ …

"…hear it?"

Voices faded in and out; like memory, like Cardiff when he climbed into the SUV and felt a prick in the back of his skull.

"…fills your head…you and I…waiting to be answered…"

A pain pierced his head. A pain pierced his body. Core-deep and burning, it was as relentless as the hollow, rushing sound of the wind in his ears.

He…he didn't want to be here. This…this was wrong.

"…wrong. Yes, wrong and unnatural…" 

_No._

"A freak. All everyone saw was a freak…"

No. Not _everyone_.

Sound rushed back in with clarity. He gasped. His hands grabbed feebly at the body pinning him down. Strength returned for a moment and he felt the weight move off him when he shoved. Words, thoughts flooded his mind, he could feel his memory being corrupted, like a festering wound, foul and putrid. Desperate, he threw up the image of a wall. 

It shattered.

Another wall.

It shattered as well.

Feeble attempts to mount walls against the onslaught he knew no direction from were broken down quickly as if made of tissue paper. There was a moment of rage and he screamed in his mind. Voices startled and retreated; darkness receded. He breathed a sigh of relief and weakly tried to bring up a name, a face.

Too brief. Too slow.

This time, the scream was out loud when _everything_ flooded back into him, a deluge that snatched him from the refuge he had huddled into and slammed him back into that unrelenting pace of _painpainpain_. It stole his breath and his scream splintered into a whimper.

"They let you go off to die because you shouldn't have been still alive…"

No. No. No.

"…betrayed you…killed you…denied everything about you…"

…no.

"…stand the sight of you…"

… _thrum-thrum_ …

"Can you hear it?" Hands gripped him on both sides of his face. "Can you hear it, Captain?"

The beat roared in his ear, the pain overwhelmed him. It…everything _hurts_.

"Can. You. _Hear_. It?" A voice not to be denied or ignored burned into his mind.

"Y-yes," Jack Harkness gasped out. "Yes."

There was no laughter in response, but an almost fatherly kiss brushed across his damp forehead. Hands pulled away from his face and the face of his Doctor sharpened painfully into focus.

"Good," the Doctor murmured, his eyes dark with pleasure. "That is good." He stroked Jack's wet cheeks.

"I do not need you yet," his Doctor told him in an almost benevolent voice. His hand settled on top of his head. Jack shivered. It felt cold. He felt hot.

"Sleep."

The command sounded more like an echo in his head. Jack blearily fought to keep his eyes open.

The hand curled into talons digging into his head. Jack groaned.

"I said _sleep_."

It seemed the lesser of two evils: sleep meant pain, awake meant pain but also memory. Jack's breathing hitched but he obeyed. He slept.

… _thrum-thrum-tap-tap_ …

And this time, the Doctor did laugh.

 

**Conclusion: _"Use my name."_**

Ianto woke up to darkness and to a cawing above him.

Ianto could smell ozone burning above him. He could feel the heat of cuts, torn from glass, nicking his neck, his face. His hair felt singed on the back. He blinked in the darkness and thought he was blind. He thought he could smell blood burning. 

Someone groaned. 

"J-jack? L-lisa?" he rasped. Ianto lifted his head. His neck felt stiff, his body heavy.

"W-who's that?" Owen sounded woozy. "Jonesy, that you?"

"Ow," Martha complained to Ianto's right. "Doctor, you're heavy." There was a tinkle of glass and the sound of metal falling to the ground.

"Christ," Owen groaned. He could be heard getting up to his feet. "We just cleaned up in here, too."

"What do you mean _we_?" Gwen, thank God. "I think it was just Ianto and Tosh." Her voice sharpened. "Is everyone okay?"

"I'm here," Ianto called out unsteadily. Saying he was okay would feel too much like a lie.

"Tosh?" Gwen called out.

"Here," Tosh groaned directly below Ianto. He was suddenly aware that he was on top of her.

Gwen apparently didn't like the sound of Tosh's voice. Owen either. They could be heard scrabbling around the debris to get to them.

Ianto saw a spark from a shattered monitor; it flared and briefly showed Gwen's bedraggled condition. Gwen swore. But she was alive. They were all alive.

"Can you get up?" Gwen asked anxiously as she made her way over.

"Not really," was Tosh's strained reply.

"Why? What's wrong?" Owen demanded.

"Ianto's hand is on my breast," Tosh replied dryly.

Ianto jerked, suddenly aware of his hands in places they shouldn't be and he rolled off her with a stammered apology.

"Christ, Kirk, give it a rest," Owen drawled. He stood over Ianto.

"Shut up, Owen, and help me up!" Ianto snapped, for once thankful the dark that covered his burning cheeks.

"Alright, aside from Ianto molesting Tosh," Gwen called out, ignoring Ianto's sputter, "anyone else? Ms. Jones? Doctor?"

"We're fine," Martha called out, disembodied. The darkness was disconcerting. Even the emergency lights weren't working. 

"Although someone needs to vacuum down here," the Doctor said distractedly. "I just found a jelly belly stuck to the floor. I think it's watermelon."

Owen snickered.

"Well, don't eat it!" Martha griped. "What happened to all the lights?"

"I think that explosion blew everything out," Ianto rasped. 

" _Everything_?" Gwen groaned. A beam of light from her direction told him she found their emergency kit. She began distributing flashlights, groping for outstretched hands in the dark.

Another light joined Gwen's. Tosh pointed it to the smoldering computers.

"Everything," Tosh reported as she tapped uselessly on a keyboard. "There's no power, no emergency lights, nothing! Whatever they transmitted through the line backlashed into all our systems. We're beyond lockdown. This is worse than when Suzie shut the Hub down."

The flashlights distributed, the beams swept across the Hub. 

Every computer was smoking, sparking; the monitors were now molten, warped lumps of metal. The glass that blew out came from Jack's office. Every pane of glass splintered when his computer burst. His desk now stood lopsided, upturned, its remaining two legs sticking out.

More glass rained down from the meeting room, glass they had ironically replaced when the Rift was opened.

"Shit," Gwen breathed. Her light beam wobbled. 

There was a scuffle of footsteps and suddenly Ianto found himself face to face with the Doctor.

"Ianto Jones," the Doctor started urgently, "you said Jack was with him."

"H-he told Jack he was the Doctor," Ianto managed. The Doctor's eyes seemed to glow despite the darkness.

"He wasn't. How long was Jack with him?"

Ianto racked his mind.

" _How long_?" the Doctor roared. He gave Ianto a shake of his shoulders that rattled Ianto's teeth.

"Oi!" Owen barked, suddenly next to Ianto. He pulled Ianto back a step.

The Doctor ignored Owen. His eyes glinted like lit coals, skewering Ianto in the dark.

"I d-don't know," Ianto stuttered. "Jack never said. Long."

"How long is long?" Martha questioned.

The Doctor sighed heavily. "A minute is too long, Martha."

The group fell into silence. 

"I don't understand," Martha spoke up again. "I know you said you have a different face because of that regen-thing, but wouldn't this Jack have known that…well…he wasn't you?"

Irritation flared inside him. Ianto bit back what he wanted to snap at her. "Jack said he recognized the Doctor by his ship," he defended. 

"The police box?" Martha guessed.

"That's not possible," the Doctor muttered.

"Obviously, it was!" Ianto snapped. He felt Tosh settle a hand on his lower back. 

The Doctor was silent, digesting everything.

"We have to get Jack away from him," the Doctor said finally.

"Good plan," Owen snapped. " _If_ we can get out of here."

"There's no power. I can't even use the lockpick on that door," Tosh said, frustration clear in her voice. Her flashlight wove drunkenly as she scanned their surroundings. "Even emergency power is gone."

"Do you have a computer that wasn't connected to your network?" the Doctor asked.

Tosh sounded baffled. "My laptop, but there's not enough power in it to sustain the Hub systems—"

"My TARDIS can."

Tosh paused. She cleared her throat. "That box up on the Plass?"

"Sure!" Martha jumped in excitedly. The voice of confidence made the corner of Ianto's eye twitch. "It can do loads of things! I'm sure the Doctor can do something! You can call it down here, can't you, Doctor?"

"It's not a retriever, Martha," the Doctor reminded her patiently. "I would have had to preprogram her for that." He heaved a sigh. "Besides, she wouldn't move before. Kept insisting I told her not to."

"Oh," Martha murmured, dejected.

"It is sitting completely on top of our invisible lift," Ianto remembered.

"That's great," Owen bit out. "If we had power, we could bring it down here!"

"Ah." The Doctor sounded far too cheerful in the dark. "Just use your manual override!"

"But we don't have a manual override," Gwen protested. She paused, her light darting to each one of them. "Do we?"

"You will," was the Doctor's smug promise, "once _I'm_ done with it." 

 

Martha felt useless standing there.

It was like a conference by the walkway behind the water sculpture. She couldn't believe Torchwood had been under the Plass all this time. She took her mother here once! They took pictures! 

"Unbelievable," Martha muttered as she watched the TARDIS afloat on a slab of concrete from above. She held her breath as the lift creaked and groaned as it descended. Apparently, the lift was invisible, something about a trans-dimensional thing, the Doctor tried to explain, and the TARDIS had landed squarely on it. Perfect.

There were times Martha wanted to give the TARDIS a hug, but thought the Doctor might think her strange. Well, it wasn't like she could treat it to a biscuit.

The Doctor seemed as happy as she was to see it. He gave one of his exuberant "Hah!" that had the two Torchwood women starting.

"Steady. Careful now. Not too careful though, she's not fragile. She once rolled off a cliff and she was fine, but it was a bother for me because I was just having my morning tea—oh, do you have tea? Oh, wait, no power, so no tea, never mind then!"

Martha shook her head, bemused despite her situation. The flashlights lit up the women's confused and rather overwhelmed expressions. Now that they weren't shooting or punching each other, Martha could sympathize.

"Now, Dr. Sato! All we have to do is set her down steady, run a cable to your computers from the TARDIS and we should be up and running!"

The Doctor, as always, saw this as a new adventure. She remembered the pensive look the Doctor made when that voice answered. It had frightened her, more than when he shouted at Ianto Jones.

That voice.

It was maddening. Maratha knew she heard it before. But _where_?

"I hope no one falls through the lift while we bring your box down," Gwen Cooper fretted.

"That's very Welsh of you to say," the Doctor mused.

"Funny, Jack said the same thing."

The Doctor grunted. "He would. Now, Dr. Sato—"

"Actually," the Asian woman spoke up timidly. "I'm not _really_ a doctor, Doctor."

" _Oh_?"

"You see, one of my colleagues Owen Harper, a bit of a prat, got so sloshed the night before, he—"

"Oi, don't tell him about that!" the Torchwood medic bellowed from over by the couch. He shot up to his feet and put the gauze and salve in her hands. His flashlight bobbed angrily as he jogged over to the Doctor. "I said I was sorry!"

"You also said you would make it up to me," she reminded him.

"I got you a coffee!"

" _Alex_ bought me that coffee."

Martha glanced over. Ianto Jones was seated on the couch under the tiled lettering Torchwood. He had his flashlight pointed up towards the ceiling, his head tilted up to stare at the light.

Ianto looked a bit forlorn, a bit like the Doctor when she caught him staring up at the stars or whenever he talked about Rose. Martha made her way carefully to him and sat down next to him. He glanced over and offered a small smile.

"Ianto Jones, is it?" Martha asked hesitantly.

"No relation," Ianto joked weakly.

Martha lifted up the gauze for him to see. "I'm not a medic but I was going to medical school." She nodded towards the little crisscross cuts on his forehead. Blood was still trickling down to his eyes. 

Ianto looked surprised and blinked. His eyes warmed a degree. 

"Please," he murmured. His syllables rolled dulcetly and Martha found herself staring.

"Right," Martha recovered quickly. She made quick work patching him up, gingerly applying the butterfly band-aids above his brow. 

"Thank you," Ianto rasped. He carefully touched them and winced.

"Us Jones need to stick together," Martha joked. She sobered when she realized the lines around his mouth and brow weren't from pain. She smiled sadly and settled a hand on his right knee. 

"The Doctor will find him," she assured him.

Ianto looked doubtful but he nodded.

Martha paused before venturing with, "So this Jack…he's a friend?"

Ianto stared at her for a moment. He smiled, looking more like he was feeling something quite opposite of that and he turned away.

"No."

Martha furrowed her brow.

Ianto sighed and looked down at his clasped hands.

"He's more than that." Ianto murmured. He rested his forehead against his clasped hands. "He just doesn't know it yet."

Martha's mouth crinkled. "Oh."

"We…I…" Ianto dropped back to the couch.

"The Doctor will find him," Martha repeated firmly. "He will."

Ianto looked over at her. "You have a lot of confidence in him."

Martha blinked. Why wouldn't she? He _was_ the Doctor.

The thud made them both look up.

"Brilliant," Martha cheered as she took in the reassuring sight of the TARDIS sitting serenely next to the water sculpture. The Doctor was already unlocking the door and a rectangular of golden light from inside lit the huge underground. "Come on," Martha urged Ianto when all he would do was stare. "I'll give you a tour while the Doctor does his Doctery things."

Ianto's mouth twisted wryly for some reason but he levered off the couch. He brushed the dust off his suit and followed.

Lord, she missed it. Martha veered away in time as the Doctor ran past her, a cable in tow that wormed out from under the central pillar, the thick line snaking out from the metal floor, out the police box, and towards the computers as Toshiko Sato fiddled with something in her laptop. They were all doing something she couldn't quite understand and that feeling of uselessness returned.

"I think I need another bandaid," Ianto suddenly said. "Perhaps in better light?"

Martha glanced over at him. Ianto gazed back, guileless, but she wasn't fooled. Martha felt a well of warmth emotion blooming inside her.

"Sure," Martha agreed, grinning. She stepped in behind him. The TARDIS twilled, surprising Ianto. It sounded like it was saying, "What took you?" 

Martha settled in next to him on the jumper seat. She examined the cuts carefully, checking off a mental list as she examined him. Pulse was steady, the bleeding stopped, bruises were tender but nothing looked broken, and eyes— _guh_ , gorgeous blue eyes—were properly dilated and even.

"There you are, you two Jones," the Doctor called out as he skidded to the console. "All ready, Ms. Sato?" the Doctor shouted out through the open door. 

"Starting up the operating system!" Sato confirmed. "Grafting the translation matrix to merge with your TARDIS's base codes!"

"She talks like the Doctor," Martha muttered, feeling a bit jealous.

Ianto Jones chuckled in agreement. "Our Toshiko Sato is very clever. She—" He blinked when the lights outside returned. Martha could hear a whoop beyond the ship.

The Doctor nodded, satisfied. "Main power returning. Now we could—" His brow furrowed and the Doctor squinted at the monitor. It began beeping _one-two-three-four_. His eyes widened. 

"Doctor?" Martha started to stand.

"Shut it off!" The Doctor cried out. Sato could be heard outside saying the same to Cooper and Harper.

The Doctor went around to pull the cable out from the floor. Ianto leapt up from the settee to help him.

Martha pulled at the cable from behind them with both hands. She shrieked when the TARDIS _screamed_ around her and the cable she was pulling retracted back into the open hatchway, zipping past her so fast, it smoked. The two men by the pillar hissed and jerked their hands back. Ianto grabbed her and dragged her away just as the cable end from outside snapped up like a whip with a force that surely would have ripped her into two. It sparked before disappearing under the floor.

"What's happening?" Martha cried out, but the Doctor didn't answer her.

All around them, the TARDIS shook. She could hear shouting outside. The Doctor roughly pulled Martha up her feet.

"Go, you two have to get out of here!" the Doctor bellowed in a voice she never heard of before. She became very afraid and didn't protest as the Doctor herded them towards the door.

The door slammed shut before her foot drew near.

"No!" the Doctor shouted.

"Ianto!" The alarmed cries were muffled, being drowned out by the _whoosh-whoosh_ of the TARDIS.

"Stay back!" the Doctor pressed his face to the door. "Stay back! She's dematerializing! You'll get caught in the vortex!"

"What's going on?" Ianto demanded as the Doctor stumbled back to the console.

"Grab hold of something!" the Doctor ordered. "Martha! I need you by those controls! Keep turning that dial until that green light goes away."

But it never did, even as Martha twisted the controls non-stop, one hand gripping the edge of the dais. 

"Doctor!" Martha called out shakily. The ship jolted and all three of them jerked, nearly knocked off their feet.

The smoke billowed. The Doctor waved madly over him. He stared incredulously at the screen. 

"We're accelerating into the future," the Doctor stammered. He gaped at the monitor. 

" _What_?" Ianto shouted. He stumbled—the TARDIS shook too much to stay upright—over to the Doctor. "How is that possible? I thought you said this ship couldn't move!"

"Something's infected the TARDIS when we were patched into Torchwood's systems! I'm not controlling her!" the Doctor said loudly, trying to be heard about the TARDIS's wailing. God, the sound! 

The Doctor stared at the monitor with growing shock. "The year one billion, five billion," the Doctor counted, "five trillion, fifty trillion...What? The year one hundred trillion? That's impossible!"

"Why? What happens then?" Martha crashed into Ianto, who gripped her shoulders and braced her to the console.

The Doctor's mouth was agape when he turned towards Martha. "We're going to the end of the universe!"


	37. "Utopia 2.0"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning For This Chapter:** strong language, disturbing imsges
> 
>  **Notes For This Chapter:** Note there are parallels to DW's "Utopia" and briefly mentions things from TW's "End of Days" but hopefully even without seeing them, the story's fine.

**Act I**   
**Cardiff**   
**Present day…**

"What the hell happened?" Owen exploded. He stood there, agape, with Gwen and literally saw the call box get more and more transparent. He finally lunged at the thing despite the Doctor's warning to stay back, but too late, it vanished and Owen ended up sprawled on the metal floor.

Toshiko winced. Her ankle throbbed. The cable had abruptly detached from her server under the desk and snapped. Its frayed end was as sharp as a knife and it burned like fire.

"Tosh?" Gwen asked, her voice nearly shrill, but Toshiko couldn't blame her.

The power was back on after a boost from the Doctor's strange machine; Toshiko was able to bring up all the schematics of the routines that were infected. Nowhere was there a clue that a trojan lurked, waiting for the exact base codes to activate it. Damn, damn, damn!

"Tosh?" Now Owen sounded shrill—he would never admit it though. 

"I'm checking," Toshiko snapped, too bunched up and frazzled to think of being calm and nice. Torchwood was still stubbornly on shutdown, doors locked, its cache clear of recent data streams—yes!

"Got it!" Toshiko announced as she punched the right keystrokes. There were dull thuds as gates locked under power, whines as the invisible lift reactivated and sailed up to its default position.

"We're back online!" Toshiko would have hugged her laptop but she was still scanning.

"Wonderful, what about Ianto?" Owen barked. Toshiko could hear him pacing the area where the box once stood. 

"Tosh," Gwen's words faltered. "The ship, it looked like it was…dissolving and the Doctor said they were…were…"

"Dematerializing," Owen finished grimly.

Toshiko felt the small cold quiver in her stomach. "Any trace of matter?" Toshiko steadied her voice as she brought up their in-house scanners.

"Nothing," Owen reported, his voice terse.

Okay. Nothing is good. Nothing meant their Ianto wasn't munched up into little bits of coffee and ironed cotton. 

"That's good," Toshiko said out loud. It felt better hearing it than thinking it. "I see no signs of demolecularization or polarization."

"I'm going to pretend I understood that and agree with you that it's good, Tosh," Gwen returned, her voice a tad more bearable now, calmer. "So it means Ianto wasn't…" Her voice faltered.

"Disintegrated?" Toshiko suggested. The word left a taste in her mouth. "I see no signs of that." She frowned mildly to her laptop. Stupid thing. It was so slow. She had over-clocked its processors, tripled its memory and did all sorts of things that would make Gates and Jobs weep; the thing was still too slow in bringing out the files in the Torchwood servers. 

Toshiko had complained to Jack once, who sat there listening to her tirade with a patient and bemused expression. Unlike her previous employment, Jack surprised her by agreeing and told her to present him a budget for it. He laughed, surprised, when she impulsively hugged him.

He wasn't laughing when she presented a budget for a new laptop that rivaled all their computers combined. Jack promised though, just before they were lost in 1941, before Abbadon.

There was a pang thinking about Jack. If they hadn't heard this so-called 'Master' on the phone, Toshiko would have thought Jack left because of what they did.

But he forgave us, Toshiko reminded herself as she watched the readings scroll up the screen. Her chest tightened, though.

"Tosh, it's not good when you stop talking techno babble," Owen bit out.

"What? Oh, sorry." Toshiko scanned quickly what was on the screen. "I'm reading a spike in the Rift, radiation similar to the time spike spectrum with—"

"I don't think he meant it literally, Tosh," Gwen interrupted meekly.

Toshiko sighed. Ianto and Jack would have waited until she finished at the very least. She was missing them more and more.

"I think that…box went time traveling. The ionic trail is similar to the rift readings when we were having those rift incidents after…" Toshiko looked away at Owen's tight-lipped expression.

Owen grunted. "So the Doctor kidnapped Ianto and—"

"I don't think he did." Gwen shook her head. "It looked like he was trying to get Ianto and Ms. Jones out before the door closed."

"It was our systems," Toshiko agreed. "It was like a hidden program under the one that shut us down." She scowled at the still smoldering remains of her desktop. The ghostly images of the last map burned into the screen like a negative. "As soon as we hooked into the ship's power source, something was activated and infected the Doctor's ship."

"Like a land mine?" Gwen guessed. She peered over Toshiko's shoulder to look at her laptop.

"I bet it'll be the last time that Doctor will ever do _us_ any favors," Owen quipped. Metal could be heard being tossed about. "Shit, what a mess," Owen muttered. "So where or when did Tea boy go?" Owen demanded. He kicked something that bounced, clanging down the stairs that led to the vaults.

"Future. Past. There's no way to tell," Toshiko dropped a fist onto her desk. Her eyes burned. "I can't tell when he is!"

"Alright, alright," Gwen soothed. "We at least know he's alive. This Doctor you were telling me about. He's…a time traveler?"

"Christ, you really haven't read any of those manuals," Owen breathed in disbelief. At Gwen's glare, he conceded with both hands waving at her. "Okay. Don't get your knickers in a twist. He _is_ a time traveler. He'd shown up all sorts of times that Torchwood knew of."

"Met him, too," Toshiko piped up. Different face though, she remembered. 

"Right, so he does that with that ruddy box of his."

"The police box," Gwen recalled, her voice skeptical.

Toshiko glanced over her shoulder and caught Owen's shrug. 

"Man did a physics lesson with fruit," Owen reminded them. "The police box suits, I think."

"So whenever they went, they'll get back here somehow with that box," Gwen mused out loud.

"Good, don't want to have to open up the Rift again," Owen muttered darkly.

"Don't you dare, Owen!"

"Oi! I just say I wasn't going to, didn't I?"

"I think I can get the last location of Jack's GPS though," Toshiko volunteered hastily. 

"Wait! What if it reactivates whatever that was before?" Gwen balked.

If Toshiko had paused to think, she would have realized that Gwen made a good point. Of course, having her computers blown up on her, her laptop used to whisk Ianto away, and Jack missing, Toshiko didn't want to be bothered with bloody logic.

Toshiko pulled up the maps again, holding her breath. She could hear Gwen's sharp intake by her ear. Her laptop whirled, the hard drive slowly spinning its silly 20,000-rpm (she desperately needed a new laptop) before the first map appeared. Luckily, nothing happened. 

Gwen sighed. She gave Tosh a playful shove. They both giggled nervously.

"I had it down to the surrounding continents before everything blew," Toshiko reported. "I know I can narrow it down further."

"That's something," Gwen muttered. 

"We'll just have to find Jack ourselves," Toshiko agreed.

Gwen nodded, even though she didn't appear too happy about it. "Ianto's with the Doctor. He should be safe."

Toshiko nodded but as Owen joined Gwen by the laptop, she caught his grim expression and knew they were just lying to themselves.

 

**Malcassairo**   
**Year 100 trillion…**

Padra was worried. 

Food was running low, one meal instead of two now and the refugees had been mumbling about someone in the twentieth sub-level who had attacked their own family. Razor teeth, distorted vocals, red-rimmed eyes.

Rumors. All rumors, Padra had told himself as he walked the grounds, his duty here as taskmaster. 

Rumors or not, Padra knew something was happening. People on his sub-level were disappearing, reportedly carted off by the soldiers in charge of this particular silo. More razor teeth, more changes and behaviors that divided them from everyone else.

Whatever it was, it was _spreading_.

After the fifth day of single meals, Padra knew he couldn't stay. His mother and what remained of his family were in the main silo. There were talks that they were heading to Utopia, and that they were leaving soon, very soon. A clever man called the Professor was going to light their way.

Padra waited until his shift was over, just before the food was being passed. As the lines of people collected by the kitchens with their chipped bowls, Padra sought out the air duct. He'd been scraping at the screws little at a time, quietly so no one would hear or report him. And while everyone rushed to get his or her food, Padra slipped away. He didn't need his meal. They were going to Utopia where there would be plenty to eat; he would have his fill in Utopia. 

It was a hard and lengthy climb. Padra scraped and clawed up the ribbed duct by his bleeding nails, his legs cramped uncomfortably in front of him to brace himself. He didn't know how long it took him, but finally, he could taste the stale, icy air of the outside. It was the surface!

The metal circle that capped his freedom creaked but finally opened. Padra gazed uneasily below it. The metallic squawk had echoed loudly down the duct. He heard nothing though so he wiggled out of the opening and set the lid back over the opening. He didn't want anything using it to go in. 

Padra looked to the sky, but the empty black gave him nothing to guide by. Instead, he searched the horizon until he could see the mountain. Utopia Mountain everyone called it.

The grin was broad on his face. Padra fixed his gaze upon the low peak and set on his way.

 _Utopia_.

 

Chantho stared at his back as he adjusted something on the footprint accelerator. She smiled to herself. She adored her Professor like this, lost in his work, talking to himself as he reviewed the spatial force sciences. He forgets everything else at that point, lost in his own world, his own Utopia. It was like the childhood story her mother used to tell her about the last star that flared brilliantly, just before the Badlands and dark matter devoured it. Her people stared up in the sky that was now forever night and its dying light blinded them. No one would look away though and the image of the red star branded their minds forever.

Chantho couldn't help but watch him even if it might blind her. His determination was as brilliant as a star and twice as rejuvenating. 

It didn't happen too often though. Not any more. Not since Old Woman's arrival.

In the corner, lurking and quieter than a shadow, Old Woman sat on a stool by their mainframes. Rags wrapped around her, concealing half her face, wound all the way to her knuckles. She was a walking death shroud. The half she did show of her face was bloated, discolored with violet burst capillaries and a blue eye whose pupil was permanently overblown.

Old Woman had arrived a few months before with the last truck of survivors. She was on a ship that went through ion and plasma storms. Half the passengers had died before they arrived at refuge. She gave no name; only declared she was here to help the Professor. None of the survivors knew anything about her; no one would even _look_ at her. 

And here Old Woman stayed, talking only to the Professor, hidden in the shadows. She even slept in the lab with the Professor. And the Professor constantly consulted with her, although Chantho couldn't tell what about. Old Woman, when she did speak, only offered words that were cryptic and frightening. Chantho would turn around and the Professor would be back by the corner, his head bent towards her, talking in hushed tones that left Chantho feeling hurt.

Right now though, the Professor was staring at the impulse generator as he spun a ring with a gem as red as blood idly around his finger. A blip, however, drew his attention to the surface scanners.

"Movement on the surface," the Professor read the scanner. "Another human hunt." The Professor grimaced. "God help him."

"Chan-should I alert the guards-tho?" she inquired.

The Professor waved her off, his hand chopping the air like an axe. "No, no, we can't spare them." The Professor's eyes looked cold and he turned away from the screen. "Old beggar's on his own. One more lost soul dreaming of Utopia," he commented bitterly.

A raspy voice crooned from the corner. "Better he stays lost."

The Professor made a harsh, grating laugh.

Chantho came up to him. Her hand rested on his arm. "Chan-you mustn't talk as if you've given up-tho." What has happened to her beloved Professor?

The elderly human smiled kindly at her like he used to. "No, no, indeed." He raised his dented tin mug. "Here's to it—Utopia." He took a sip and made a face. "Where it is to be hoped the coffee is a little less sour. Will you join me?"

Chantho beamed at him. It was times like these she truly wishes she could tell him. "Chan-I am happy drinking my own internal milk-tho." 

The smile faded somewhat. Did Chantho say something wrong?

"Yes, well...that's quite enough information, thank you." The Professor winced.

_"Professor Yana? Don't want to rush you, but how are we doing?"_

Old Woman's laugh crackled like grinding glass. "So impatient to reach Utopia."

Chantho thought she heard the Professor snort. "Ah yes…uh yes, working…almost there…" He shot Chantho a look, his hand spinning in the air. Chantho stammered, saying just about anything. She tried to ignore the comments muttered under Old Woman's breath. Her hearts squeezed when she saw the Professor dipped his head towards the corner. Gnarled and bony fingers reached over and caressed the ring in his hand. Chantho looked away. She couldn't understand why her hearts felt ill watching them. She stumbled over her report but thankfully it was enough to appease their impatience. It was the one thing Chantho agreed with Old Woman. They were indeed impatient. She turned around to see if the Professor approved of the extra two hours she had promised them, but found he was standing back by the impulse generator, swaying.

Chantho hurried over. She feared it was one of his spells again. He would stare into nothing, as if he couldn't hear Chantho. Sometimes he woke angry and only Old Woman's chant of "Wait. Wait.", would calm him. 

"Listen to it," Old Woman cooed. She coughed but didn't stop talking. "It calls for you. Wait. Wait."

"Chan-Professor-tho!" Chantho cried. She stood in front of the corner. Old Woman snarled at her.

The Professor shuddered but revived, his eyes focused again. "Uh…yes, yes, yes. Working!"

Chantho wanted to beg him to rest. He had worked so hard on this, but then another blip sang out.

"Chan-it's the surface scanner," Chantho frowned at the round screen. A stationary square dot blinked back at her. "It seems to be detecting a different signal-tho."

The Professor squinted over her shoulder. "That's not a standard reading." He tapped the glass. The green lines blurred then sharpened. The square remained. The Professor folded his arms in front of him.

"It would seem something new has arrived."

Old Woman suddenly chuckled, her voice low and gravelly.

"And so it begins…"

Chantho didn't know why, but she shivered.

 

**Cardiff**   
**Present day…**

"Got it!" Toshiko announced. She grinned broadly and gestured towards her laptop. 

"You're a love!" Gwen hugged her one-armed and huddled close to her. "Where?"

"London!" Toshiko declared.

" _London_?" Owen repeated. "Oh, that's very helpful."

Gwen glared over Toshiko at him. "It's something."

"It's _nothing_. We have better luck finding Jonesy!" Owen sighed. He leaned onto her desk and gave her a rueful grin. "Sorry, Tosh, but London doesn't really help us."

"Would a street address be better?" Toshiko drawled. She enjoyed watching Owen's jaw dropped.

"You're joking! I thought we couldn't complete the trace. How did you do that?"

Toshiko opened her mouth but Owen raised a palm.

"Never mind." Owen pivoted on his heel. "I'll get the guns."

Toshiko glowered at his retreating back. 

Gwen gave her another hug. "Never mind him. You're brilliant!"

Toshiko smiled smugly. "I know." 

"Modest, too," Owen drawled as he returned to their sides. "What are you doing now? And in English please."

"I'm texting Ianto the location," Toshiko reported, her fingers clicking away. 

"Uh, I doubt Torchwood's service plan covers whenever he is. Maybe if we were hooked up to Archangel like we're suppose to be."

Toshiko snorted. Owen could be so daft. "For when he comes back."

"Oi, he'll know when he comes back and finds us with our captain having coffee." Owen grinned grimly as he patted the gun before tucking it to the back of his jeans.

"I think better safe than sorry," Gwen cut in. "Meantime, I think—" She stopped. "You hear that?"

Toshiko frowned. She tilted her head up at the low, grinding noise. "The lift's coming down."

As they all looked up, the klaxons rang out. Someone was opening the cog doors.

Toshiko spun back to her laptop as Gwen and Owen pulled out their weapons.

"Who is it, Tosh?" Gwen shouted, just as the cog door began to roll. The lift revealed to be empty. 

"Why didn't the alarms go off?" Owen barked, his gun aimed at their entrance.

"Someone used a bypass code," Toshiko said, not turning around. "Torchwood's."

"Who?" Gwen asked tersely. "Ianto?"

"No." Toshiko's eyes widened. "What?" she exclaimed as she read her screen. 

"Tosh?"

Before Toshiko could answer, a rope was tossed down through the opening the lift made. Owen yelled and Gwen twisted around.

It wasn't clear what happened next. People poured into the Hub through the cogwheel door and the lift opening. People garbed in black with masks and assault rifles. There was a lot of shouting; people ordering them to drop their weapons.

Toshiko was knocked off her chair, literally thrown to the floor. She could hear Owen cursing at them, Gwen yelling at them, but Toshiko couldn't speak. The wind was knocked out of her. There was a knee on her back, a large gloved hand holding the back of her head.

"Who the fuck are you people?" Owen growled. He grunted and dropped to his knees.

"Don't you touch him!" Gwen snarled.

"We are under orders by the United Nations and the Ministry of Defense to arrest you," a voice muffled by their mask sounded strained. 

"On what charges?" Toshiko shouted, but her protest twisted to a yelp when the hand pressed down harder.

"Oi! Leave her alone, fucking wan—"

Another grunt, a scuffle, Gwen shouting in a voice she had never heard before. Toshiko's eyes were tearing too much to see.

"Charges of terrorism," was the brusque reply.

"Terrorism?" Gwen exclaimed.

"What do they think we blew up?" Owen managed out. It sounded like his teeth was clenched.

"UFOs in India, soldiers in Parliament…" The list continued on and on. Toshiko's throat squeezed. "We've traced it to Torchwood and your Rift."

"Who…Who are you guys?" Gwen sounded stunned.

"UNIT."

A chill ran through Toshiko's blood.

Oh God, no. Not again. 

 

 **Act II:** _"Silo for me!"_  
 **Malcassairo**  
 **Year 100 trillion…**

It was hard for Ianto to absorb the fact that he was actually time-traveling; that this police box was trekking through 100 million, no, _trillion_ , years into the future. He imagined time-traveling to be sort of like Jack: a soup of graceful, head spinning, seductive and intoxicating sensations, his breath stolen with every—

"End of _what_?" Martha screeched as she held on to the edge of their controls for dear life. The Doctor was too busy flapping his hands madly in the air, like shooing away mayflies. The ship wailed and randomly spewed smoke. Something fell to the floor behind him with a fragile _crack_.

This was _not_ how he had envisioned it. Ianto pictured time traveling to be a bit less…rattling.

Ianto gripped a column of what looked like vines of coral twisted together. The vibrations from them rattled throughout his body like painful tremors. He gritted his teeth and fought the stretched, taut, panicky instinct that he was getting farther and farther away from Jack.

Then, like a switch was flipped, the ship stopped. It jolted to a halt with a thud.

The three looked at each other. Martha cautiously pulled her hands away from the console and took a step back. Ianto cautiously released the pillar he was clinging to. 

"Well," the Doctor began. He checked around him. "We've landed." He straightened and tugged at his suit.

"Landed?" Ianto repeated. "As in…the future?" Ianto stepped back and sank down on the settee behind him. "One hundred _trillion_ years into the future?" It was so far beyond Ianto's comprehension; even when he repeated what the Doctor just said wasn't enough. Ianto stared up at them both.

Martha glanced over to him before turning back to the Doctor. 

"So, what's out there?" she asked nervously.

Martha sounded anxious and strangely enough, Ianto felt better that she did. He wasn't the only one reeling with the realization just how many zeroes a trillion requires. And at the very least the Doctor was a veteran to time-travel. He would know—

"I don't know." The Doctor grimaced.

Or maybe not.

Ianto resisted the urge to pace, his knees twitched. He sat on his hands and swallowed.

"Say that again, that's rare," Martha laughed uneasily. She darted Ianto a weak grin, which Ianto tried to return but failed miserably. A Weevil would have done a better job.

"Not even the Time Lords came this far," the Doctor explained. A flicker of what looked like grief flitted across the alien's eyes. It was passing and never lingered. The Doctor squinted at the monitor. "I don't even understand how we _got_ here."

"Tosh was telling us to shut it down," Ianto remembered. His stomach churned. What happened to them? There was a ridiculous urge to fish his mobile out and give them a ring. Even the Archangel satellites couldn't boost their reception now! "Your ship."

"It was still connected to Torchwood," the Doctor finished grimly with a curt nod. He tapped at a monitor on the console that stood center of the chamber like how Ianto remembered it those years ago. It felt so long ago when he first met Jack, but compared to a trillion? God. Jack was still back there. Bile rose to his mouth. Ianto felt the urge to throw up again.

"We had something downloaded into our computers while we were on the phone," Ianto thought carefully to distract himself from the ever increasing nausea. "It might have done the same to yours." Ianto looked around him. The ship looked too organic to hold anything that looked technical. Even the control console where the Doctor apparently pilots the ship from held old knobs and dials that look far too retro for the technology it boasts. "If you had a computer to infect that is."

"So," Martha's brow wrinkled. "A computer virus _infected_ the TARDIS to get us here?"

The ship gurgled in response over Ianto but nothing else.

"I suppose I should be flattered the Master thought he needed to fling me as far as the end of the universe to keep me from interfering," the Doctor muttered. He folded his arms in front of him. The alien pursed his lips. 

"Whatever he's planning, it can't be good," the Doctor mused out loud. His brow knitted together.

The ship trilled in agreement.

"So take us back," Ianto pleaded. He leaned forward in the seat. "Jack's still back there with him. We _have_ to go back." He could see the alien giving his controls a thoughtful look. " _Please_."

"I can't get us back."

Ianto suddenly felt like he couldn't breathe. The ship shrank around him. "What?"

The Doctor shook his head. "Whatever the Master did, he locked out the controls from me. I can't talk to the TARDIS any more."

Around them, the ship bleated. It almost sounded like an apology. 

"Can he do that?" Martha blurted out. She sounded like she was in shock. Ianto couldn't believe it either. "I mean, it's _your_ TARDIS. I thought you have th-things to prevent that. A computer virus shouldn't have been able to do this!"

If anything, the Doctor looked even more perplexed and Ianto was very grateful he was sitting down. Did this mean they were trapped here?

Ianto covered his mouth with his hand. He breathed slowly through his nose. His mind spun frantically. It was like he was by Lisa's bedside again, his mind twisting over every idea when he was told by UNIT there was nothing else left they could do; the row of impassive UNIT scientists had delivered her a death sentence. He was Torchwood, damn it. There _must_ be something they could do!

"You said you saw him with Jack?"

Ianto looked up with bleary eyes at the Doctor's serious expression. He nodded.

"And he had this?" The Doctor spread his arms wide to encompass the ship.

Ianto nodded again. "It was how Jack recognized it was you—or _thought_ it was you," he corrected himself when the Doctor's face grew stormy. 

The Doctor muttered and paced around the central column, his arms folded in from of him, his chin nearly touching his chest. Ianto found it oddly disconcerting to see the Doctor this way.

"Doctor?" Martha questioned. Apparently, it was just as unnerving for her. "What is it?"

The Doctor stood between them; his hands up like an orchestra conductor. "If-if—thinking out loud here—just suppose time had converged when we'd arrived in Cardiff, two realities occupying the same space with one as the dominant one, that dominant reality could alter the other, maybe even controlling it to progress it further into its own timeline." The Doctor straightened and grinned at them. His smile faded somewhat when Martha just stared.

"You're saying," Ianto guessed, his words slow and measured, "that you think his ship, _his_ …TARDIS was controlling yours?"

"So," Martha said slowly. She made a puzzled frown. "This…Master was controlling _our_ TARDIS?" She furrowed her brow. "How did he get your TARDIS?"

The Doctor didn't seem too worried about that part. He waved his hand dismissively in the air. 

"Oh, it could have happened in the future, in the past—"

"Wait a minute," Martha interrupted. "If he took it in the _past_ , shouldn't this TARDIS disappear on us or something?"

"A paradox machine," Ianto remembered. He fidgeted. The measuring eyes still clung to his memory like an oily film. "When he arrived in London, our director gave him something we had in our archives." 

"Hartman?" The Doctor darkened when he said her name.

Ianto lifted his hands, framing the air to demonstrate the size. "He said it was a paradox machine."

It was like dark clouds shrouded the Doctor's face.

"And you gave it to him?" the Doctor said, his voice deeper. His eyes flared. Martha took a step back.

Ianto challenged the accusation he could see directed at him. "Hartman ordered me to." Ianto bit his lower lip, thinking. 

"He could have used it to ensure the TARDIS he had could co-exist with yours."

The Doctor blinked at Ianto for a beat. Then, his grin grew.

"Oh, I like you, Ianto Jones."

For some reason, Ianto couldn't help but bristle. He didn't want the Doctor to _like_ him. He didn't like _him_. No, his blood was still boiling because Ianto knew everything that had happened couldn't all be blamed on this so-called Master.

"So his TARDIS became a sort of remote control for this one?" Martha hastened to say. She gave Ianto a puzzled look. 

The Doctor nodded. "If we had overlapped. This ship crosses itself all the time," he murmured. His finger tapped his chin in deep thought; Ianto almost snapped at him to stop. "It's inevitable. The TARDIS usually has shields to prevent us from overlapping." The Doctor winced. He scratched the back of his neck. "Otherwise my previous regenerations might run into each other. It would have been very confusing." 

"Why didn't those shields work _this_ time?" Ianto demanded. It felt wrong to sit here. He had an urge to kick the controls, perhaps knock it back to cooperation.

"Don't say it was because I left the door open!" Martha huffed when the Doctor opened his mouth.

The Doctor coughed into his fist. "I lowered the shields." He smiled, chagrined. "When I stopped to refuel. It was probably him that told the TARDIS to stop."

"And he shut us down, knowing you would patch us into your ship to power our servers," Ianto guessed.

"…And dumped that virus into the TARDIS," Martha continued. 

"And sent us to the end of the universe," the Doctor concluded. 

"We can't go back?" Ianto spoke up. His hands balled to his sides. "There is absolutely no way to get us back?"

The Doctor's silence was deafening.

"We're trapped here then?" Martha's voice quavered. "Forever?"

The Doctor placed both his hands on the console. He rocked on his heels. "I am not about to let a little mess of bytes and data take the TARDIS away from me," he muttered, his eyes hard as he gazed up to the odd collection of crystals that were suspended on top of the controls. "If we can find a power source, I could reset the TARDIS, I might get her back."

Ianto caught the Doctor's wince. " _Might_?"

"End of the universe," the Doctor reminded him. "It'll be hard to find a power source with the universe falling apart."

Ianto shared a worried look with Martha.

The Doctor clapped loudly. "Now, no point with the long faces! We should start looking for a source!"

"Where?" Martha despaired.

"Oh, there must be some civilization left that has a power source of some kind. We'll find one!"

"You there!" A voice from outside rang out. Ianto and Martha jumped. It was very human sounding. "You inside there! In the…uh…box."

The Doctor blinked. "Well…that was quick."

 

Padra paused to catch his breath. Utopia Mountain taunted him from so far still. He now regretted not taking any food with him. He had wanted to travel light. 

The endless night was frightening. No light except for the glow from Utopia Mountain, Padra had to walk carefully. There were cliffs and crevices lurking. Padra didn't want to fall; being caught out here with a broken leg meant death.

Weary, Padra took another step. His legs trembled with the strain and he bent over, his hands braced on his knees. Sweat dripped down his chin. He was almost there. He was sure of it.

Something or _someone_ growled.

Padra froze. He turned his head slowly and despite the dark, saw the razor teeth and bloodshot eyes. 

"P-please," he said carefully. Its eyes looked so much like someone he once knew. Padra raised his hands. "Let me go," Padra pleaded to the still human eyes. 

The head, its face streaked with filth, cocked as if trying to remember his face. Eyes flickered across his face. Abruptly, it twisted around and tilted its head back.

"Humani!" it howled. There was an answering howl and it turned back with a feral and hungry grin.

Padra ran. 

 

Martha opened the door cautiously. Never can be too careful. Last fellow had a surprise for the Doctor. To her astonishment, a flatbed truck was parked just outside the TARDIS.

Okay, she didn't expect _that_!

"Hello?" Martha said cautiously.

A man in a dirty uniform stood on the flatbed with others like him. Barrels filled a third of the truck. Dirt stained faces peered back at her and curiously at the TARDIS behind her.

One who looked like their commander lowered his bullhorn and stepped forward.

"You shouldn't be here," the man said mildly. 

"Tell me about it," Martha muttered.

"Pardon?" the man said, his eyebrow arched high. He pointed to the men behind him. "We're here to accompany you back to the silo, miss." He patted a rifle that hung off his shoulders.

"Silo?" Martha echoed. She wrinkled her nose. 

A faraway howl echoed to her.

"What the hell was that?" Martha exclaimed, retreating a step into the TARDIS. She about nearly closed the door. Moving or not, she felt safer inside the golden glow of the Doctor's beloved TARDIS.

The man shifted from foot to foot. His eyes were hooded, his mouth grim. "We're close to the silos. You'll be safe there with the others," he said curtly. 

Martha glanced over her shoulder where the Doctor and Ianto stood by, listening with interest.

"They _look_ human," Martha whispered. They weren't half felines or looked like locusts. That was something, wasn't it?

"It could be some sort of human colony," Ianto murmured.

The Doctor nodded, his lips pursed. "They could have something we could use." He looked at them both. "Silo?"

"Silo," Ianto voted.

Martha heard another distant howl. She did _not_ want to know what that was. She raised her hand. "Silo for me!"

The Doctor shouldered past her and grinned brightly at the men on the flatbed.

"Might I ask a favor?"

 

**Cardiff**   
**Present day…**

Owen was surprised to find that they were all in the same vehicle instead of being separated. They were shoved, prodded to climb into a dark SUV similar to theirs. A row of the same vehicles were parked in front and behind them. 

Handcuffed and squashed in the back with the girls, Owen studied the UNIT troopers getting into the other SUVs. He frowned as he spied one UNIT member carrying that damn spooky jar of Jack's in the SUV next to him.

The drive was long. Owen heard catches of conversations from their radio about the Ministry of Defense. At least it meant they weren't being taken far.

They all sat in the back of the SUV, unconsciously mimicking one another as they glared at the back of a red-capped soldier driving behind the bulletproof glass.

Owen gritted his teeth. The charges were very real. While it wasn't done on purpose, the Rift had opened, the UFOs and all the strange events did happen. Abbadon never happened for the world—thank God or otherwise they all would have been lined up and shot already—but it was hard to defend themselves from the rest of the charges.

To his left, Tosh sniffed.

Owen glanced over and to his dismay, Tosh's eyes were a little too bright. Owen then remembered.

"Ah," he murmured low. Alex had once slipped to him Tosh had been in UNIT's custody for over a year before he'd finally found her and offered her a way out.

"I can't go through that again," Tosh sniffled. She blinked rapidly and carefully wiped something from the corner of her right eye with her cuffed hands. "They'll throw us in separate cells and we'll never see each other again. We'll be buried so deep in their—"

Owen settled his hands on her closest knee without attracting their attention. He gave her knee a squeeze. Tosh squeezed her eyes shut and Owen had an overwhelming urge to kick the back of the driver's seat. He could feel Gwen pressing into him on his right. Gwen tilted her head a little to see Tosh, her forehead lined with silent worry.

"Gwen and I will raise a large enough stink if that ever happens," Owen murmured. "They wouldn't dare if they want peace and quiet."

"But—"

"Or we'll make enough noise so you can hear _us_ , no matter where you are," Gwen added in a hushed voice. She winked at Owen. "You know Owen can. He's very loud."

"I'm not loud," Owen pretended to grumble. "I'm outspoken."

" _Jack's_ outspoken," Gwen corrected in a false, bright voice. "You're just _loud_."

Tosh smiled tentatively. 

"Good girl," Owen murmured. He nudged her with his shoulder. Tosh nudged back with her knee.

"How did they get in anyway?" Gwen whispered. Her eyes kept darting over to their driver. Her cuffs clinked as she shifted in her seat.

"I would like to officially make a complaint," Owen muttered. "First this bloody Master is able to shut down our systems through our phone lines and then a whole army can come barreling in? Torchwood's security systems are useless."

"That's just it," Tosh said carefully. She watched the driver warily. Her lips barely moved. "They didn't break in. They had a Torchwood code."

"What?" Owen hissed. He glared out of the corner of his eye at Gwen. "Did you write down your code again?" Jack once found Gwen's tiny handwriting on a slip of paper that had slipped out of her purse. Everyone had to change their codes.

Gwen very firmly stepped on his foot. Ouch.

"No," Tosh whispered, her face bleak. "It wasn't Gwen's code." She took a deep breath.

"It was Jack's."

 

**Act III:** _"Does no one survive?"_   
**Malcassairo**   
**Year 100 trillion…**

_"We found them, Professor, just where you said they would be. It will be a few hours before we return."_

Chantho smiled to herself from the corner furthest from him and Old Woman. The Professor, despite his dismissal of the first signal, had asked the guards to seek out the strange reading with an almost eager air, as if he had been waiting for it all his life. She knew he could never ignore another life in such a dire state. No one should be left out there. 

"Did they say who they were?" the Professor asked. He paused from his footprint accelerator measurements. 

_"No, yet—"_

The Professor's eyes unexpectedly flared. "Find out!"

Chantho jumped. "Chan-professor-tho?" she stammered.

Even the guard sounded surprised and there was a pause in the speaker before an answer came. _"Very well…professor."_

The Professor seemed to have recovered from his 'spell'. He touched his forehead wearily. "Please," he said, subdued now. "Anyone who could have arrived in such a reading may be a man of science."

Chantho brightened, her previous misgivings gone. Another Professor perhaps? Chantho hoped so. It would mean her Professor might have a chance to rest finally.

 _"I will find out right away,"_ the guard promised, now equally as excited.

The Professor murmured his thanks and sat down heavily by the screen to the radiation room.

"Chan-professor-tho," Chantho approached carefully. Her Professor sat there, looking very far away. "Chan-now you rest? I can watch the particle meter-tho."

"Too much to do. Too much. Too many thoughts," the Professor replied, irritated. He shrugged away her hand on his arm. "All these thoughts in my head. Better that I work."

Thoughts?

"She is right. There will be time to work soon."

Chantho started. Her hearts hammered at the wispy voice that seemingly materialized behind her. She had forgotten Old Woman was there; she had been quiet for so long.

The Professor worried the red-studded ring on his finger. He turned towards the corner.

"Is it them? This beginning you've told me about?" The Professor pulled out a fob watch from his waistcoat and cradled the watch with both hands.

"Now?" he fretted. He stroked it carefully like the connection cables that strung along the walls of processors he had built inside the silo years before Old Woman came.

"Not yet!" Old Woman hissed. "He will see you."

Chantho wasn't sure what they were talking about. 

"But all these memories…"

" _Leave it_!"

To Chantho's surprise, the Professor did.

"It will all come to place like it should…"

"It gets so loud sometimes," the Professor said in a wistful whisper. "I can't have a thought to myself."

"I wish I could hear it," Old Woman sighed. "I searched so long so I could hear it."

They've talked in riddles since Old Woman's arrival. It made Chantho feel like a child again, like when she found her parents and their clan leader were bowed over the table, talking mysteriously about 'the disease'. They had lowered their voices when Chantho skipped into the room. 

The clan leader had told Chantho she was going on a nice trip to visit her sister on the far side of the conglomeration. Mother had wept then, but when she tried to embrace Chantho, Father hissed a warning and Mother had pulled away. They hissed back and forth about 'mutation' and again about 'the disease'. 

The next day, under the dying sun, Chantho kept looking over her shoulder at her parents as the clan leader with his trembling hands led her away. Mother had kept waving, even, Chantho suspected, when Mother could no longer see her.

It was the last time Chantho ever saw her parents again. 

The Professor seemed revived as if he had taken a long rest. He was away from the corner and Old Woman had retreated back to be part of the shadows. 

"Come, come, my dear! Work to do! Work to do!" the Professor gestured for her to come closer. "Utopia awaits!"

Chantho cheered up considerably and hurried over with her stack of data cards. As she beamed at her beloved Professor, Chantho thought she could hear Old Woman chuckle. Chantho shivered.

 

The end of the universe was apparently very dark and very empty. 

Ianto leaned against the ship, or the TARDIS as the two called it, and watched the Doctor and Martha Jones chatting it up like it was a relaxing sojourn. The soldiers, they had learned, were on route to find water and were given orders to find the new arrivals when they were sighted on someone's scanners. 

The makeshift band of soldiers had stopped, a line of armed hungry looking men like a fence standing on top of the flatbed with the TARDIS and them behind them. The men stood on alert, their hands gripping strange yet oddly familiar rifles as they guarded two soldiers who were climbing down a deep ditch. A headlight had glimmered on a small stream of water.

It was depressing watching dirty-faced men trying to sop up every bit of moisture from the rocky slope and fill the barrel with what they could, with what looked like only trickles. Ianto looked away as the two soldiers carried the barrel between them as if it were made of glass, beaming as if it were diamonds. Ianto turned his focus instead on the Doctor and Martha Jones.

There were times when Ianto felt a shot of irritation as he observed both the Doctor and Martha study their surroundings with open fascination. It was like they didn't remember this trip was not by choice.

Ianto shoved his numb hands deep into his trouser pockets. It was cold here, wherever here was. No one asked. No one, except for Ianto, seemed to care. The other two also didn't seem bothered by the fact that white icy clouds of condensation punctuated their conversation.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ianto knew he was getting looks from both time traveler and comp—God, he couldn't even _think_ of the word. His mouth soured and he thought he could hear Suzie jeering at him.

Ianto knew, like every Torchwood employee in any of the other branches, this was a prime opportunity. To time travel, with the _Doctor_ no less, was a unique opportunity to know more about the enemy. 

Wait. 

Jack had frequently insisted the Doctor wasn't the enemy of Torchwood. Of course, this was _before_ Ianto found out the Doctor had left Jack on a dying space station. It was all Ianto could do not to punch him again.

Under his shoulders, the TARDIS inexplicably rumbled, low and barely discernible through Ianto's suit, but it was unmistakably a growl.

The Doctor glanced over his shoulder at Ianto. He frowned mildly as if he heard, but that wasn't possible. Was it?

"Lieutenant Geno-Kafe, if you please," a young soldier introduced himself briskly. He held a clipboard (odd how a trillion years later, office supplies seemed to be the dominant remaining technology) with a hand that had only three blackened fingers. "I need your names please for the passenger manifest, of course."

"Of course," the Doctor echoed. He arched an eyebrow over his shoulder to Martha. He smiled brightly at the lieutenant as if he was a host checking his reservation for dinner. "The Doctor." The alien peered at the clipboard. He pursed his lips when Geno-Kafe just stared.

"Doctor…who?" the soldier asked slowly.

Martha snickered when the time traveler scratched his ear.

"Blimey, no matter what time or place in the universe," the alien muttered. "Look, just Doctor. Simple enough, yes? And these are my companions Martha Jones and Ianto Jo—"

"I am _not_ one of your Companions!" Ianto snapped. Martha jumped and stared.

The Doctor didn't even blink. "Right, Martha Jones. He's," the Doctor stuck his thumb towards Ianto, "a hitchhiker. A rather talkative one. A bit ungrateful. Talk, talk, talk…"

Martha cleared her throat.

"Oh yes, Jones, Ianto Jones."

As the soldier scribbled it down with what looked like a piece of charcoal, the Doctor glanced over at Ianto.

"There's a story here that you _will_ tell me, Ianto Jones," the Doctor said low and Ianto couldn't help but bristle.

"Look there, Doctor," Martha suddenly pointed out, drawing the alien's attention away. She indicated to something to their left. Martha stared enchanted at it like it was a sparkling gem. "Is that a city?" She held onto the TARDIS to brace herself and craned her neck above the flatbed guardrail to see better.

The earth looked like it was split apart, cleaved open to reveal the honey-colored rock beneath them. An odd mist shrouded it, giving it an ethereal look. 

"What is that?" Ianto asked despite himself. He thought he could see tiny openings dotting the rock.

The Doctor looked ridiculously pleased that Ianto asked. He beamed at Ianto before he squinted to where Martha was pointing. "I daresay it was a city or a hive or a nest. Or a conglomeration." The Doctor nodded to himself, his eyes pinned to the landscape. "Like it was grown," the alien mused out loud. He directed their attention to something as the mist cleared. "But look there, that's like pathways or roads." The gleam in the alien's eyes dulled a fraction. "There must have been some sort of life here before them." The Doctor shrugged with a blasé air that didn't look too convincing to Ianto. "Long ago."

Martha didn't try to hide her expression. Her mouth crinkled downwards, her eyes sad. "All those people?" Martha glanced over her shoulder at the soldiers. Even the soldiers seemed subdued, as if out of respect to the strange, empty city.

The Doctor shook his head. "They were not from here originally," he guessed. The Doctor nodded towards the city. "I suspect this civilization was long gone before humans ever came here."

Ianto watched as the mist swirled around the delicate looking bridges and ledges. There was no wind, yet the mist wrapped itself around the structures like a grieving mother. 

"What killed it?" Ianto whispered. His eyes burned and he was thankful the mist thickened and concealed the strange structure.

"Time," the Doctor answered, somber. "Just time. Everything's dying now. All the great civilizations have gone."

It was like something was here, staring through the glow of mist and perhaps age, which compelled them to lower their voices; like the long rows of headstones in the dusk.

"This isn't just night," the Doctor went on. He pointed towards the sky. Ianto and Martha both tilted their heads back. What looked like endless black stared back at them.

"All the stars have burnt up and faded away into nothing."

A heaviness sat in Ianto's gut. This was a glimpse of a future he never thought to see, couldn't begin to imagine. There had been little musing on the end of the universe; the future was too far of a fantastic thought to even try. But here they were, literally a hop from the 21st century and suddenly, this fantastic future was a bit lackluster now.

"But what about the people? Does no one survive?" Martha lamented.

"Some have," Ianto murmured. He watched the soldiers—it was the only way to describe their precise actions and care—as they moved the barrels of collected water to the end of the flatbed closest to the cab. The soldiers gathered around the water, their weapons pointed out.

"Is that it then?" Martha asked. She sounded close to tears. "A few humans collecting night dew to survive?"

"I suppose," the Doctor told her. His eyes were on the men climbing back up onto the truck. "We have to hope life will find a way." The Doctor smiled encouragingly at both of them. "Humans are a very stubborn race."

"Quite literally," Ianto deadpanned as he pointed to a tiny figure speeding across the bottom of a ravine by the ancient city. 

The three blinked at the sprinter. A beat later, a rather intimidating crowd of tiny, roaring people with spears and torches were running right behind him.

"Is it me or does that look like a hunt? Come on!" The Doctor, without warning, leapt off the truck.

"You there! What are you doing?" 

"Running, apparently!" Martha called out. "Doctor, wait!" There were a couple of calls thrown at them, but she was focused on the Doctor. "Come on, Jones! We have to keep him out of trouble!"

" _We_?" Ianto yelped, but he found himself stumbling away from the TARDIS. Martha grabbed Ianto's sleeve before he realized it and after a rather ungraceful leap off the flatbed, Ianto found himself skidding on pebbles, chasing after the Doctor. 

 

**Somewhere**   
**Present day…**

Gwen could feel Owen jostle against her as their SUV rolled over another bump before finally stopping. She grimaced. Three to the backseat and handcuffed had not been ideal. It had been a long ride, long enough, Gwen had found herself drifting. At least, she supposed with a wry grin, they hadn't thrown them into the boot of their car.

"What's so funny?" Owen hissed out of the corner of his mouth.

"Nothing," Gwen answered him, keeping her voice low. "Where do you think we are?" She shrugged sheepishly. "I lost track of the lights and turns. It felt like we crossed water at one point."

Owen glanced over to Tosh who was resting her head on his shoulder. He stared hard at the back of the driver's seat, at their tinted windows, before he turned back to Gwen.

"Hawaii?" Owen bared his teeth at her in one of those cheeky grins he always made after finding Ianto's hidden stash of the good biscuits. "Did you bring your bikini?"

Gwen dug her heel to the toes of his shoe. Before Owen could howl, Tosh's cuffed hands smashed over his opening mouth.

"Keep your voice down," Tosh whispered sharply. "Don't make it worse than it already is!"

"No, because it can get _far_ worse," Owen drawled. He rolled his eyes.

Gwen could see Tosh glaring at him. Owen grinned toothily back at Tosh until she scoffed and look away, to which Owen gave Gwen a quick shake of his head. He had lost count, too. Gwen had noticed his lips moving as they counted what felt like ramps and bridges. 

Gwen watched warily as their driver climbed out of the vehicle. The door on her side opened but before Gwen could consider tackling her guard, she saw four others on her side, all armed. 

"You first," Owen offered, his mouth twisted to a grin. 

Gwen shot him a glare before wiggling out of her seat. She could hear Tosh and Owen climbing out behind her.

"Bloody hell…"

Gwen nodded, mutely agreeing with Owen. She stared at the almost ivory colored, austere-looking building in front of her. The measured clops of rows of horse guards rang on both sides of her. The street was lined with smaller, more regal looking structures, all flanked with their own cavalry. The building they stood before was the only modern looking one and stood intimidating in its height. It filled her entire view with countless dark windows and pale stone. 

"Tosh," Gwen swallowed. "I take it this isn't UNIT."

Tosh didn't reply. The skin on Gwen's arms rippled to goose bumps. 

"Whitehall Street. Fuck, we're in London," Owen rasped low. "Christ, is this what I think it is?"

Gwen wasn't sure. She gulped in reply. She'd only seen the building on the telly. 

"MoD," Tosh murmured with a certainty of having been here before.

Shit. Gwen felt Owen and Tosh lining up besides her to gaze at the stark structure that seemed to grow higher with each glance. It finally hit Gwen. This wasn't a police station or some secret office, this was the bloody Ministry of Defense!

The entrance opened and three people in dark, black suits walked out.

"Are we here for a funeral or an inquisition?" Owen muttered from behind. "I'm underdressed." His Adam's apple bobbed. Owen looked very unhappy. Gwen silently agreed. She lifted her chin up when the three drew closer, two men and one woman. They stopped in front of her.

"No need for introductions. I know who you are," the woman said evenly, unimpressed. It looked like she was the leader, the others deferring to her. "My name is Katherine Stewart. I am the executive assistant to the defense minister."

Gwen's eyes widened when she saw the woman was carrying folders with Torchwood's stamp emblazed across. Bloody hell! How did Stewart get these? She darted a look over to Owen and Tosh. They both gaped at them as well.

"Three," Stewart murmured. She frowned and looked behind Gwen. "I was told there were four. Who's missing?"

Gwen and the others clamped their mouths shut. She swore under her breath when the woman sorted through the folders she held close to her chest and flipped open to reveal a very young-looking Ianto.

"Ianto Jones," the woman muttered. "Formerly of Torchwood London. Where is he?" Stewart loomed over Tosh, who just glared back.

"Sabbatical," Owen piped up. "Thought he’d try his hand on a musical. Doing some sort of—Oi!" Owen stumbled forward a step. He spun around and glowered at the soldier.

"You're not helping," Gwen hissed.

"Was I supposed to?" Owen shot back.

"We had readings from their headquarters," a colonel stepped forward. "We've broke into their CCTV archives—"

"What?" Tosh yelped, outraged. 

"Tosh!" Gwen nudged her and Tosh clamped her mouth shut.

"It looks like Jones was with the Doctor."

"Ah." Stewart gave them a lazy smile that made Gwen want to vomit. "Interesting turn of events."

Stewart nodded curtly to the UNIT personnel standing behind them as she pulled off her expensive looking sunglasses. Her eyes looked cool as she considered the three before her.

"Well then, it'll just be three. Mr. Saxon would like to see you now, Torchwood."

Bugger.

 

**Act IV:** _"If we get to the silo, we'll be safe!"_   
**Malcassairo**   
**Year 100 trillion…**

The Doctor, Ianto discovered, was a very fast runner. Even at full pelt, passing Martha Jones who was muttering something about a conspiracy to get her into trainers, Ianto could only reach him when the alien practically collided with the poor running soul.

"I got you! I got you!" the Doctor assured the gasping man as he collapsed into the time traveler's arms. 

"Help me! They're hunting me! They're hunting me!" The man was almost shrill as he babbled to the Doctor. His face was white underneath the streaks of dirt that ran into his collar mingled with his sweat.

Ianto could hear the combined roar of dozens of men, no, _monsters_ as they raced over the rise towards their prey. He could see the maniac gleam in their eyes, the glint of pointy teeth. Different year, different place, but Ianto recognized the inhumane glimmer in their eyes.

Cannibals.

Suddenly, it was like he could feel the edge of the meat cleaver under his throat again. His blood went ice cold. Ianto could smell the rancid taste of _not-meat_ thick in the air, as pungent as when he had opened the fridge in their basement. 

Ianto's gun was out before he realized it, aimed for whom he knew must be the leader; his sneer marked him as he led the swarm, his tongue flicking out in obscene hunger.

"No, Ianto Jones, don't!"

The cry came too late. Ianto fired when he thought he heard a whisper in his ear that it was time for him to be bled. The flinch bolted to his fingers and he fired well before the Doctor could finish his command.

His aim was true. 

The bullet whipped the cannibal's head back, so suddenly, the others hadn't realized until he fell to the ground in a spray of blood. When the leader vanished, they all stopped and looked back.

"You shouldn't have shot him," the Doctor hissed, but Ianto didn't listen. He stared as one female, possibly the mate, crouched down by their fallen leader.

"Oi. I'm getting a little sick and tired of all this run—" Martha skidded to a halt by them. She stared at the group standing meters in front of them.

Ianto swallowed hard when the crouched female snarled, her eyes fixed on Ianto. 

Martha took a step back, her eyes on Ianto's set expression. Her gaze trailed down to the gun he held and drifted over to what everyone was staring at.

"You…you killed him?" Martha breathed, her eyes wide when she saw the body. She glanced back to the Doctor nervously.

"Is it standard procedure," the Doctor nearly snarled behind him, "for Torchwood to shoot first?"

"It was self defense," Ianto shot back, but he kept his gaze on the cannibals. 

"He was human," the Doctor seethed. "They're _all_ human."

No, they weren't, Ianto wanted to correct him, but his gaze was caught by the female's baneful glare. 

"They were hunting me!" the man was still babbling. He wouldn't shut up. "He saved my life!"

"Doctor," Martha said slowly, her eyes glued to them as she backed a step. "We should go."

The cannibals studied them like cats stalking prey. Their eyes collectively narrowed, their heads tracking them.

"The s-silo! I was trying to get to the silo! If we get to the silo, we'll be safe!"

"There's a vehicle a few minutes behind us," the Doctor tried to calm the man down. "It's going to the silo."

The man sobbed something about Utopia then staggered away on trembling feet.

As they walked backwards, they kept their eyes on the cannibals. One of the hunters in the group raised its head and bared its blood stained teeth at them. Ianto tensed and his gun went up again. The predator snarled.

"There will be no more killing," the Doctor said tightly. "You will _not_ shoot."

"No," Ianto croaked. "Not unless I have to." Ianto didn't lower his gun. He stared in challenge at the cannibal. It snapped its teeth at him, hissing, "Humani" before ducking its head.

The man wasn't encouraged by the cannibal's reaction. He plucked at the Doctor's sleeves nervously. "Please. We have to leave before they—"

The first crunch stopped the man. They all turned around to stare at the group, only to turn away seconds later.

"Let's go," the Doctor murmured. His face screwed up into disgust.

Yes, Ianto thought dully as he felt Martha take him by the elbow.

Before they look for dessert.

 

**London**   
**Present day…**

_…thrum-thrum…_

He thought he could feel someone tasting him, cool lips brushing across his mouth, as he bled something other than blood out.

"…still taste the Vortex in you." An even colder hand settled on his head. "Like looking into the heart of the TARDIS."

TARDIS?

His mind searched, seeking, but there was no gentle answer nudging at his mind. He wasn't in the TARDIS. Wrong or not, he missed being within her golden walls. 

Another press of dry lips to his mouth, a bit more demanding and he groaned as he felt both body and mind invaded, the boundaries tested. He was being _drained_.

"No…" He tried to push away the presence in his head but discovered he couldn't move his limbs. What?

"…waste…to give such a revolting creature like you the gift of time and space, locked forever."

Something was rifling through his head like a photo album, pictures pulled out and never put back in place. He couldn't remember anymore if he was here today, yesterday or tomorrow.

He heard a tsk. "You have been busy." Hot breath trailed up his throat. "All this time, rejuvenating forever…unlimited supply…"

Riddles. Everything was in riddles. He couldn't understand. He stirred uneasily when he realized he couldn't open his eyes.

"…octor?" he murmured. 

There was a chuckle by his ear. "Yes, your _Doctor_ is here." What felt like a poor facsimile of a caress stroked across his heavy head. "Do you still hear it? The drumming?"

Yes, he could, like a whisper behind his own heart.

"…was going to just send them to the Himalayas but I doubted young Jones would have gone." A laugh. A sharp bite that drew blood made him flinch. "The young man seemed quite attached to my Companion."

Another laugh; a crueler one that made him shiver. 

"I'm sure he has other things on his mind right now." 

He frowned, stirred as he tried to understand. He felt something cold probe his mind. He flinched.

"N-no," he croaked. 

"Stop fighting me."

He felt something crack around his wrists and suddenly one arm was free. He swung. His head slammed back hard. 

Claws gripped his face. "You would betray the only one who came back for you?" Fingers dug into his jaw drawing blood. "…vile abomination…thought you were the factor. Sailed the TARDIS high above Canary Wharf with the breach but she never wanted to absorb your Vortex. I tore open the breach with your Vortex but she didn't take it. She flew off. She only wanted to get away from you." 

Canary Wharf. Lisa. _Ianto_.

A harsh laugh vibrated off his ear. "She had flown all the way to the end of the universe to get rid of you. I should have known."

His eyes struggled to open but then he felt the icy sensation of something thick coursing into his veins.

"Remember this cocktail?" a voice asked. Hands grasped his wrists firmly. "Made it especially for you and your damn accelerated healing."

He flailed as his body grew heavier and heavier. He felt something painful slip into him and the same burn that signaled the beginning. No…

"N-no!" 

He bucked and felt someone roll off him. His eyes snapped open to unfamiliar walls and familiar coral, the same cool dais underneath his body. 

Panic flared before the memory of climbing into the SUV returned. Something wasn't right. There was something happening to the Doctor. He felt the last binding on his other wrist snap. This…this wasn't…this wasn't…

Liquid ice fervently flooded his veins until it became nearly impossible to breathe. He gasped, his upper body flopping back down onto the dais.

"…octor…" he weakly called out. Help me. His mouth failed to form the plea.

"Right here."

He didn't understand. Why was the Doctor doing nothing? Wrong. This…this was wrong.

"No, _you're_ wrong, Captain. It's time to fix that. To fix everything for good. You will help me set the future right. The universe will be repaired." A kiss that drew blood jolted him to a few more seconds of higher awareness. "Increase the dosage." It sounded like he was talking to someone else.

"But anymore and he'll—"

"I gave you an order!"

The protester was shocked to meekness. "Yes, sir."

"Minister?" A timid voice followed a knock.

Hands curled on his shoulders at the intrusion. "I said I was not to be disturbed!"

"I-I'm sorry, sir, but the three are up here for you."

"Watch them!"

Hurried footsteps signaled a quick retreat.

Blood roared in his ears as his chest grew tighter. His body felt leaden, his eyes glued shut.

"When he starts breathing again, you may proceed. Then have them deliver the cells up to the _Valiant_."

"When he starts breathing again…sir?"

"Just do it."

"Yes, sir."

A finger stroked his increasingly numbing cheek.

"Have to go," a voice murmured. "Be good." There was a laugh as if the Doctor had made a joke. "Stay right where you are and let them take forever away."

All voices fled and he felt himself sinking and sinking, his chest a solid immovable rock. He felt his lungs petering out, the last of the air he could draw in. As he made his final exhale, he formed only one word.

"Ianto…"

And then, for the fifth time so far, Jack Harkness died.

 

**Malcassairo**   
**Year 100 trillion…**

The Doctor ignored him as they made their way back to the flatbed, which suited Ianto just fine. He dared the Doctor to say anything as he kept looking back over his shoulder, his gun still clutched with both hands. The sour stench of rotting meat clung to his skin and Ianto desperately wanted a shower.

The soldiers had remained where they were, guarding their barrels of water. They demanded to see their teeth before letting them climb back onto the truck. The commander then told them in no uncertain terms that no one would wait for them if they tried it again.

"There will be no next time," the Doctor promised, but his hard eyes were on Ianto. Ianto chose to ignore him, his shoulders rounded and hunched up against the damn blue police box that wouldn't go anywhere.

Ianto didn't care what the Doctor thought of him. He didn't care for Padra—poor man stuttered it three times before he got his own name right—who was sitting with his back against the TARDIS. Padra kept muttering, "They were going to eat me. They were going to eat me."

Martha kept looking over at him and Ianto's only regret was that he could see wariness in her demeanor now.

Padra kept looking nervously over the railing for the cannibals. The soldiers, now on heightened alert, watched the barren landscape, their jaws clenched, their rifles held tightly to their bodies.

At a distant howl, Padra wrapped his arms over his head and whimpered.

"Don't eat me. Don't eat me."

Martha took a step closer to the Doctor. The Doctor glanced down at her, murmured something, and dropped an arm around her shoulders.

Ianto just leaned against the TARDIS away from everyone, his gun holstered again within his jacket. He stared dully at the road behind them. It felt like the shadows were watching him. The distant howls sounded like they were coming closer.

The sky was too dark and too close. It hung low to the land, a suffocating blanket of nothingness. The dry land the truck rolled over was too empty. There was no trees, no grass, not even anything resembling a rodent scampered by. And the howls kept filling the air around him and all Ianto could think about was how they had all huddled over the corpse like frenzied wolves.

Bile rose up his mouth and Ianto had the strangest sensation of running even though he was standing still. The cleaver edge glided under his jaw again. He was afraid to breathe, as if an inhale would bring the blade closer to his jugular. 

Ianto huddled closer to the TARDIS until he realized he could feel a door move under his shoulder. He glanced behind him and saw the thin line of light, golden light from within. Hesitantly, Ianto gave the door a push and to his surprise, it opened. 

Ianto slipped in quietly, shutting the door behind him. He didn't hear anyone call after him, not that he would care if they did. He rested his upper body on the doors and swallowed convulsively until the queasy feeling passed.

Around him, there was a soft coo welcoming him. It sounded muted compared to before and Ianto wondered if it was due to whatever it was the Master had infected her with.

Her?

"God, Jack, now you have _me_ referring to it as a 'her'," Ianto muttered. He straightened from the door and walked cautiously to the giant standing column. He was afraid to touch it. So many knobs and dials that looked oddly like retro radio parts or airplanes from the Great War. Lord, Jack would—

Like a physical blow, the sense of _loss_ , as acute as when he had lost Lisa, struck him. It physically _hurt_ , to the point Ianto thought he was having a heart attack. He staggered, a hand to his chest, past the controls, the settee and stumbled out into the hallway by the time his vision cleared. 

Ianto stared down the corridor in either direction, slumped back against the double doors that had mysteriously opened before. Just hours before, he had been so sure he would find Jack here, had hoped that this was all just an elaborate, clever ruse and that he would find Jack somewhere here in this ship.

But he wasn't and that simple plan, that hope, had spiraled into something so twisted Ianto couldn't see a way to unravel them.

Ianto felt dizzy. He braced his hands on his knees and breathed slowly through his mouth. Ianto raised gritty eyes towards the hallway and suddenly thought of the one room he wanted to be in right now.

"Where's his room?" Ianto whispered. He found it felt natural to ask the TARDIS.

Sure enough, a few doors down, one opened.

"Thank you," Ianto breathed. He brushed his fingers alongside the walls, disturbed to find the surface was cooler, muted. The hum was barely there. And it was strange that its absence could make him feel so sad.

Jack's room was exactly how he had first seen it. Ianto didn't go to the bed even though his knees threatened to buckle when he'd arrived. Instead, Ianto wearily opened the closet and there it was: the dark grey RAF greatcoat. It still hung in the center of the space, alone, the cap sitting below.

A shrine, Ianto realized as he stared at the outfit, forlorn when not sitting across the broad shoulders of its owner. This room, like the other rooms, was an empty shrine, the only alms it ever received were most likely just memories.

Ianto sank into the compartment, behind the coat. He felt a little bit like a boy, huddled in the closet because it hurt to hear his mother in such pain every night. 

The wardrobe barely fitted him and his shoulders properly. He had to hunch forward a little, let his legs dangle out. 

The greatcoat brushed against his cheek as he readjusted his seating. Ianto settled the cap on his lap. Absently, he stroked the cover, polishing a smudge off the brim with the edge of his sleeve.

Back and forth the greatcoat swayed, fine wool against his face like a caress. There was a tease of Jack filling his nostrils. Ianto screwed up his face and pressed his mouth together into a thin line. Ianto knew he should leave it alone, but after a few moments, he pulled it off its hanger and buried his face into the coat with little hesitation.

God, it still _smelled_ like Jack and it killed Ianto to realize the scent was faint. Even his essence felt far away.

Ianto fumbled around for a handkerchief when everything began to blur. He sniffed loudly as he emptied his pockets for a square of linen, stopping when he felt leather and paper instead.

The wrist strap and Jack's simple note laid folded and crumpled in his cupped hands. Ianto stared at the soft leather strap. He remembered vaguely cramming it into his pockets before he ran. Ianto's face crumpled a little and he pressed the strap to his forehead, his eyes shut. The strong spicy, musky scent was stronger. A sob broke free between clenched teeth.

God, he wanted Jack. He wanted him back. He wanted to see Jack safe. He wanted Jack here to tell him _he_ was safe. Ianto bit his lower lip. He wanted to scream Jack's name, beat his fists within the tight confines of the wardrobe, scream and beg the TARDIS to send him back. He couldn't be here. He didn't _want_ to be here. He didn't belong here. He belonged with Jack. It was unbearable, agonizing, to be so far apart from the one he lo—

Ianto's eyes filled. Christ, he was a _fool_. He had told Jack it was never about sex. It never was, but too late, _too late_ , Ianto now knew what it really was. Ianto squeezed the wrist strap to his chest with one hand, the greatcoat with another.

"Harkness, you bastard," Ianto choked into Jack's greatcoat. "You made me fall in love with you."

 

**Act V:** _"It's good apparently."_   
**Malcassairo**   
**Year 100 trillion…**

Someone cleared his or her throat outside his haven.

"That's not the usual response Jack gets," a voice mused dryly outside the wardrobe.

Ianto flinched. He heard a sympathetic hiss outside when he bumped his head to the back of the closet. "Who's there?" he cracked even though he knew who it was. Ianto cringed. Hastily, he wiped at his eyes with the heel of his hand.

A scoff. "Well, it isn't a hitchhiker, I assure you. One is more than enough."

Ianto flung the wardrobe doors wider and felt a little mean satisfaction when the Doctor hopped back to avoid getting struck. 

"I'm not a hitchhiker!" Ianto snapped, too irritated at the interruption to care his eyes were a little red-rimmed. "I didn't _want_ to be here!"

"Yes, you made it very clear before," the Doctor drawled. He gave Ianto that cheeky grin again. God, he wanted to box the alien, but no, no, mustn't piss off the driver, not one with a history of leaving people behind. Cardiff, Ianto decided as he glowered at the Doctor. Wait until Cardiff, _then_ punch him again.

"How did you get in here?"

Ianto frowned at him. "The outside door was unlocked," Ianto defended himself.

The Doctor frowned back. "Unlocked?" he echoed. The Doctor looked towards the ceiling, exasperated. "And you wouldn't let me in without a key!"

The TARDIS did a cross between a purr and a trill of apology.

Baffled, Ianto leaned forward from the closet and copied the Doctor. He blinked towards the high ceiling. "The ship understands you?"

The Doctor shot him a look. "Of course. It's _my_ ship." He sniffed delicately. "She apparently likes you though, Torchwood."

Ianto glowered. "I'm not apologizing for what I did!"

The Doctor looked disappointed at him. "No…you wouldn't, would you?" His face shuttered.

It irked Ianto that a tiny part of him _did_ feel like apologizing. Ianto slumped back into the wardrobe. He scowled.

"That young man out there told Martha that we will be arriving at their silo in forty minutes." The Doctor tilted his head. "Aren't you going to come out of the closet?"

"Again?" Ianto muttered.

"Pardon?"

"Nothing." Ianto sniffed loudly and carefully climbed out of the wardrobe. He cradled Jack's greatcoat and slipped the hanger under it. He returned it to its honorary spot, the cap below it, his hand brushing the outerwear to smooth out the folds. His chest ached touching the greatcoat, unworn. It felt empty, depleted. He turned back towards the Doctor, Jack's wrist strap folded and sandwiched protectively between his hands.

The Doctor was holding up the yellow Post-it that must have dropped when Ianto got out of the wardrobe. The Doctor's eyes scanned the simple note over and over, his mouth pursed.

Ianto could no longer feel anger, just bone deep exhaustion. He deflated.

"He thought it was you," Ianto told him tiredly. It took too much to accuse him again. "Jack thought you came back for him."

The Doctor winced, but didn't correct Ianto this time. He just lifted up the note. When Ianto nodded, the alien folded it carefully and slipped it into his trouser pockets. The Doctor lifted his head, mouth opened to speak. Then, the Doctor paused.

"Jack left that with you?" Doctor nodded towards something in his grasp.

Ianto blinked. He looked down. His palm automatically curled around the wrist strap he was still holding onto as tight as he would a talisman. Ianto wordlessly nodded.

The Doctor extended out his palm.

Ianto hesitated, his hands curling around it tighter.

"I promise I will give it back and I won't switch it for a banana," the Doctor said lightly, his eyes twinkling. 

"What?" Ianto was about to hand it over, but he jerked back. "B-banana?" he stammered. He squinted, eying the Doctor's open palm suspiciously.

"Just a small joke." The Doctor smiled.

Ianto narrowed his eyes but reluctantly handed it over. "Very small," he remarked dryly. 

The Doctor's smile faded somewhat and his left eyebrow twitched. "Yes, you're quite the happy fellow, aren't you?"

Ianto clamped his mouth shut before he said anything that would pitch him out into a pit of cannibals.

The Doctor examined the wrist strap, turning it in his hands. He treated it like an artifact, cradling it, his fingers barely pressing hard enough to leave a mark. He hemmed and hawed and nodded to himself. Then, he looked up at Ianto. His face pulled a broad grin.

"In all my centuries," the Doctor murmured. He handed back the wrist strap to Ianto, who immediately folded it back into his pocket.

"He would have come back."

Ianto's head shot up. "What?"

The Doctor waved a hand towards his pocket. "The Jack Harkness I knew never would have taken it off. He even slept with it and nothing else. Gave Rose quite a start when he came into the eating area for breakfast prancing about as naked as the day he was born."

Ianto bit back a smile. That sounded like Jack. He'd never—Hold on.

"You've seen him naked?" Ianto glowered.

The Doctor nodded, oblivious as he thought back with a smile. "Took him _days_ before he got out of that habit and it was only because the TARDIS would lock him in his room until he got dressed. The Captain used to say I did it, like his undress would ever bother me! Why on Targas, even wearing glasses would have been considered an insult and Rose wouldn't come out of her room for days while we were there and then Jack made the silly mistake of wearing his wrist strap and got arrested for—"

"Doctor," Ianto interrupted when he recognized the alien was about to go off on another topic. It seemed to happen a lot. He mentally flailed when the time traveler stopped, his face expectant. "You said he…I mean, Jack…" Ianto fumbled.

The Doctor's face softened and his eyes looked warm. "He was planning on coming back." The Doctor gestured again towards Ianto's pocket. "To you, apparently." The alien gave a smile that was not as huge as before but just as bright. "Jack was very attached to that thing. He wouldn't have left it behind."

Ianto smiled back tentatively. He slipped a hand in his pocket and stroked the supple material with his thumb. He looked around the room they stood in. Ianto turned towards the wardrobe and stared at the greatcoat. Slowly, it sank in.

"You've kept all his things." 

The Doctor looked a little sad, like his father when Ianto left for London. 

"I keep all my companions' rooms as they left them," the Doctor said quietly. "In case our paths cross again."

Ianto's smile faltered.

"There it is again."

Ianto's brows knitted together.

The Doctor studied Ianto with a scrutiny that made him flinch.

"You don't like the word _companion_ ," the Doctor observed. "Why?"

Ianto set his jaw. Very deliberately, he turned around and took care to straighten the coat and started to close the wardrobe.

"I said I _will_ know."

It wasn't a threat. It wasn't a command. It was just a statement, but the knowing tone, too much like the Master, too much like the voice he knew haunted Jack. Ianto tensed and the doors shut harder than expected.

There was a sharp intake of breath. "Jack," the Doctor guessed.

Ianto kept his hands on the wardrobe and perhaps it was the only thing supporting him up. He bit his lower lip.

" _Tell me_." The command was razor thin.

Ianto's head hung low on his chest. He shook it. Ianto swallowed. He stared hard at his hands flexing on the closet doors.

"The Master." The Doctor was far too clever. When Ianto flinched, he heard a deep sigh. "Ah, Jack, my old friend. Oh, I'm sorry."

"They called him the…" Ianto rasped, his throat tight. "When they were in London, they called J-jack the…they called him the Doctor's c-com—"

"That's enough." The Doctor's voice was suspiciously gruff. "No need to say anything more."

Ianto nodded, his head still low. He blinked rapidly at the floor. 

"He hurt Jack," Ianto whispered.

The Doctor's voice hardened. "We'll get him back."

The promise, if anything, made it harder to see. "How?" Ianto choked. "We're at the end of the universe! The end of _everything_ and we're just sitting here…b-blogging!" Ianto thumped the closet and dropped down heavily onto the bed. He stared up wearily at the time traveler.

The Doctor offered a grim smile. "There are some ideas." The Doctor looked around his ship. "I prefer not leaving her behind in order to do it, but if there's no other way…" The Doctor sat down next to Ianto. It struck Ianto the Doctor must be far older than he told anyone. His eyes were far too worn for his face.

"So," Ianto began. He was almost afraid to ask. "You and Jack…I mean…"

"By companion," the Doctor cut in quietly, "I meant friend, a fellow traveler." He cocked his head. "Nothing more."

"Oh." Ianto stared at his clasped hands over his knees. "Oh. Right. Okay. So you and Martha—"

The Doctor shook his head slowly.

Ianto stared at his hands again. This, _this_ was the Doctor Jack first met, this should have been the Doctor Jack reunited with.

"Why is the Master doing this to Jack?"

"Mostly likely to get to me," the Doctor sighed, "although how he knew about Jack is a mystery to me."

Ianto dropped his face into his hands. He tried not to think about what was happening—or is it _happened_?—to Jack. 

The Doctor gave him an almost paternal pat on the back. "It will be alright."

Ianto pulled out the wrist strap. He gave the folded material a gentle squeeze.

"He'd really come back for this?" Ianto mused wistfully out loud.

"I'm certain of it." The Doctor considered him for a moment.

"You could put it on if you like."

Startled, Ianto glanced over. "It doesn't work anymore. Jack said it burnt out in 1869 when he left the space station to find you." He held tightly to the material as he watched the Doctor poke at the strap. 

"Doesn't matter." The Doctor plucked the leather strap out of Ianto's grasp and briskly wrapped it around Ianto's left wrist. He clapped and beamed at Ianto.

"There you go! Better?"

Ianto lifted his wrist up. It was heavier than his watch, yet not as heavy as he would expect. And it felt warm, like Jack's hand curled around him. And it still smelled like Jack, too. 

A smile shyly spread across Ianto's face. "Actually, it does." He glanced over. His smile dropped. 

"No need to look so smug about it though!" Ianto huffed and levered off the bed.

"Who's smug?" the Doctor blinked innocently. "I was right though, wasn't I? Of course, I was!"

"Doctor!" Martha popped her head in. "We're almost there." She nodded behind her. "We should step out of this box. I was getting a funny look when I went in here."

"Probably wondering what three people are doing in a tiny box," Ianto muttered.

The Doctor started. He spun on his heels to stare at him. 

"You've been working for Jack Harkness far too long, Torchwood." Another slap to his back that sent Ianto stumbling forward a step, the Doctor stuck his hands in his pockets and sauntered out of the room.

"What was _that_ supposed to mean?" Ianto grumbled. He caught Martha looking at him. He offered her a tentative smile.

"Come on," Martha suggested, returning the gesture with no trace of rancor from before. "It isn't good to leave the Doctor alone. He could get in trouble walking into a room."

"Somehow, that's not very reassuring," Ianto muttered but followed Martha out. He paused, looking back at the wardrobe. Idly rubbing the strap on his wrist, Ianto chased after her.

 

**Malcassairo**   
**Year 100 trillion…**

Stepping out into the cold air was a shock. It had been warm inside the TARDIS and the sudden temperature drop made all three of them shiver. Ianto tucked his hands into his pockets. 

"Ooh, I should have had a spot of tea before we left," Martha complained as she blew into her hands. "It's cold!"

"No good," the Doctor murmured as he watched their approach to what looked like a compound. "The TARDIS is barely functioning. It wouldn't be able to brew anything right now."

Martha's face fell. "Oh."

The Doctor glanced over to Ianto. "The old girl usually makes a lovely cup of tea," he told Ianto with a bit of regret. "Good scones, too. That would have hit the spot right now."

"Jack makes good tea, too," Ianto replied absently as he patted the police box in case he'd offended her. "Makes the perfect Ceylon."

The Doctor scoffed. "Jack Harkness? He couldn't make tea properly when he was with Rose and I!" The Doctor sniffed. "Everyone always scalds the water too much. At least the TARDIS boiled the right temperature for tea."

"Jack knew, too," Ianto glowered. "He didn't need your TARDIS. He had something else. It's called a kettle. Heard of it?"

"Oi, oi!" Martha squeezed in-between them. "Boys and their toys! Alright now, settle down." She shot them both an exasperated look. "Of all the things to have a row about. Priorities first!"

"Sorry," Ianto grumbled. He begrudgingly extended out his hand towards the Doctor. The two men shook.

The Doctor retracted his hand. "The TARDIS always filters the water," he said quickly and hopped off the flatbed.

"You—" Too late, the Doctor was off the truck.

Martha rolled her eyes and shrugged at Ianto.

Ianto snapped his mouth shut and jumped down from the flatbed. He reached up to help Martha down when he heard shouting.

"Stay back! I said stay back!"

Spinning around, Ianto saw the large chain linked fence was shut, opened slightly to let one soldier to thrust out his weapon in-between them.

"Doctor, they came back." Martha cringed against the time traveler when he approached, his eyes fixed on the fence.

"Humans! Humani!" one of the cannibals shouted, waving its torch.

"Make feast," snarled another. 

The swarm surged forward, spitting and snarling.

Bullets flew as the soldier shot the ground. The cannibals halted.

"Go back to where you came from!"

The Doctor hissed. He grimaced. "Ah, they must have tracked us."

Ianto stared. There were dozens of razor-toothed tattooed monsters glowing under their torches. They were barely two meters from the main gate, lurching and testing how much closer they could venture. 

"I said go back! Back!" The young soldier lifted his rifle higher.

One of the cannibals, the one that stared at Ianto before, straightened, clearly the new leader. 

More bullets, closer to where they stood and the cannibals retreated a step.

"Oh, don't tell _him_ not to shoot," Ianto muttered.

"He's not my responsibility," the Doctor said distractedly, his eyes riveted to the cannibals at the gate.

"Oh, and Jack was?" Ianto couldn't help saying bitterly. The Doctor shot him a narrow eyed look. 

"Kind hungry," the newly appointed leader declared. The others growled behind him. He turned his head.

"Kind wants you."

Ianto felt a chill as those crazed eyes zeroed in on him. The leader bared his teeth at him, reddish brown from dried blood. 

The cannibal smacked his lips and sneered.

"Doctor," Martha murmured, nervously. She pressed closer to Ianto. Ianto draped an arm over her shoulders, but he wasn't sure who was reassuring whom. He swallowed and didn't object when the Doctor stood in front of them both. 

"Come no further."

A few more guns lifted higher, a wall of grim faced soldiers staring down faces dotted with blood, ink and dirt.

The leader crouched. He snarled. His eyes drifted back to Ianto. His mouth curled. He then gestured with his torch behind him and grunted something that made the others take a step back. A few more steps, a few more lingering looks, and they left.

Ianto sagged as everyone blew a sigh of relief.

"Thanks for that," the Doctor quipped as the soldiers dispersed. He patted Ianto on the back so soundly that it rattled his teeth. "It wouldn't have been good if they ate him. Torchwood here would have given them indigestion."

Ianto glowered at the time traveler. He smiled faintly to Martha. "I'm not very fond of cannibals," he professed to the young woman.

"They're not my favorites either," Martha declared with a shudder.

The lieutenant from the truck walked by them with Padra towards the silo's entrance. He grinned at them over his shoulder as he passed.

"Don't worry," he called out as he struggled to keep up with Padra. "Once we get to Utopia, you wouldn't have to worry about them ever again!"

Ianto exchanged a look with Martha and the Doctor. 

Utopia?

 

It was pretty organized at the silo. They were escorted inside, given badges and a quick rudimentary lesson on where everything was, when food was distributed.

Martha smiled gently at Creet as the stringy blonde child took the clipboard and very seriously strolled the long corridors filled with people and called out names in a clear voice.

Padra trailed behind the child, craning to see past the rows of people lined up on the wall. 

"All these refugees," Ianto murmured next to her.

Martha nodded. She waved half-heartedly at the random puffs of steam that blocked their way. She looked over to Ianto and saw he was frowning as he watched children darting up and down the corridor.

The Doctor suddenly draped his arms around them both. Ianto started.

"Take a good whiff," the Doctor enthused. "The ripe old smell of humans. You survive. Oh, you might have spent a million years evolving into clouds of gas and another million as downloads, but you always revert to the same basic shape." The Doctor patted them on the shoulder before dropping his arms. He tucked his hands in his trousers and strode forever. "The fundamental human. End of the universe and here you are." He gestured grandly at all the people. Ianto had to duck. 

The twinkle in the Doctor's eyes was contagious. "Indomitable, that's the word," the Doctor declared. "Indomitable!"

Martha looked around herself again and looked back at Ianto. She grinned. 

"There _are_ a lot of people here, aren't there?"

Ianto stared at her, then at the Doctor now a few steps ahead, shaking someone's hand rather energetically. 

His mouth twitched. Ianto glanced back at her.

"Yes," he agreed just as someone stood up. Padra ran towards her. "A lot of people." 

"It's not all bad news," Martha cheered as Padra embraced the weeping woman.

They shared a grin before the Doctor called them over.

"It's half deadlocked," the Doctor explained as he pressed his sonic screwdriver to the corner of a door. "See if you can override the code, Torchwood."

Ianto rolled his eyes but peered at the tiny panel and fiddled with it.

"Let's find out where we are," the Doctor muttered just as the panel Ianto was working on beeped. He grinned, pocketing his screwdriver. "Hah! Brilliant! Now we shall— _whoops_."

Martha's mother had always warned her to watch before she stepped into a lift so she didn't walk in with the Doctor the moment the door slid open. She was in the perfect position to grab the Doctor's flailing right arm when he suddenly dropped out of sight.

" _Ianto_!" Martha screeched as suddenly she found herself clinging to the Doctor's arm, her feet jammed up against the wall, but she was skidding towards the door. "Help!"

Ianto had, the moment the door opened, twisted around, leapt over her and grabbed the Doctor's left arm. He rammed his shoulder up against the wall for leverage.

"Oh, look, a rocket," the Doctor commented breathlessly, his legs dangling precariously over a drop that Martha saw had no visible end. He looked like a puppet hanging off a clothespin, his coat all yanked above his shoulders, his arms outstretched. "It's a very big rocket."

"And you're very h-heavy," Ianto gasped. His face turned red as he wrapped both arms around the Doctor's.

Martha gritted her teeth and with Ianto, they pulled, tugged, but every centimeter they gained, they soon lost. Padra saw their plight, and with another, raced over to help. Together, they pulled the Doctor back up to safety.

Ianto and Martha wearily nodded their thanks and laid sprawled on the floor next to the open door, the Doctor panting, sitting up against the wall.

"You might want to consider," Ianto said breathlessly, "cutting back on those scones." He sat up by his elbows. He looked ruffled, his hair unruly. 

"Did you call me fat?"

"At least he didn't call _me_ fat," Martha managed. She weakly kicked at the Doctor's ankle. "Are you alright?"

The Doctor blinked at her. Shakily, he got up on his feet, a hand out on the wall to steady himself. His head perked up. "They're not refugees, they're passengers!" he blurted out. The Doctor popped his head back through the door.

"You're welcome," Ianto muttered under his breath before he got up to his feet. He stretched out a hand towards Martha.

"Nice catch, Ms. Jones."

"Thank you, Mr. Jones," Martha quipped, taking his hand and hopping back to her feet. She staggered back to the door cautiously.

Martha's eyes widened. "And that is what I call a rocket!" It was huge! It towered far beyond what she could see.

"He said they were going to Utopia," Ianto remembered. He dared a peek over her shoulder.

"The perfect place," the Doctor mused. "One hundred trillion years and it's the same old dream." He peered down at the drop.

"Careful," Martha warned. She reached out a hand and noticed Ianto did the same. His hand shrank back though when he saw Martha looking over to him. 

"Do you recognize those engines, Torchwood?" the Doctor glanced behind him to Ianto.

"Like you said, I'm Torchwood, not a rocket scientist," Ianto returned stiffly. 

Martha fanned herself. "It's hot though," she complained.

"Boiling," the Doctor agreed and he stepped back and sealed the door shut with his screwdriver. He frowned as he looked down the long corridor. 

"But if the universe is falling apart, what does Utopia mean?"

"Doctor."

Martha jumped and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ianto do the same. An old man in a white cotton shirt and dark waistcoat stood there next to the Doctor's shoulder. Where did he come from? 

The old man was smiling, studying the Doctor up and down, his eyes assessing.

"The Doctor?" 

The Doctor pursed his lips and squinted at the old man. "You're not going to punch me, are you?"

Ianto coughed awkwardly into his fist.

The old man's smile wavered. He looked confused. "P-punch you?" 

The Doctor clapped his hands. "Never mind, old history, getting older by the minute."

Martha felt sorry for the old man. "So, you're the Doctor?" His hand extended out hesitantly, the eagerness on his face now unsure.

"Yes!" The Doctor offered his hand, which the old man grasped with both of his. A red gem sparkled as he pumped the Doctor's hand.

"Good. That's very good. Good, good, good!" 

With each declaration, the old man, Doctor's hand in tow, tugged him along, down a turn of the corridor, his "Good, good, good" trailing behind them.

Martha found herself jogging with Ianto to keep up. Great, these people believed in running, too.

"Good! Good!"

The Doctor beamed over his shoulder at them as he trotted alongside the old man. "It's good, apparently."

 

They passed her and failed to notice her in the shadows. She watched, her eyes on the red crystal that contained all his thoughts, all his memories. She smiled or tried to—half her face no longer worked ever since she'd crossed the river of time and space—when she heard the Doctor.

"Yes," she whispered. "It is _very_ good."

 

**Act VI**   
**Ministry of Defense**   
**Whitehall St., London**   
**Present day…**

Considering all the shit they were in, this really wasn't such a bad place.

Owen studied the office where they were uncuffed and made to wait with the same practiced eye he used to buy his own loft. He bought the biggest, perched on the highest floor available at the time; just to show good ole Mrs. Harper just how _not_ useless her son was.

The office, like his loft, was on the top floor to take advantage of the skylight and high ceilings. It boasted tinted windows from floor to ceiling and all of London lay beyond the generous view. Everything was in tones of black or gray and reminded Owen of a barrister's office. The room didn't invite people to relax and Owen suspected it was deliberate. 

Owen's lips curled. He could imagine this Whitehall high and mighty bloke, whoever he was, standing in front of the window, hands clasped behind him, watching London like it was his own private play. He glanced over to Gwen and Tosh. He paused at Tosh's little frown. That can't be good. It usually meant something was going to blow up very spectacularly. And soon.

"What is it?" Owen cautiously leaned over to her. Their escorts for the past hour stood bored, looking trancelike and stupid by the doors. So long as the three of them stayed seated in the cube leather chairs, the UNIT personnel barely reacted to them. Their guns, on the other hand, warned them against testing the UNIT troops.

Tosh nodded carefully towards the four monitors stacked two by two behind the half oval mahogany desk.

"Those are satellite surveillances of the Plass." Tosh squinted. "There's one of the sculpture, even one of the Tourist office." Her eyebrow twitched. "They've been watching us."

"What?" Gwen hissed, listening in. She looked over to the monitors. She screwed up her face and tried to catch a better glimpse of the blue tinted screens. "For how long?" 

"For a very long time," a too smooth voice floated into the room.

Owen stiffened. He could hear the _tap-tap_ approach of well-heeled, very expensive shoes. 

Gwen frowned to herself. She twisted around to see who had entered.

Owen and Tosh faced forward. Tosh's expression was unreadable but her fingers when Owen reached over to give them a squeeze were cold.

"Well, well, our infamous Torchwood."

Owen tracked a man dressed in the same somber outfit as the others and about his height, strolling, as if he had all the time in the world, around them until he stood behind his expansive desk. Light, short hair, and a smirk that was a little too smug, a little too knowing for Owen's liking, he stood there with his fingertips balanced lightly on his desk, his cool eyes studying them critically.

"Hm," the newcomer just said. He drummed his fingers on the table.

"Still not very impressive, I must say. But you were far more trouble than I had originally thought back then." The man folded his arms in front of him and considered them with a pout. "And I had underestimated Jones. Both of them. But not this time."

Owen shared a befuddled look with Tosh.

Gwen, who had her mouth slightly open the whole time, jerked.

"You're Harold Saxon!" she burst out. 

The responding smile was pure oil.

Owen darted Gwen a look. She nearly stood up, her body vibrating even from where he sat.

"What have you done with Jack?" Gwen demanded. 

Owen stiffened. "Oi, what are you talking about?"

"That voice…" Tosh suddenly breathed next to him. Her eyes grew wide. "But it can't be…"

"What? What the hell are you talking about?" Owen was getting dizzy swiveling his head back and forward between the two girls.

"We heard him when we tried to call Jack. His mobile?" Gwen seethed. "He's the Master."

"Harold Saxon's the Master," Tosh gasped.

"But you can call me Minister Saxon," Saxon said. He nearly purred. Saxon gave them a mocking little bow. "Or in a few days, Prime Minister. Can I count on your vote, Torchwood?"

Something hot exploded in Owen's chest. "Piss off!"

Saxon tsked. "My Captain didn't teach you any manners, Torchwood?"

"Where is he?" Gwen raged. She jumped to her feet, which galvanized the UNIT guards to come up from behind. Gwen grunted when one pushed her back down on the chair with a rough shove on her shoulders.

"Don't touch her!" Tosh snapped. She yipped when one slapped the back of her head.

"Fucking wanker! That didn't mean you could touch _her_ either!" Owen snarled. He hissed as the butt of one of their rifles glanced off his shoulder.

Tosh's small fist shot out and hit the UNIT trooper who Owen struck square in the groin. The man folded over like paper. Gwen rocked her head back and hit the other in his belly.

Owen didn't have time to be impressed as he vaulted over the desk, grabbed the miserable pisser by his lapels, ready to give him a good thrashing when Saxon just smiled up at him.

"I wouldn't," Saxon hissed. His smile was feral, unwavering despite the fact he dangled off Owen's fists. His eyes, dark as coals, darted to his left. Owen's jaw twitched but he glanced over nevertheless.

Six rifles' muzzles were pressed up again Gwen’s and Tosh's heads, so hard that they tipped the girls' heads forward. They stood there, wearing twin stoic faces, their hands up. They both looked ready to murder. 

Owen glowered at Saxon. The piece of shit simply shrugged. 

"Oh, I know they're not Diane, but surely you must feel _something_ for them," Saxon sneered.

His body froze and gone numb. Owen growled low in his breath but let Saxon go.

Saxon stepped back. He tugged down his suit, fixed his tie as UNIT men strode over and dragged Owen back to the others. They were all made to sit down again.

"Sorry, Mr. Saxon," one apologized breathlessly. He was still doubled over a little.

Saxon waved at them dismissively. "Better they try and fail now than later."

Owen arched an eyebrow at Tosh, who shrugged, looking bored. 

"Obviously my Captain has been a poor influence on you," Saxon commented as he tightened the knot of his tie. 

"What's this ' _my_ Captain' shit?" Owen bit out.

Saxon gave them a feral smirk that made Owen's blood heat up under his skin.

The minister sat down on his plush chair, swiveling it a little until he faced them again. He hummed as he reached for the stack of files they saw Stewart holding before. "Let's see, shall we?" Saxon licked the tip of his finger and sorted through the sheets within.

"Toshiko Sato." Saxon muttered to himself as he read her basics. Owen could see her mouth pressed thin out of the corner of his eye. Saxon shook his head and wagged his finger at her. 

"One year in UNIT detention, for shame!" Saxon scanned further. "I see Alex Hopkins was able to negotiate your release; your freedom in five years." He smiled darkly.

"You must have been _very_ grateful."

Tosh surprised them all by spitting out a word worthy of Owen.

Saxon just chuckled. "I see a year in absolute solitude did nothing to silence your spirit." He studied Owen now. His fingers tapped the stack of files.

"Dr. Owen Harper recruited at the same time as Ms. Sato in order to find a cure for his dear, comatose fiancée Kate after a failed attempt to remove a brain tumor." Saxon shook his head sadly, but he smiled darkly. "Brain tumor? Was that what they're calling it in this century? What a pity. Oh, the Rift can be so cold sometimes."

Owen clenched his teeth. He could feel Gwen's startled gaze upon him. He ignored it as Saxon went on about Gwen. 

Tosh was staring hard at Saxon, but the fingers on her knee had twitched when Saxon went through Owen's record. 

"Now, Torchwood," Saxon thumped his hands on the stack of files. "To business."

"I thought you just invited us here to hear you prattle on," Owen drawled. "Seeing the special elections were coming and all."

Saxon smirked. "I'm not too concerned about your vote." He drummed his fingers on the files. "I am, however, _very_ concerned about the safety of this world under Torchwood's watch."

"Oi, you're a right saint," Owen shot back.

Saxon had the balls to wink at him. "I at least didn't open the Rift to get back a lover who wouldn't even stay in the first place."

Everything bled to red. Owen felt a fury he hadn't felt in a long time forcing its way up his throat.

"How do you know all this?" Gwen had moved her knee to touch Owen's. Tosh did the same on her side. 

" _Your_ Captain."

"Bull," Owen burst out. 

Saxon stood up and leaned forward on his desk. "And why not?" Saxon's smile became thin, a slit that went from ear to ear. 

"You broke his heart." Saxon cocked his head. "Did you still expect his loyalty to you? After what you did?" The minister—Owen refused to call him the Master like that kooky Doctor did—stroked the phone by him.

"Why did you think he came the moment I called?" Saxon narrowed his eyes at them. He sneered at them.

"I really have Torchwood to thank for returning him to me."

Owen could feel Gwen and Tosh fidget. Owen bristled at the minister behind the desk. 

"To _you_? He only went because he thought _you_ were the Doctor," Owen scoffed.

Unexpectedly, Saxon's eyes flared and shit, Owen could have sworn his eyes lit up like flames.

"I _am_ his Doctor!" Saxon snarled.

Christ, another nutter. Owen forced himself not to look away.

"No, you're not." Owen bared his teeth. "We met the real one." He grinned manically and saw Saxon purpling. He hoped it gave the so-called Master a stroke. "You're not it, mate."

Gwen picked up on his cue. "You're bogus."

"A facsimile," Tosh agreed.

To Owen's amusement and unease, Saxon grew redder and redder. Shit, this bloke wasn't fucking serious, was he?

" _I_ came back for him! _I_ took him in despite his miserable existence! _I'm_ the one he returned to! He's _my_ Captain and I'm _his_ _Doctor_!"

"Jesus," Gwen muttered under her breath. Owen silently agreed. The man was completely mental. Just their luck.

Like a switch, Saxon's tirade stopped, abruptly, a smile pasted back on his pale face that looked patronizing. Owen eyed him suspiciously.

"Well, real or not, I am still your minister and I do have a duty to this nation." Saxon held up a hand and he tsked dramatically. "I do have to make sure this nation is safe from Torchwood."

"What about safe from _you_?" Owen shouted but Saxon ignored him.

"Your charges," Saxon announced and he hefted a thick sheath of papers as thick as Owen's arm out from behind him onto the desk. It landed with a thud.

"Endangering our Empire by opening the Rift and causing all—"

"We opened the Rift to save lives!" Gwen shouted.

Owen's stomach did a little flip at the 'We'.

"Letting Cybermen into our world—"

"That wasn't us!" Tosh burst out. "That was Torchwood London! We weren't even there!"

Saxon paused. He smiled darkly at them. "Oh, but you were." The minister lifted up one sheet and considered it with a squint. Abruptly, he tossed it over his shoulder. "We have witnesses."

"Witnesses?" Owen exclaimed. "Who?"

Saxon stared hard at Owen. His eyes glittered as he narrowed them.

"Me," Saxon hissed.

"You…" Tosh breathed. 

"Oh sorry," Saxon said brightly. He waved a form at them. "It says here from UNIT that the Doctor reported seeing you all there."

"Meaning you," Owen snarled.

Saxon merely flashed him a grin.

Tosh stared at him. "You were there…you saw what happened at Canary Wharf?"

Owen glared at Saxon. "I bet he wasn't just there, Tosh." Owen clenched his jaw. 

"He _caused_ it," Owen bit out.

Owen could feel the girls drop into a stunned silence.

Saxon lifted up his hands.

And clapped.

"Not just a bitter little lost boy, Dr. Harper." Saxon stopped his applause and set his arms down on the desk. "Alex Hopkins chose you well. You were meant for Torchwood no matter what timeline."

Owen shot Tosh a baffled look. What was Saxon harping about?

"Ianto," Tosh breathed. "He was there. Lisa…" She swallowed.

Owen felt a cold lump in his gut. "He saw your face. He knows you're not the Doctor."

"Along with hundreds of other Torchwood employees," Saxon reminded him. Saxon sighed and shook his head. "Pity, they all perished when Canary Wharf fell. All those great and inquisitive minds. Such a great loss for the science communities."

"Why?" Gwen, of course, always needed to know more. She leaned forward in her seat. "My God, all those people…Why did you do this?"

Saxon shot her an annoyed look. "Do you expect me to go off into a monologue about all the horrible, misguided things I have done?" He shook his head. "They would have opened that breach anyway." Saxon bared his teeth. "I simply added some…" He opened both his hands, his fingers splayed out towards them, "…oompf." 

"Oompf?" Owen repeated.

"A little power burst." Saxon shrugged. "I needed a push to where I was going."

Saxon grunted and he scanned another sheet on his stack before that flitted over his shoulder as well.

"Yes, Mr. Jones." Saxon acted annoyed as if he'd encountered morning traffic. "He should have been among the dead. Well, he will be soon though." He smirked and made a show of looking at his wristwatch. "I believe they'll be serving dinner right about now."

"What are you talking about?" Gwen demanded. "Where is he?"

"Where did you send them off to?" Owen shouted.

The thin smile spread from ear to ear. "To when it all began: the end."

Owen glowered. He was getting sick of all the riddles.

Saxon cleared his throat. "Yes, now where were we? Ah! Risking our shores with exposing us with the Rift. Releasing the son of the great Beast Abbadon…"

Saxon muttered to himself as he flipped paper after paper over his shoulder. Owen darted a look to Gwen, then to Tosh. 

"Ah!" Saxon exasperated. He tossed the whole lot behind him and they fluttered behind him like giant snowflakes. "Let's condense this, shall we? Nobody likes long speeches. Always in a hurry to do something else." Saxon coughed into his fist before he pulled out a card from his pockets.

"By order of the Ministry of Defense in cooperation with UNIT," Saxon saluted mockingly at the guards by his door, "in answer to the charges hereby stated—"

"You must be fucking joking," Owen heckled.

Saxon shot Owen a look. He put a finger over his lips and shushed Owen.

"We hereby in the Ministry of Defense find Torchwood guilty of global terrorism by means of the Rift and hereby sentence Torchwood…"

Saxon paused dramatically. He smiled, his eyes slits as he swept his gaze over them.

"…To death." Saxon set his card carefully on the center of the desk.

"Effective immediately."

Owen's mouth went dry.

Well… _shit_.

 

_…thrum-thrum…tap-tap…tap…tap…_

Awareness crept back into the edge of light.

He became conscious of something around his ankles, his wrists. He was also cold. 

Someone was talking to him—what, he didn't know—and was pacing, bored. He smelled the stench of unlit tobacco and heard footsteps leaving. 

A door creaked. Outside, more footsteps. 

"What the fu—Jack! What are you people doing to him?"

"Oh my God! _Jack_?"

A scuffle. He frowned—or thought he did—when he heard shouting, flesh meeting flesh, then frantic footsteps.

Warm hands on his skin.

"Jack? Jack!"

He felt more hands. The ground was shaking. No, _he_ was shaking.

"Wake up! What did those fuckers do to you?"

"Get them out of there!"

More scuffling. Voices. He…he knew those voices. Once.

Hands on him again, more delicate than the first. A tearful voice.

"Jack, Jack, come on…what's wrong with you?"

Wrongwrongwrong…

"You're not supposed to be here!"

" _He's_ not supposed to be here!"

"What's all this?"

"What are you doing to him?"

"Get Torchwood out of here!"

"Jack! Jack! Wake up!"

"Jack, it's us! You have to wake up! Ianto's in trouble. He needs your help—"

"Shut up!"

"Ianto's with the Doc—"

A punch. Someone groaned. A slap. Someone cried out.

"Keep your hands off me— _Jack_!"

There were more shouts, more flesh against flesh and a door slammed. 

It was quiet again.

The sensations of his body faded a little and the questions he might have asked had eased back. Except there were now words that echoed in his mind, quietly but firmly nudging the _thrum-thrum, tap-tap_ aside.

 _Ianto_ needed help.

Jack Harkness' eyes opened.

 

**Act VII**   
**Malcassairo**   
**Year 100 trillion…**

She followed them, a ghost caught between timelines. Everyone backed away from her. No one dared to block her way.

Three. She frowned. She didn't recognize the third. Another Companion, perhaps? She sneered. No matter. It didn't matter. He would perish all the same and she would then awaken her Master and start the cycle she was told to bear, like a child that took eons and eons to nourish.

She had finally found him. Nothing would stop her now. 

 

By the time they caught up with the Doctor, they had learned that the excitable old man was called Professor Yana, in charge of the enormous rocket scalding deep within the silo. Yana was adored here. People holding their cracked bowls and rags greeted Yana with the kind of enthusiasm one would use to greet a beloved PM. People stepped aside easily for them, never begrudging them as Yana practically dragged the curious Doctor through what seemed like an endless corridor to a cluttered lab.

"Chan-welcome-tho!" 

"…gravitissimal accelerator. It's past its best but it works…"

Already, Yana was pointing out things, like a proud father, stopping briefly at an empty corner with a puzzled look before continuing. Hm, absentminded too, apparently. It was a bit endearing really. It reminded her of someone else.

"And over here…Footprint Impeller System…" 

The alien gave her and Ianto a pretty little bow. "Chan-welcome-tho." Her voice was light and lyrical whereas Yana's boomed.

Perhaps she'd seen enough cat people, giant carnivorous locusts, and drippy aliens. When a blue and green spotted alien who looked uncomfortably like an insect dressed in a lab coat greeted them, Martha didn't blink. She did stare though. It _was_ an alien after all.

"Do you know anything about end-time gravity mechanics? No, ha ha, what a question! Of course you do, Doctor!"

"Hello." Martha dipped her head to see her—at least she hoped it was a her as it had the basic shape of a female—and smiled. "Who are you?"

Eyes still lowered, the feelers that lined her jaw that must serve as her hearing—no ears—moved shyly as she replied. "Chan-Chantho-tho."

"Martha Jones," Martha returned and hesitantly offered her hand. To her relief, Chantho accept it and shook it shyly. Oh thank God, you can never tell what could offend an alien. Usually, the Doctor would offer suggestions to avoid any social blunders.

"But we can't get it to harmonize…"

Course, _he_ was currently no help right now. 

"I uh…" Poor Ianto sounded dazed and it occurred to Martha that perhaps this was the first alien he never had to shoot at before. Martha was about to intervene on his behalf when Ianto extended out his hand, palm open.

"Ianto Jones," he introduced himself in a lovely voice that was perfectly Welsh and perfectly enchanting with that little smile of his. Ooh, Martha could just eat him up. Pity he was apparently more than _just friends_ with this mysterious Jack Harkness she keeps hearing about. Damn. Always the good ones. They were either gay or Time Lords with ADD. 

"Chantho, is it?" Ianto pronounced her name—must be a her because Chantho just did a sound that must be the alien version of a giggle when she shook Ianto's hand—very carefully.

"Chan-yes. Jones-tho?" Chantho looked at them both. The feelers that framed her face drooped.

"No relation," they both said, jumped, and shared a grin.

"Nice to meet you, Chantho," Ianto said warmly.

"Stop it."

Ianto paused, his brow arched as he looked over at the Doctor, who was squinting through his spectacles at the odd equipment.

"I beg your pardon?" Ianto said stiffly. "Can't I say hello?"

"Chan-I do not protest-tho," Chantho half giggled, half sang, still holding onto Ianto's hand.

The Doctor looked up. He blinked at Ianto, took off his glasses, squinted at him again and put them back on.

"Ooh, sorry, Torchwood, for a moment there I thought Ja—" A funny look crossed the Doctor's face. He looked back down at the machinery again. The Doctor coughed. "Thought it was someone else." The Doctor waved absently towards them both. "Never mind. Carry on, keep saying hello."

"Chan-Torch…wood-tho?" Chantho cocked her slightly elongated head. "Chan-I thought it was Ianto Jones-tho?"

"The Doctor's being funny," Martha explained.

"Or at least he _thinks_ he is," Ianto muttered under his breath. He glowered darkly at the Doctor.

"I heard that," the Doctor called out, miffed.

Chantho gave a little bow again and went around the clutter of metal boxes and strange machines to join the Doctor and Yana in whatever conversation they were having. At least she understood them. 

Ianto stares at Chantho for a moment, his brow furrowed before he leaned towards Martha. "I didn't think I would be able to understand her or her us. And Professor Yana talks as if he were from London," Ianto whispered.

Martha tapped the side of her head. She grinned. "That's the TARDIS' doing." Martha eyed the room doubtfully. The professor had promised he would make sure the guards brought up the TARDIS here. Lord, she missed it!

Ianto stared at her. "The TARDIS?" he repeated slowly.

Martha chuckled. It still amazed her even now. "She gets inside your head and translates everything for you." 

Ianto looked distinctively uncomfortable. "The ship can read our thoughts?"

"Only to translate languages," the Doctor called out all of the sudden, earning him strange looks from both Chantho and Yana.

"Pay attention to _your_ conversation, sir, not to everyone else's!" Ianto snapped.

"You Torchwood people are certainly bossy," the Doctor grumbled, his hand waving at Ianto.

Martha rolled her eyes and gestured Ianto to follow her. They joined the other three, standing around a device that reminded Martha of those old large computers you would see in history books. Brown ribbons tangled around, through, and under it. 

"Torchwood?" Yana frowned to himself. He looked at Ianto strangely. "Is that the name of your species?"

"Just about," the Doctor muttered.

Ianto shot the Doctor a scathing look before he cleared his throat. "No. Human, sir."

"Same here!" Martha piped in. Martha was finding it strangely amusing to see the Doctor and Ianto shooting glares at each other. She was miffed though as she suspected she was being left out of something. 

Yana looked expectantly at the Doctor, who gave a snort.

"Certainly not! Time Lord. Last of." At Yana’s and Chantho's blank looks, the Doctor ruefully scratched his ear and sighed dramatically.

"Blimey, first Torchwood, now the end of the universe? This is demoralizing."

Ianto unsuccessfully tried to hide a snicker behind a cough to his fist. The Doctor glared back.

Chantho fidgeted where she stood. "Chan-it is said that I am the last of my species too-tho?"

The Doctor frowned, as if noticing her for the first time. "Sorry. What is your name?"

"My companion and assistant, Chantho," Yana introduced. Chantho dipped her head towards the Doctor in greeting. "A survivor of the Malmooth. This was their planet Malcassairo, before we took refuge."

Martha lowered her eyes, remembering the empty caves in the mist. She swallowed.

"The city outside," Ianto asked solemnly. Martha thought she saw a flicker of grief dulling his eyes. "That was yours?"

The feelers on Chantho's face stilled. "Chan-the conglomeration died-tho."

"Conglomeration!" the Doctor burst out. "That's what I said!"

"Sorry for your loss," Ianto tipped his head, mirroring Chantho from before. It reminded Martha of a Japanese doctor she knew once in the university, always polite and gracious. He gave the Doctor a look.

Chagrin dawned on the Doctor and his face schooled quickly to a more somber expression. "Oh yes. Sorry."

"Chan-most grateful-tho," Chantho murmured. It made Martha's heart ache when the little feelers and antennae on top of her head dipped unhappily.

"Yes, well," the Doctor cleared his throat as the air around them got too oppressive. He turned to Yana. "All this feeds into the rocket?"

Yana shook out of his reverie and threw his hands up towards the jumble of equipment in disgust. He heaved a sigh. "Yes, except without a stable footprint, we'll never achieve escape velocity."

The Professor sounded so frustrated. Martha caught Ianto giving the Doctor an expectant look. The Doctor was pushing up his spectacles on his nose and stared at the green metallic station they all surrounded like Stonehenge.

"If we could only harmonize the five impact patterns and unify them, well, we might yet make it," Yana fretted, his hands flailing a little towards his equipment. Yana sat down on top of one of the machines that seemed to be strewn about. He turned towards the Doctor, his face expectant. 

"What do you think, Doctor? Any ideas?"

The Doctor stared myopically at everything. "Well," he began, "basically, sort of…" The Doctor grimaced.

"Not a clue."

" _Nothing_?" Yana's voice went up an octave in disbelief. He and Chantho gaped at the Doctor. 

Martha winced.

"I'm not from round these parts. I've never seen a system like it," the Doctor also winced as he studied the panels. "Sorry."

"No, no, I'm sorry. It's my fault. There's been so little help." Yana deflated. He dropped heavily onto the nearby stool. He wrung his hands, twisting the ring around his hand. Round and round the red gem sparkled as he muttered, "I was so sure. She said it was time…oh dear, oh dear, oh dear."

Ianto gave Martha a worried glance. They both turned to the Doctor, who was still poking everything with serious scrutiny.

It was true, they had urgent matters to attend to with the TARDIS, but Yana looked so upset. Martha cast a hopeful look towards the Doctor. The Doctor gave her a little shrug.

"Professor," Ianto spoke up out of nowhere, "what about those things outside? What are they?"

Martha shot Ianto a grateful look when Yana refocused on Ianto's question.

"We call them the Futurekind," Yana scoffed, "which is a myth in itself, but it's feared they are what we will become." His shoulders slumped. "Unless we reach Utopia."

The Doctor arched an eyebrow towards Yana. "And Utopia is...?"

Yana gave a chuckle. "Oh, every human knows of Utopia." When he saw no one was laughing, Yana frowned, puzzled. "Where have you been?"

The Doctor shrugged. "Bit of a hermit."

"A-a hermit..." Incredulous, Yana gestured towards Ianto and Martha. "…with, uh, friends?"

"Hermits United," the Doctor returned smoothly. "We meet up every ten years, swap stories about caves. It's good fun." The Doctor paused, thinking. "For a Hermit," he added. The Doctor stuffed his hands into his pockets. "So, um, Utopia?"

Professor Yana smiled at him, smiled in a way as if he suspected he was just being humored. He waggled a finger in a beckoning gesture for the others to follow.

 

**Ministry of Defense**   
**Whitehall St., London**   
**Present day…**

The chair groaned under his weight. Nimble fingers danced across the keyboard through keystrokes with a grace that contradict his girth.

"Just a little bit of siphoning off today, sir." 

The room lit up in a sparkling blue light, vapors floated out creating wispy shadows before another keystroke made the light disappear and everything returned to its pinkish, golden tinged walls.

"A little bit lopped off the top and off it goes to the _Valiant_ , eh?"

John Davies had worked in MOD for eleven years, nine months and four days. He was three months shy before he hit the next tier of seniority and short two more glowing recommendations before he was given that prat Gordon’s position as director of extraterrestrial artifacts.

In all his years, all his days, John Davies never expected this.

Seven months ago, after MOD's proud launch of Archangel, the recently appointed Defense Minister Saxon had promoted him and given him the task to rebuild a device recovered from the tragic ruins of Canary Wharf. Only the highest clearance, Alpha no less, was permitted on the top floor lab, just down the hall from the minister himself. No one else could be involved or trusted, the minister had explained. There were lots of reasons why, but Davies couldn't quite remember them. They sounded good at the time. 

Sod Gordon and his job. The old fart could keep his ruddy artifacts. _His_ lab was in the basement.

Davies had his own lab on the top floor, even his own lift; well, at least the private one that only Saxon and his staff uses. He bypassed the daily arduous security check in by the metal detectors with a bored flash of his identification and sailed by even Gordon to get to work. He even had his own security detail—a group of stony-faced men in dark suits that reminded him of Saxon's own bodyguards. Davies liked that very much.

It was, however, a lonely position. 

Metal rattled hollowly as he rolled out a canister the size of his head. He tapped it and thought he saw the captured blue vapors dance. Huh. Fancy that. The strange contraption from Canary Wharf was certainly a wonder.

"That's all for today," Davies said out loud as he typed in the amount into his computer and stuck the label he printed out on the canister handle. "Number thirteen all sorted, thank you."

Davies has had many conversations like this. While he loved his new position—the pay was marvelous as he was able to buy that loft he'd admired from across his street—Davies sometimes missed the conversations he would have with the cubicles next to him. 

There were no visitors save the never-ending deliveries of more wreckage from Canary Wharf. He had no assistants, need-to-know clearance and all that, and even his lunch deliveries were intercepted by the guards before they reached him. It was just Davies, his boxes of coral and machines, and odd blueprints that didn't make any particular sense. He was warned against any deviations, however. It was a solitary room: one man and his many apparatuses all over the gaff. 

He has company now, if you could call it that.

The nameless man came not too long ago, just shortly after those weird mass hallucinations that were happening around the world. No cybermen this time, but UFOs, barbarians and all sorts of bizarre events that made Davies truly believe it was the end of the world. Fortunately, Saxon had been a steady voice through it all once the madness was over. Terrorism, the minister declared. And the minister proved how invaluable he was again when rumors whirled about that some of the culprits were found.

Davies fidgeted in his chair. He swiveled it around to eye the platform behind him, now once again concealed behind the retractable thick frosted glass that split the room right down the middle. Davies didn't dare push the wall back anymore, no matter how stuffy it got. After the fiasco of him going out for a ciggy and those hoodlums spied what was in the room as they passed, he knew better. Davies thought for sure he would be thrown out on his ear. Saxon's face looked thunderous when he found out those terrorists was able to barge in here. 

Davies tapped at the glass. "Too bad you'll miss the show, eh?" he told the shadow behind the glass. 

"Our first executions this year. Three of them! That'll teach those Torchwood bastards a lesson."

There was no reply of course. There never was. 

Since the man's arrival, Davies was getting more visitors. Minister Saxon himself! He came several times a day, possibly to interrogate the man whom Davies suspected was probably one of those bloody terrorists. Davies was always excused and each time, Saxon emerged out from behind the frosted wall minutes later a little frazzled, a little flushed, but always triumphant.

Davies absently fiddled with the 'Vote For Saxon' button on his lab coat. You have to respect a man who wasn't afraid to do things himself. Davies was sure Saxon could have had any of his lowly staff deal with the odd bloke, but Saxon preferred to do his own dirty work. 

"He'll make a right PM," Davies muttered, nodding to himself. Everyone says so. Can't find a better man than Saxon. They could trust Saxon.

Davies tapped his desk again as he glanced, bored, at the life readings. Heart rate, respiration, they were all good. No jumps, no drops.

It was in-between Saxon's sessions that were the hardest for Davies. He'd even welcome a stop in by Saxon's lovely wife, although she did make him nervous though. She would just stand outside by the frosted wall, never going in, and just stared at the bloke for minutes before leaving again without a word. It was, at least, something different during the day. Plus, she was nice to look at, even if she was a little barmy. Poor Saxon. He was a good and honorable man to stay married to Lucy Saxon. 

Davies rapped his desk again. He stuck a pen in his mouth and chewed at the cap nervously. Damn ciggy was sitting heavy in his pocket. Maybe he should get one of those patches—

Something in the monitor blipped.

"That's enough from you," Davies muttered around the pen as he swiveled back around to his station. Hm, heart rate up a few beats, respiration up, too. 

"No, no, that's not good," Davies said, wagging a finger on the monitor. He typed in the command to increase the dosage of whatever Saxon had provided. It was with a little regret Davies watched the readings go back down again. Too bad, he wouldn't have minded the company even if Saxon did warn him the bloke was dangerous awake. But what Saxon said had made sense.

"A little higher dose for you." It seemed like he needed to increase the amount more and more. He was going to run out sooner than his estimations. He'll need to ask—

"Did you know," a deep baritone voice mused from behind, "the human body can build up a tolerance the more you're given anything?"

The pen in Davies' mouth dropped. 

A large hand caught the pen and reached over him to set it on the center of his keyboard very carefully.

Davies could see the reflection of a tall man on his monitor; even in the hospital gown, he was a formidable figure. 

"Shit," Davies whimpered. He was sure to be fired now.

Davies could sense him leaning into his ear.

"What is this place?" the man asked low and threatening. "Are you part of Torchwood One?"

Torchwood? "I'm n-not a t-t-terrorist," Davies stammered. The man never touched him, but Davies could feel him like a wall pressing down on him. It was like the air was being sucked out around him. "P-please, don't kill me!"

The man withdrew a step. "Terrorist?" he muttered. "What?" The man settled a hand to the back of Davies' chair and tilted him back. 

"Where are they? Where's the Doctor?" he hissed.

By now, Davies was beyond words. Christ, he was going to be murdered in his new office! How bloody fair is that?

"Don't kill me! Please don't kill me!" Davies babbled, sniffling and gasping at the same time. 

"Look, I'm not—Will you calm down?"

"Oh God, oh God! I don't know anything! I'm no one important, I promise! Don't kill me! I have a sick wife! Two—four— _six_ children!" Oh please, don't ask for pictures!

Davies was plopped like a useless sack in his chair, staring up at the one man who could kill his career. Literally.

"Look…stop crying…" the man settled a hand on Davies' chest. "Just tell me where they are. Torchwood and the Doctor."

Oh God, he was going to rip his heart out! Davies could barely see now. His arms flailed.

"Doctor? I'm not a doctor! The inf-firmary's d-downstairs!" Davies sobbed.

"No, _the_ Doctor!" the man exasperated. "Lower your voice!"

Davies tried but he ended up wheezing and hiccupping instead. 

"I'm not…" The man sighed. "I'm not going to kill you. Okay? Calm down. Where did they take Torchwood at least?"

"I'm not sure." Davies couldn't think any more. Good God the man loomed like a mountain! He must be three, no, four meters tall! But the man removed his hand from Davies' chest, tilted back his chair and was grabbing his clothes from the locker. Done, he looked like an outdated soldier. 

"Well, how about where they _would_ take them?" the man coaxed. He even smiled pleasantly at Davies. "Just guess."

"I-I-I don't know where they would take them to be executed," Davies whimpered.

" _What_?"

Suddenly, Davies found himself off his chair, his feet inches off the floor! The man grabbed him by the shirt and lifted him off his chair. He stood nose to nose with Davies.

"I thought you weren't going to kill me!" Davies wailed.

"Trust me, if you don't find out where they are in _one minute_ , you'll wish I did," the man spat out. He threw Davies into the chair and Davies landed so hard, the wind was knocked out of him. "Now!"

Davies' hands shook and he mistyped several times, but eventually, with his clearance, Davies was able to pull up the records.

"T-they took the t-t-terrorists to Level three. B-but you'll need Alpha c-clearance to get in there!"

The man leaned over, right to his face. Davies' head spun. 

"What's your clearance?"

Davies immediately tore his badge off his collar, ripping it off his new tailored gray shirt he bought to make him look slimmer so he could ask Sylvia Downs in Accounting out. Davies slapped it to the waiting hands.

"John Davies," the man read. He clipped it onto his greatcoat. He then stood over Davies.

"Well, John Davies," the man growled. "If they're not there or if I'm too late…" The man's blue eyes narrowed into slits.

"I'm coming back up here."

And with an abrupt pivot, like a summer storm cloud, the man was gone.

Davies gaped at the space where the man stood. The monitors around him wailed because there was no more heartbeat or respiration registering. His ears rung and his heart pounded in his chest. He'd worked in MOD for eleven years, nine months and four days in the highest secured facility in all of Europe. He did what the experience had wrought him.

John Davies pissed on himself and fainted.

 

**Act VIII**   
**Malcassairo**   
**Year 100 trillion…**

It was like looking at one of Maygin's games she'd used to play with Lisa the last time they had visited. It was hard to imagine all the swirls and blots represented a dying universe.

Into stirred uneasily as he stood behind the Doctor and Yana. They were both huddled around a screen that looked far too old, too antiquated to be up to the task of saving what was left of humanity. It reminded him of a refurbished submarine radar.

Yana pointed to the lone blip among the swirling blotches of nothing. "The call came from across the stars, over and over again. 'Come to Utopia'. Originating from that point."

The Doctor looked enthralled and Ianto reluctantly admitted it was hard to ignore the flutter in his gut at the innocuous blinking. Ianto rubbed his thumb across the top flap of the wrist strap. The well-oiled leathery surface squeaked under his thumb, giving only after a bit of pressure. The firm, yet supple surface made Ianto feel marginally better. He'd even hovered closer with Martha to take a better look over the Doctor's shoulder. 

"Where is that?" the time traveler asked as he stared at the screen like it was the shiniest bauble he'd ever encountered. 

Yana gazed at the blip like it was the North Star. Perhaps it was. "Oh, it's far beyond the condensed wilderness, out towards the wildlands and the dark matter reefs, calling us in. The last of the humans scattered across the night."

"What do you think is out there?" Ianto couldn't help but ask. He stared at the blinking dot and tried to imagine it as Utopia. He hoped it was something brilliant in the black canvas out there.

"We can't know," Yana murmured. He answered Ianto's question out of civility than from truly listening. Yana looked dreamy as he mused out loud. 

"A colony? A city? Some sort of haven? The science foundation created the Utopia project thousands of years ago to preserve mankind, to find a way of surviving beyond the collapse of reality itself." Yana touched the dot with a reverence that made Ianto avert his gaze. "Perhaps they found it. Perhaps not, but it's worth a look, don't you think?" Yana directed the last question to the Doctor.

"Oh yes," the Doctor breathed. He looked over his shoulder at Ianto and Martha. "And the signal keeps modulating so it's not on automatic." 

Ianto bit his lower lip, thinking. "So it's not a beacon," he guessed. These humans weren't alone then? Somehow, it made the future look a little better. 

The Doctor agreed. He beamed towards Martha, who had perked up at the news. "That's a good sign. Someone's out there?"

Martha returned his grin. "A very good sign," she cheered. She glanced over to Ianto who gave her a shaky smile.

"And that's a navigation matrix, isn't it?" The Doctor twisted around back to the green tinted screen and tapped at the bottom where numbers scrolled up line for line. "So you can fly without the stars to guide you, Professor?" The Doctor glanced up towards Yana. His brow furrowed. "Professor?"

It was then Ianto realized Yana had stopped paying attention to the conversation long before. The professor sat there by the Doctor, his eyes far away.

Something in Ianto's belly stirred uneasily. There were times Ianto caught Jack staring off to the distance with the same look, although Jack didn't wear his with such an acute look of pain. It drew him away from the screen immediately.

"Professor?" Ianto called to him cautiously. He touched Yana by the sleeve. Yana was old and obviously had worked for a long time on this. It was a wonder the professor was as mentally stable as he was. Ianto shook the elbow closest to him, careful not to jar him or startle him. 

The Doctor was not as cautious. "Professor!" he shouted out before Ianto could warn against it. 

Yana shook violently out of his reverie. "I..." Yana stood up from his stool like he was a rocket himself and blinked furiously at his surroundings, blinked at a shadowed corner to his right, and suddenly appeared a little lost. Ianto could see his momentary confusion.

"Sir, would you like to lie down for a spell?" Ianto inquired worriedly while he frowned mildly at the Doctor, who at least has the grace to look apologetic. Ianto spied a spot in the back with some furniture crammed up under a sloped ceiling. He wondered briefly if there was a way to make a spot of tea. 

Yana flapped his hands at Ianto, echoing eerily like the Doctor. "Right, that's enough talk. There's work to do." He was already motioning Chantho to follow and they broke away from the cluster to head towards another cramped area of machinery. It reminded Ianto a bit of his Torchwood as the professor had to move equipment aside to get to what he needed. 

"Now if you could leave, thank you," Yana declared, his voice brisk but not rude. He was pointing at something to Chantho, ducking under cables. 

The Doctor frowned mildly. He straightened and peered over to Yana. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine," Yana said, irritated. Already, he was fiddling with dials and switches. "And busy," Yana added pointedly.

Martha shared an uncertain look with Ianto. They both watched the Doctor veer around the processors, his hands in his pockets. 

"Except that rocket's not going to fly, is it?" the Doctor suddenly said in a quiet voice. 

Martha darted Ianto a dismayed look. "Doctor?" she asked. Her voice wavered.

Ianto remembered the fragmented pieces of the conversation from before. "This footprint mechanism thing," Ianto recalled. He felt his heart clenched.

"It's not working," the Doctor agreed.

Yana spun sharply towards the time traveler. "We'll find a way!" he protested. He wrung his hands together. "There _is_ a way!" 

"You're stuck on this planet," the Doctor murmured, his eyes dark as he leaned over to fix his gaze on Yana. Chantho lowered her eyes. 

"And you haven't told them, have you?"

Ianto swallowed. He glanced at the door. He thought about all those people sleeping out in the halls, blankets marking their spots, their possessions tacked up woefully on walls. Ianto leaned back against the large processor behind them. The thought of what was on the surface made him ill. He wiped his hands on his trousers and wished he could stop feeling like something thick and oily was crawling up his skin.

"That lot out there, they still think they're going to fly."

Ianto wished the Doctor would shut up at that point. All Ianto could think about was how dark and empty the sky had looked. There was nothing to stare up to. 

"Well, it's better to let them live in hope," the professor said, defeated. He deflated and sat down heavily on the stool.

Martha stood right next to Ianto. Ianto said nothing when he felt her lean her cheek against his arm, her hand slipping into one of his. He edged closer to her as well. The room had never felt so silent, so cold before. Ianto became very aware of how far away he was to everything he knew. He found himself giving her a hand a squeeze.

"I know we'll get there," Yana muttered. "She'd seen it. _I'd_ seen it." He absently rubbed his thumb over the ring on his finger. "I won't give up now."

"Quite right, too," the Doctor declared suddenly. He shrugged out of his long coat as he wove around to the professor. "Hold this, Torchwood." Ianto barely caught the coat with a fumble as the Doctor joined the professor. "And I must say, Professor...What was it?"

"Yana." The professor tracked him with open curiosity.

"Professor Yana, this new science is well beyond me." The Doctor gestured around him with an apologetic shrug. "But all the same, a boost reversal circuit in any time frame, must be a..." The Doctor fought for words. "…Circuit which reverses the boost." 

The Doctor reached behind the professor, grabbing what looked like a circuit switch connected to yet more thick cables. Yana started, as if he was about to stop the time traveler.

"So, I wonder, what would happen if I did..." the Doctor mused, "this?" He pulled out his sonic device from his pockets and pointed at it like he did with the telephone.

All the panels around them suddenly lit up like a fireworks display. Clear, thick freestanding panels flared up as if lit on fire and all the mainframes began beeping madly. From dead silence, the room suddenly filled with a choir of blips and chimes and alarms.

Martha gave a laugh, jumping where she stood. She slapped Ianto's arm with glee. She grinned at the Doctor. Ianto simply stared. The room transformed right before them. Everything was alit with power.

Chantho gasped. The alien swiveled her head round and round. "Chan, it's working, tho!" she gasped.

The professor stood, staring around him in disbelief, his mouth opened. "But how did you do that?" Yana cried out in amazement.

"While we've been chatting away, I forgot to tell you," the Doctor began. He burst into a broad grin. 

"I'm brilliant." 

_"Professor Yana! Professor!"_ The speakers around the walls crackled to life with a frantic voice. _"What is happening?"_

Yana's face was aglow with all the lights and equipment. "You," Yana declared, his face shining, "are going to Utopia!"

 

She closed her eyes when the sirens blared. Everyone around her was shouting, scared, frightened. Such children. She smiled to herself when they all cheered at the garbled message _"All passengers, prepare for boarding"_ ringing out to all the corridors.

She reveled in their joy because she knew it wouldn't last. She knew what they would find and that bright light would all be for nothing.

"But it will all be well," she whispered as she watched them pack up their belongings, the meager items the humans stubbornly clung to as part of their identity.

"It will be alright, children," she murmured, as she watched around a corner. "We will bring you back from nothing. The Master and I. We shall take you away from the darkness." She held tight her right hand that trembled, having trembled since the Doctor's arrival. She had stayed away because she feared the Doctor would somehow know her. Or the others. 

She couldn't remember if they would, if their pre-Doctor timelines have crossed with hers before. It was often hard to remember her own timeline, her own name even. She had carried his memories as she searched, until she found the right one. His thoughts, his memories had mixed with hers by then and she no longer knew what was hers and what was his. 

She waited until her hand stilled—most her limbs barely obeyed her any more because the journey had changed her too much—before she ducked into an empty corridor. The residents that had lived in here had already gone to their assigned gates.

Such eager fragile flesh. So eager for Utopia.

Empty, the sirens blaring around her, she tipped her head back and laughed as she padded down the empty passageway to where she needed to be. The rocket must fly in order for the Master must return. 

Another laugh, this one so grating, it made her cough up blood. She ran down the halls empty of life, laughing uncontrollably because every corridor she encountered was now empty of life. She had waited so long. Searched so far. It would now finally all begin. His plan. His wonderful plan would spark to life.

"It will all be for nothing!" she screeched as she raced through the corridors, past the discarded blankets and tin cups of abandoned food. Droplets of blood trailed behind her each time she spat. 

_"Repeat, all passengers prepare for immediate boarding."_

It will all soon begin. The end that would herald the beginning.

_"Destination, Utopia."_

 

_"All passengers prepare for immediate boarding."_

It was an explosion of activity. The Doctor practically manhandled Professor Yana to a station, already running to wrestle Ianto to another.

"Martha, you transfer those disks. Miss Chantho if you could show her where." The Doctor was spinning Ianto around to face a tall processor. "I think this is the, no, of course it is, just put each one in the slots and transfer each one to me once the green light is on. Okay? Good man."

A big clap to his shoulders and the Doctor was gone again.

_"All passengers prepare for immediate boarding."_

There was no time to think or question what he was doing pulling out square metal disks like a monkey. Ianto's head spun, still reeling that the once quiet room was now filled with all this activity. _Too_ much activity. It was like being caught in a riptide.

"Chan-there is not enough frequency cards-tho!" Chantho lifted up one of the metal disks Ianto just tossed over to the Doctor.

"Check with Commander—no, Lieutenant Atillo for more!" Yana sounded frazzled but alert. He pounded furiously on his panel. 

"Martha, help her!" the Doctor ordered. 

"Oi!" Martha confirmed, already chasing after Yana's assistant. The door opened and Ianto could hear the flurry of people outside.

"Navigation matrix's loaded!" Yana reported.

Ianto's panel was stubbornly staying red. "There's nothing turning green," Ianto shouted to no one in particular. He braced his hands on the dented surface and stared hard at them. Still red. "I assume that's not good?"

Ianto jumped when an arm reached from behind, sonic screwdriver squawking like his mobile's accursed ringtone and it pointed towards his charge.

"Red, red, red," the Doctor muttered by his ear. "Always red. Must be confusing in dance halls and all that flashing lights you humans like to do." 

The sonic screwdriver screeched and Ianto flinched as the device waved madly at the panel. "Why they didn't adapt to the universal mauve escapes me." 

Mauve?

All the lights changed to green.

Ianto started at the exuberant thump to his back. "There you go, Torchwood! Now stop your staring and start reformatting those frequency cards for me! Hurry up!" And the Doctor was gone before Ianto could reply.

_"All passengers are boarding, Professor."_

"Are the couplings primed?" Yana called out as he flipped a few toggles. 

_"Radiation levels are steady. Jate's preparing to enter."_

"Sir," the Doctor interrupted. He waved wildly towards the speakers until he realized he couldn't be seen. "Commander, is it?"

_"Lieutenant Atillo, Doctor."_

"Ah! Lieutenant. They were going to send up something of mine. A blue box. I need it here, _right_ here—"

_"It's already on its way, sir."_

Ianto felt a pounding relief even as he yanked out each metal card and tossed it neatly towards the Doctor like a saucer. It was ridiculous to feel such a relief for a police box but Ianto nearly sagged against the processor he was in front of when he heard it was on its way here.

Ianto felt a friendly pat on his arm.

"I feel that way about her myself sometimes," the Doctor chuckled. "And wait until you try her tea."

"When we get Jack back, ask him to make his," Ianto muttered back with little rancor.

The Doctor gave a "Hah!" before he joined Yana by the clear panels.

Ianto shook his head, but found he couldn't be angry as he thought he would be as he returned to the processor and his task. 

After a few minutes of passing cards and confirming green lights, the Doctor took a tentative sniff at the brown ribbon he was holding in front of a thick, translucent divider with what looked like circuits to Ianto. With a pang, he realized Tosh would've been thrilled to be here surrounded by all this strange and wonderful technology. 

The Doctor sounded flummoxed. "Is that…"

"Gluten extract," Yana confirmed from the other side of the thick glasslike panel. "It binds the neutralino map together."

Ianto glanced over his shoulder. "But isn't that food?" 

The Doctor gawped at Yana through the transparent sheet. "You've built this system out of food and string and staples?" The Doctor took off his spectacles and beheld the panel before him with awe. "Professor Yana," the Doctor breathed, "you're a genius."

Ianto bit back a smile as he continued to interchange the metal cards when the light turned green.

Yana scoffed. "Says the man who made it work." Ianto thought he could hear a little bitterness in the old man's voice. Ianto checked over his shoulder again. Yana was looking around himself with longing and regret.

The Doctor's shrug was audible in his voice. "Oh, it's easy coming in at the end. But you're stellar." The Doctor gazed at the brown ribbon he held with amazement. "This is magnificent. And I don't often say that 'cause…Well, 'cause of me."

Ianto rolled his eyes.

"Well, even my title is an affection," Yana dismissed the Doctor's compliments with a sigh. "There hasn't been such thing as a university for over a thousand years," he mused. "I've spent my life going from one refugee ship to another."

"If you had been born in a different time, you'd be revered. I mean it." The Doctor sounded warm and sincere. "Throughout the galaxies."

"Oh, those damn galaxies, they had to go and collapse," Yana chuckled wearily. "Some admiration would have been nice. Just a little. Just once." The professor sounded wistful.

"Well, you've got it now," the Doctor told Yana quietly.

"And mine," Ianto added solemnly from his station. He caught the Doctor giving him an approving nod. Ianto quickly turned back around to his processor, his face flaming.

"But that Footprint engine thing…" the Doctor continued, his voice suddenly lower. "You can't activate it from onboard. It's got to be done from here." 

Ianto spun around, his eyes wide on the professor. "You're not going? You're staying behind?"

Yana shrugged. "With Chantho. She won't leave without me. Simply refuses." He looked both exasperated and touched at the same time.

The Doctor studied Yana with an impressed expression. "You'd give your life so they could fly."

"Oh, I think I'm a little too old for Utopia." Yana dismissed the concern. He made a disparaging smile. "Time I had some sleep." He suddenly looked very old, very tired. "It's been so long. She said it was time…"

"Doctor," Ianto murmured, dismayed. He paused when he heard himself. He didn't know why he automatically called for the Doctor.

The time traveler, however, didn't acknowledge him. He merely pursed his lips, silent.

_"Professor, tell the Doctor his blue box is on its way."_

Ianto leaned back against the processor, his knees suddenly weak. The blue box was being rolled in carefully on some sort of wheeled cart. He wondered how undignified it would be to hug it.

The Doctor brightened at the sight. "Ah."

Yana eyed the time traveler with a furrowed brow. "Doctor?"

The Doctor grabbed Yana by the shoulders and hurried the old man over. "Professor, it's a wild stab in the dark, but I might just have found you a way out." The Doctor pointed at the entering box.

As the blue box came through the door, Yana broke away from the Doctor and stared at the blue box with amazement as it was moved to an empty wall.

"What…what is this?" Yana whispered. He clasped his hands together and worried the ring on his finger again.

"That," the Doctor said with what Ianto thought sounded like fatherly pride, "is the TARDIS."

 

**Act IX**   
**Ministry of Defense**   
**Whitehall St., London**   
**Present day…**

Gwen watched Owen pace the length of their cell countless times. She wished there was at least bars Owen could rattle. Or someone in one of the other cells within shouting distance. Anything was better than watching him kick the Plexiglas, curse about his sore foot, then kick the glass again.

The cells looked new, painted to a dreary grey with coordinating benches that were bolted and welded to the wall. They were alone in the end of a dim, short corridor of five cells. Left alone to their own devices, soundproofed so no one could hear them. Gwen tested the walls. They were solid and thick, damn. Tosh reported there were no wires inside; all the recessed lighting were sparse and outside their tight space.

"Looks like one of our damn Weevil cells," Owen grumbled. He gestured towards the thick Plexiglas divider and its small circle of holes for talking. "Since when did MOD have their own detention section?" Owen gestured wildly with his arms. "Isn't this illegal?"

Gwen agreed; however, there was a suspicion _nothing_ here was being done by the book. She chose to keep silent though as she watched Owen from her bench.

"At least sit down," Tosh complained next to Gwen. She sat there with her arms folded across her chest. "You're making me dizzy."

"Sorry. I tend to get a little fidgety while I'm waiting to get _executed_!" Owen snarled. He kicked the clear wall again and howled. He hopped on one foot.

Tosh rolled her eyes and muttered, "Prat."

"I just order four hypervodkas for my last meal," a bemused voice spoke up beyond their prison. "It's usually less painful."

Gwen and Tosh shot up to their feet. Owen skidded to a halt.

"Jack!" Gwen cried, relieved. However, her relief was short-lived when Jack detached himself from the shadows he was hiding in. Jack's face was so pale it shone in the feeble light. His hair was plastered to his brow and it was clear he was a little unsteady on his feet.

Owen had his fists on the glass as he tracked Jack staggering to the keypad. 

"You make one shitty looking rescuer, Captain," Owen said gruffly. 

"And you make one sorry looking terrorist," Jack returned breathlessly. "Isn't there a height requirement for this sort of thing?"

Owen just scoffed. "Took you long enough. Thought you'd swan off somewhere."

"And miss this?" Jack rested his head on the glass. Jack took a deep breath.

"Jack?" Gwen asked anxiously. "What did they do to you?"

Jack just gave her an inscrutable look before his eyes shifted away. He stumbled, set a hand on the glass to steady himself before he faced the keypad. "This looks easy enough, kids."

"Jack!" Tosh tiptoed, her cheek making smudges on the glass as she tried to see the numeric pad by their cell. "I didn't get a good look at the locking mechanisms before—"

"It's okay, Tosh," Jack began.

"…But I think it runs on a aliquot sequence with a Benzian subset so I think if we go with a reversal Catalan's conjecture, we could probably figure out the divisors to open this door."

Jack blinked at her.

"Or," Jack said slowly and carefully. "I could just cross the positive and negative wires together and open this door." 

Owen threw his hands up towards the ceiling, shaking his head, when Tosh gave a meek, "Oh. That could work, too." Gwen patted Tosh on the back.

Jack gave her a wan smile. His hand stroked the glass where her cheek was before he focused on the task at hand.

While he worked, his blue eyes, although glazed, were still shrewd and scanned the cell with a single glance.

"I had to take the service corridors so there was nothing to tell me about this place. Anyone know where we are?" Jack mumbled as he swept a hand across the keypad that controlled their small room.

"MOD," Tosh answered in a tight voice.

Jack paused for a moment before he continued with whatever he was doing. 

"London," Jack mumbled as he managed to finally pry off the cover of the keypad. Something dark flashed across his face. 

"You don't remember?" Gwen asked. Owen scowled and shuffled closer to the glass. Tosh was pressed up against the glass next to him, pointing and giving him suggestions as Jack yanked the wires.

"Just up to getting off the invisible lift," was Jack's curt reply. "Right after I woke…" Jack cleared his throat and didn't finish the sentence. "Almost got it," Jack said brusquely. 

Owen cleared his throat. "Oi, Jack, listen—"

"Not now, Owen," Jack cut him off. 

"But—"

"Owen. We dealt with it." Jack stopped what he was doing. He leveled an intense look at Owen. Gwen couldn't see what it was but she saw Owen nod.

"Yeah," Owen rasped. "Alright."

Jack nodded once and went back to the keypad.

Jack's gaze darted back towards them again. 

"Where's Ianto?" Jack asked tersely. Jack couldn't hide the worry in his words. 

"He's with the Doctor," Gwen blurted.

Jack jerked so suddenly, Owen lunged for him before he remembered the cell and banged his knees and chin trying to get to him.

" _What_?" Jack came up to the front of the cell, and stared at them; his palms were flat and white on the surface. "He's with the Doctor?"

Gwen was taken aback at the fear in Jack's gaze. 

Tosh muttered under her breath and drew up to the glass in front of him. 

"No, no," Tosh hastened to say, staring into his face. "Jack, listen to us! That man! The one you thought was the Doctor. He—"

 _Pop_.

It was silent. The sound of Jack's body slamming into the glass was much louder and at first, Gwen was confused as to why Tosh had screamed. Owen began yelling, his fists banging on the Plexiglas, Tosh slapping hers on the surface as she followed Jack's odd slide down the glass. There was a look of surprise on his face, too much like when they had unknowingly unleashed Abbadon, that Gwen was surprised when she didn't see Owen holding another gun.

"Jack!" Tosh cried out as she dropped to her knees, refusing to look away from his face. Jack groaned, his fingers clawing uselessly on the glass and made to rise. He twisted to face forward and lunged towards something with a growl.

Another _pop_. This one was louder. This one sent Jack crashing back towards them. But it wasn't until the wide red smear that painted the clear wall that it finally registered to Gwen. She gasped and dropped to her knees as well behind Tosh, who was now crouched with her face nearly to the floor.

"Jack! Jack!" Tosh pleaded. 

Jack gritted his teeth. He grunted as he got his knees underneath him and trembling, pushed up and reached for the exposed keypad.

 _Pop_. Jack slammed onto the cell glass again with a choked off cry. His arm dropped and folded awkwardly under his own body. 

"Stop! Damn you, _stop_!" Owen was hollering to something or someone outside. His face was red with fury.

Jack's eyes were fluttering closed despite Gwen and Tosh's calls. 

_Pop_. Jack jerked in place but nothing more.

"Son of a bitch!" Owen bellowed. He kicked the bloodstained glass. 

"Is he dead yet?"

The faraway voice was a contrast to Owen's howling; quiet where as Owen's was loud, flat where as Owen's was crazed. Owen silenced and stared down the corridor.

"Jack," Tosh whimpered. "Oh my God…Jack…" She stroked the glass Jack's face was pressed against. Her fingers went up and down the spot where his cheek rested. 

Owen dropped his arms to the side. He lowered himself next to Tosh and pulled her away from the glass. 

"He'll be alright, Tosh," Owen muttered into her hair. "Jack won't stay dead. H-he'll come back." He shot Gwen a look. Something in his terse expression cracked when she nodded.

Gwen looked up. Through the blood smear, she could see a person standing at the end of the hall of cells. 

"Who are you?" Gwen demanded the shadow. She fought to keep her voice steady. "Show yourself!"

The graceful silhouette that came forward was not what she expected. Golden blonde hair pinned up neatly to frame a heart-shaped flawless face, slender build, dainty walk, the shadow stepped into the light and solidified into a…woman?

"What the fuck?" Owen muttered.

"Ah," a bright voice spoke up from behind the carefully dressed woman. Saxon, a startling contrast against her light colored suit in his dark attire, came up from behind the woman, his hands on her shoulders.

"I seen you've met my lovely wife." Saxon took the hand not holding the gun and lightly brushed his lips across the back of her fingers. "Lucy Saxon."

Lucy, Gwen realized with a sickening lurch in her stomach, was frowning at Jack's body with mild disapproval as if she found dirt on her shoe.

"He broke out," Lucy murmured. She didn't react as Saxon took the gun out of her hand. Saxon picked up the weapon with his index and his thumb. He wore a grimace of distaste.

"A .38? Oh, never liked those, so messy." Saxon tsked before slipping it into his pocket. 

Lucy was still staring at Jack. "Oh, I've retired Mr. Davies," Lucy murmured, not looking away. "He is no longer under your employment. I hope you don't mind."

"Of course not," Saxon practically purred. "Always thinking of me. My loyal, faithful Companion to the very end."

Lucy smiled, but it never reached her vacant eyes. "He won't stay dead, Harry," she reminded him. "And he will break through again." There was a little satisfied smirk on her face. "Perhaps he lied about hearing the drumming—"

" _He didn't lie_!"

Gwen almost felt sorry for Lucy when Saxon grabbed her by the arm and wrenched her around. Lucy gasped as she was twisted around to Saxon's fury.

Saxon's wife cringed. Gwen thought she looked like a porcelain doll. She took a step closer about to speak until she caught sight of the bloody holes on Jack's back. All sympathy fled at that point.

"Harry," Lucy whispered, her eyes wide. 

And just like that, the rage vanished from Saxon's face. Saxon's pale face flipped to a more congenial and remorseful expression.

"Ah, I'm sorry, darling." Saxon kissed her hand again, then the other. 

"I still don't understand," Lucy sighed, relaxing.

"It's like cutting open the TARDIS," Saxon murmured. His lips lingered over her left knuckles. "Oh. If only you can taste the heart, its power, like I can, but alas…" Saxon stroked her face. 

"You're only human." 

Lucy looked about ready to cry. Her lower lip trembled.

"There, there," Saxon cooed as he settled her head against his shoulder. "It will be fine," he assured her. "Did I ever tell you about the time I visited Arcateen V? Wonderful merchants there sell this unusual piece…" Saxon pulled out a tiny pendant from his pockets and dangled it in front of Lucy. "It has all sorts of uses."

Tosh stiffened.

"Tosh?" Owen asked, noticing. "What? Do you recognize it?"

Saxon turned towards her with an oily smile. He held up the crystalline pendant like a hypnotist. 

"You would, wouldn't you, Ms. Sato?" 

"Tosh," Gwen hissed. "What is it?"

" _Mary_ ," Tosh seethed low under her breath. Owen jerked. Out loud, Tosh replied, "It's able to read thoughts." She reached down a hand and touched the glass next to Jack's hair. "It won't work on Jack." Tosh's chin jutted out. "You won't be able to read Jack's mind with that."

"Oh, I don't need it for _that_."

Gwen tensed and saw the other two did the same.

"What are you planning, _Harry_?" Owen drawled.

"Very versatile," Saxon declared as he twirled the pendant around his finger, his right arm around Lucy's middle. "Not only can they bridge minds, they can also create a controlling link with organic and inorganic systems…" He made a lazy smile that made Gwen's skin crawl like little ants up her back. 

"And those in-between." He approached their cell and stooped to Jack's body.

"Don't you touch him!" Gwen snarled. Owen came up next to her, his jaw set. 

Saxon blinked at her. He lifted a finger up for show, his mouth shaped into an "O" then he slowly reached down and poked Jack sharply on the head. He looked up, sneering, as if daring Gwen to say something else. She didn't. She fumed as Saxon tapped Jack in the head again and again.

Tosh, still on the floor, kicked her heels off, pulled her feet back and slammed both of them heel down on the spot closest to Saxon's head so hard Gwen winced. Tosh merely smirked when Saxon, startled, fell back on his ass.

Saxon sat there on the ground and stared at her. He ignored Lucy coming up to crouch by him.

Suddenly, he grinned.

"Oh, you're a feisty pretty little bird, aren't you?" Saxon breathed. "I may just keep you Toshiko Sato."

Owen growled. He went over, hoist Tosh up to her feet with a yank and he kicked the same spot, his eyes blazing.

"Hm," Saxon pretended to think. "Not as effective the second time around. No, better luck next time Owen Harper."

"Fuck you!"

Saxon sneered. He gave Jack one last poke, patted the back of Jack's head, lingering long enough to make Gwen's blood boiled. Saxon rose to his feet just as a few men in dark suits entered and hoisted Jack up. Jack's head lolled to his chest. 

"Where are you taking him?" Gwen went up against the glass with the others. She craned her neck to see them drag Jack out the door, his blood painting a morbid broad line that marked his journey.

"Well, executing him with you would be pointless, don't you think?" Saxon asked in a bored voice to no one in particular. He spun the pendant around his finger as he slipped his other arm back around Lucy again. They walked slowly towards the door. Saxon raised his arm and wiggled his fingers farewell behind him. He ignored their shouts, merely laughing as he exited the door.

Owen shakily dropped down next to Gwen on the bench. Tosh wordlessly copied him. They sat there in stunned silence, staring at the blood streaked across their cell wall. Gwen couldn't look at the spot where Jack had lay. Her eyes pricked whenever she had glanced over to the glossy wet splatter.

"Well," Tosh said in a stunned voice. "This has been a very bad day."

Owen snorted what might have been a laugh but it came out strangled. Gwen sniffled and settled her head on his shoulder. Owen said nothing when Tosh did the same on the other side. He merely took both their hands, clasped them with his and they sat there, their combined hands on Owen's lap. They all sat there, their heads bowed together, and avoided looking at the stain of Jack's blood on the cell wall.

 

**Malcassairo**   
**Year 100 trillion…**

Her name used to be Aja. When they took her in, she was still Aja but she could feel her blood thickening, changing her to something else. And when humans rescued her, they had congratulated themselves for managing to save her.

But she had already been saved. Long ago. She had nearly starved but Kind showed her before humans took her away to the silo.

As time past, it was harder and harder to sit there while all this _food_ walked and talked around her.

Make feast.

When the klaxons blared, Aja knew feast would be leaving and Aja and Kind would be hungry again for a very long time.

No.

Aja sneered as people laughed and smiled at each other as they went to the gates to climb into the rocket.

Aja bared her pointy teeth at them. She licked her lips. 

Kind would take her back if she did good. Aja stared greedily at the shining faces. Her mouth watered and she had to make a fist and thump her thigh to make herself look away. Later. Right now, Aja needed to do something. 

Aja scurried away in the emptied halls, her nostrils flaring at the faint scent of blood on the floor. Aja wanted to stop and take a deeper whiff but she balled her hands into fists again and pounded on her upper thighs until the feeling past before she went through the corridors to the room she had seen under the rocket.

 

Yana sat there in a bit of a daze as the Doctor zipped by him, a blur of brown and wool as he dragged a thick cable out of the TARDIS. 

"Extra power. She won't fly but she can still think brilliantly," the Doctor declared. He shoved piles of metal cards and microchips and oddities off the workstation with a sweep of his arm. The Doctor plugged it into the computer there. He dashed back into the TARDIS and was soon out again. It was dizzying to watch. "Little bit of a cheat, but who's counting?"

"So long she doesn't download another trojan," Ianto joked.

The Doctor stopped short by him and squinted at him. "A what?"

Ianto fidgeted. "Uh…a Trojan…that's what I assume was uploaded back in Torch—"

Understanding lit up the Doctor's eyes before Ianto could finish. "Oh, a _Trojan_ , like the horse! Oh, that's a clever name although the horse wasn't. Blimey the thing reeked inside and we were huddled in there for days! They should have thought of more air holes in there but I suppose it would have defeated the purpose—"

Ianto stared. He wasn't sure he heard correctly. "You were there? The Trojan War? Twelve _hundred_ , BC?"

"Face that launched a thousand ships?" The Doctor was nodding vigorously as he reached around Ianto for a tool. His fingers flew as he talked.

"Although I wouldn't say a thousand, more like…816 but I supposed saying a thousand was more impressive and more economical to write but Helen certainly wasn't worth all the fuss really. Had the worst bad breath that side of the century and one foot was a little bigger than the other…"

Ianto's mind was reeling, spinning like a renegade carousel. He wondered when he would have an opportunity to sit down and simply absorb. " _You_ were there? Fighting the war? The _Trojan_ War? "

The Doctor scoffed as he wrestled with the cable from the TARDIS. "Hardly, Torchwood. Is war all you can think about? I was their _navigator_. I had set down to refuel, lost someone I was traveling with—worse than cats, really—and I was…ahem…involuntarily recruited for their little war. Good thing too. They sailed right up to Mysia before and had gotten completely turned around. They would have ended up discovering America first if it weren't for me."

Ianto was still trying to catch up. "So…you were there?" Ianto parroted stupidly.

A thump across his back nearly unseated him.

"Yup. Trojan. Hah! Very clever indeed! Your century certainly knows how to recycle words! Torchwood, you're in charge of the retro feeds. Make sure they don't cross—can't have them cross—and keep those lines steady. Very bad if they cross especially on an empty stomach—did you see what these people were being fed? Remarkable. So crossing's bad! Alright? Good."

Ianto was never sure if he had imagined that the Doctor was here or not. The time traveler never stayed put long enough for his presence to fully register. And he wished the Doctor would stop thumping his back like he was trying to dislodge whatever he thought Ianto was choking on.

"Oh, am I glad to see that thing!" Martha declared happily when she trotted down the stairs, her arms full of more metal cards. Her face lit up at the sight of the blue box.

Chantho caught sight of the professor sitting by the computers and hurried over to where Yana was sitting. "Chan-Professor, are you all right-tho?" his assistant asked anxiously.

"Yeah, I'm fine, I'm fine. I'm fine," Yana said faintly. When Chantho still hovered, Yana shooed her off. "Just get on with it."

Ianto wiped his palms on his trousers—God, his suit was a mess now—and he tentatively approached the professor. 

"You don't have to keep working, Professor," Ianto told him quietly. He stood over the professor and wondered how rude it would be to take his pulse. "We can handle it."

Yana smiled tiredly up at him. He patted Ianto's hand. "I'm alright, my good boy." Yana slapped both his knees. "These old bones just get older by the day."

Ianto offered him a wry twist of his mouth. "We all get older," Ianto commented. "It's an unfortunate fact of life."

Yana made a sad chuckle.

"I never thought I'd see the day I would see Utopia though." Yana sighed. He clasped his hands together. "I was content if I could just see the rocket fly."

"And you will," Ianto promised. He smiled kindly to the old man.

"You, uh," Ianto gestured towards the professor's hand. "I noticed you touch your ring often. It must be very important to you."

"Ah." Yana pulled his hand away from the ring as if he hadn't realized he had been touching it.

"Good luck charm?" Ianto inquired while Yana rotated his palm. He stared at his hand as if seeing it for the first time.

"A gift," Yana sighed heavily, "although sometimes, I wonder if it was more a curse."

Ianto frowned. "A curse?"

"All these thoughts," Yana muttered. His shoulders sagged. "Sometimes, I wonder why she gave it to me…" Yana massaged his head. Ianto glanced over, feeling a little helpless.

The Doctor noticed and nodded for Ianto to help Martha. The time traveler trotted over to Yana, and switched places with Ianto. He crouched by Yana, his brow lined with concern. "Professor?"

"It's just a headache, just noise in my head, Doctor," Yana sighed. He smiled at the Doctor with faint embarrassment. "Constant noise inside my head."

Ianto froze and he looked over to the pair sharply.

"Ianto?" Martha inquired. She pulled slightly away from the mainframe.

"What sort of noise?"

"The sound of drums."

"Ianto?"

Ianto stirred and blinked back at Martha. "What?" he said blankly.

"…more as though it's getting closer."

Martha considered Ianto with a little frown. "You okay?"

Ianto slowly turned back at Yana. His brow furrowed. "I'm…I'm not sure."

By Yana, the Doctor was deep in thought. He remained sitting on his heels by the professor. "When did it start?"

"I had it all my life," Yana explained wearily to the Doctor. "Every waking hour," Yana sighed.

"Uh oh. You have that look," Martha grumbled. 

Ianto started and gave Martha an arched eyebrow. "Look?"

Martha batted him on the arm. "The look that says I should start running," Martha joked good-naturedly. 

Ianto smiled sheepishly. "Ah. Do a lot of running, do you?"

Martha groaned. "I think all we do _is_ running." She sobered. "You okay, though?"

"Hmm, I just…" Ianto studied Yana and his weary lined face. He shook his head. "It's probably nothing. Overthinking," he joked lightly.

"Uh oh," Martha teased. "You're not a Time Lord too, are you?"

Ianto laughed. His previous misgivings faded. "I don't have a police box hidden away if that's what you're referring to."

"Damn," Martha sighed. She looked over to the TARDIS with a fond smile. "Guess it'll be up to her then."

Ianto stared at the TARDIS. Funny, he mused, it felt more and more natural to think of it as a her.

"Still, no rest for the wicked," Yana announced as he rose to his feet. He clapped the Doctor's shoulder and the two men chuckled. Ianto smiled to himself. They were oddly alike.

_"Professor, are you getting me?"_

Yana hurried back to his computer monitor. "I'm here! We're ready!" 

It was actually happening. Ianto was still feeling like he wasn't standing here. Trillions of years away, the distance Ianto couldn't begin to wrap his mind around. He felt very, very small. He felt more spectator than participant. Words beyond his comprehension were tossed back and forth. 

"Now all you need to do is connect the couplings, then we can launch." 

Ianto pressed back as the Doctor zipped by. Chantho was busying herself with the panels against the wall. There really wasn't anything left to do. And without a task, Ianto found himself at a loss, mentally floundering. 

Time travel, as he knew from Jack, meant peeking into their own past, reminiscing a history they only knew in books. Yet there would have been something familiar, something to cradle against. The future, _this_ future, had no foothold. It was too alien, too far beyond human imagination to wonder about. There was nothing familiar here to hold on to. 

Ianto leaned against the TARDIS and wrapped his right hand around his wrist. It was warm but the lack of a pulse, answering squeeze made his insides churn and his heart ache. Watching everyone doing something but him, Ianto truly, _truly_ wanted to go home. 

The ship hummed underneath him. It felt reassuring and Ianto smiled sadly to himself.

"Save us, this equipment! Needs rebooting all the time!"

Ianto observed as Martha hurried over to offer her help to Yana. He felt untethered, a little useless as Martha seated herself in front of the computer. Everyone seemed to have a function but him. 

"Not quite what you were expecting was it?"

Ianto found the Doctor standing by him, his coat back on. The time traveler had a knowing look on his face. 

At Ianto's blank expression, the Doctor reiterated, "Time traveling."

Ianto scoffed. He turned back to see Yana waving his arms wildly in the air in a fashion that reminded him of the Doctor.

"I wasn't expecting anything at all," Ianto muttered. "I wasn't expecting to be… _here_." He felt a stab of guilt. "I keep having this feeling like I shouldn't be here."

"The pitfalls of time travel," the Doctor admitted. "It's never really your timeline. Paradoxes and displacements. It can be disconcerting." 

Ianto fidgeted. He didn't think he could ever get acclimated to this.

"Once the rocket flies," the Doctor murmured out of the blue. "We can use their systems, reconvert their power structures to our system and reboot the TARDIS."

Ianto glanced back over to the Doctor.

The time traveler chuckled sadly at Ianto's surprised expression. 

"Did you think I'd forget?" The Doctor darkened. "On the contrary, getting back to Jack has been foremost on my mind, Ianto Jones."

Ianto stirred uneasily under his stormy gaze. "Sorry," he mumbled. Ianto gave the Doctor a hesitant glance.

"Yes?" the Doctor invited.

"Your…ship…it travels through time…correct?"

Understanding dawned across the Doctor's face. "Ah."

"We could," Ianto fumbled. "Maybe go back…to…I mean…before…"

The Doctor gave him a sad quirk of his mouth. "Time's events have already set. Any tampering with events that crossed your timeline before could do irreparable damage. Changing one thing could create catastrophic ripples even I can't predict."

Dismayed, Ianto stared at him. "But…"

The Doctor shook his head. "There are rules, not even a Time Lord would impair time. We're never meant to be gods."

Ianto lowered his head. "Oh."

"We will go back to as close as we can to the time we left," the Doctor offered. "We will find him. You have my word, Ianto Jones."

Ianto stroked the wrist strap. He blinked rapidly. "I…I just…it kills me to think I left Jack behind." 

The Doctor narrowed his eyes. He nodded curtly and glanced over to Yana again.

_"Are you still there?"_

It wasn't clear whether Yana was coming or going. He stood, about to pace, spinning around when Atillo returned. "Present and correct!" 

Ianto studied the Doctor's grim expression. It was something at the tip of his tongue. It had been ever since Jack had told him on Christmas day. 

"Why…" Ianto began. "Why did _you_?"

The Doctor wouldn't reply at first, his eyes hooded.

"I was busy," the Doctor said stiffly.

The tone warned Ianto against asking further but it slipped past him. Ianto stared at the Doctor. His limbs went rigid.

"You…you were _busy_?" Ianto repeated tightly. His throat squeezed. "What is that supposed to mean? Did you get bored with him one day? Have you _any_ idea what that did to Jack? _Busy_? That's all you can say?"

The Doctor turned to Ianto. "No. That's all I _will_ say," the Doctor hissed. 

A chill rippled down Ianto's arms. He felt smothered under the Doctor's eyes. The TARDIS dug sharply into his back. 

"Send your man inside," Yana was ordering, oblivious to what was going on behind him. "We'll keep the levels down from here."

Ianto's throat clenched tight. "He," Ianto croaked. "He waited for you…in a space station full of corpses." 

Something flickered across the Doctor's eyes. He pulled back, the cold fires in his gaze dulled and Ianto found he was exhaling out a violent whoosh. He hadn't realized he was holding his breath before.

_"He's inside."_

Yana twisted around towards them. He flapped an arm towards Ianto. "Please keep the dials below the red."

"Of course, professor," Ianto agreed between clenched teeth. He twisted away from the Doctor. His hands shook against his sides but he moved to the station Yana requested.

The Doctor cleared his throat. "Where is that room?" the Doctor asked. 

"It's underneath the rocket." Yana waved towards the monitor Martha was sitting in front of. "Fix the couplings and the Footprint can work. But the entire chamber is flooded with stet radiation."

"Stet?" the Doctor repeated. "Never heard of it."

Yana grunted. "You wouldn't want to. But it's safe enough if we can hold the radiation back from here." Yana stared at the monitor from behind Martha's shoulder. 

"So if we get all the couplings fixed, the rocket will fly," the Doctor concluded. 

"Best news I heard all day!" Martha cheered from her station. 

"Brilliant," Ianto muttered. He didn’t look at the Doctor as he adjusted the dials little by little to keep the levels in check. Soon, Ianto told himself. Soon, the rocket will fly, they would go back and he would find Jack.

Ianto felt the unease loosen in his chest but it tightened again when the panel he was monitoring began to wail. 

 

Aja found the metal box she'd seen them fiddling with. The meanings of the words on the box were lost to Aja. She flickered them on then off, and yanked some of the wires. The alarms rang but it wasn't enough. Aja spun around to a white machine she remembered long time before was used to make the clothes she was wearing. Aja grabbed it, about to throw it—

But a woman blocked her path. She didn't shy away when Aja bared her teeth at her. She didn't flinch when Aja motioned throwing the heavy machine at her either. Half her face was covered with rags and the bloated half Aja could see stared at Aja unblinking.

Aja paused, the heavy machine still in her hands.

"He'd wondered what had gone wrong," the cloaked woman said in the kind of voice as if she was down a deep hole. "He was sure it was to no fault of his."

Aja snarled when the woman took a step closer. Aja threw the machine at her but the woman just stepped aside from it and it struck the wall behind her.

"I can't let you stop them." The woman was still talking while her hands burrowed into her own cloak. "They _must_ go to Utopia. That is where it all begins."

Aja didn't know what she was saying. Aja back away, hissing at the woman to stay away.

"It'll be alright," the woman said in a soft, cajoling voice. The woman's hands withdrew from the folds of her cloak. Aja tensed when she saw a hooked, crude dagger gripped firmly in misshapen hands.

"You will not die for nothing."

Aja stared at the woman and, for the first time in a long time, felt fear.

 

**Act X**   
**Malcassairo**   
**Year 100 trillion…**

"Chan-we're losing power-tho!"

Ianto twisted the dials but the meters still crept towards the red; the sirens still protested. He slapped his palms over and over again on the surface—it worked for the thermal quantum splitter in Torchwood—but other than a brief pause, the meters were still climbing, past zero, edging up to the second level now. Ianto stared at the dials, his gut churning in that nauseating helpless feeling he hadn't felt since Lisa. "Levels aren't stopping! They're still climbing!" Ianto shouted. He felt a sliver of ice in his chest. 

"Lieutenant, what is happening in the chamber?" Yana exclaimed.

There was no response. The speakers were silent.

"Professor, we lost picture!" Martha cried out from her station. 

Yana hunched behind Martha, typing into the controls around her personally but it was the same result. The snowy image never changed.

"No, no, no! We were so close! So close!" Yana shouted. 

"The radiation must have flooded the chamber somehow," Yana dropped heavily on the edge of a cluttered workstation behind Martha. He covered his eyes with a hand. "Without the couplings…" Yana shook his hand in the air. His shoulders slumped. "It was all for nothing!" 

"Chan-professor-tho," Chantho said softly. Her antennae dipped all the way to her chin. 

"No one can go into the chamber now?" the Doctor asked quietly.

"Sir, what are the levels?" Yana inquired over his shoulder.

Ianto rubbed his thumb across the meter glass to see through the smudges. The equipment was simply too old. "Halfway to red, professor," Ianto reported gravely. He lowered his eyes at the devastated look on Yana's face. 

Yana shook his head. "It's tolerable now but only for a short time. If it rises to the red, he or she would be sure to vaporize in there!" He looked close to tears.

The Doctor winced. "A shame the Captain isn't here," he murmured. "He would have proven useful right now."

Ianto turned sharply towards the Doctor.

The Doctor studied the TARDIS, his lips pursed. "Professor, is there any way to trim off the stet radiation from the couplings chamber?"

The professor scoffed. "Out into these very corridors, yes. There are ducts that vent from the bottom of the silo, but that is moot. The radiation will kill everything in its path!"

"The rocket?"

"Shielded from stet radiation should they encounter it crossing the badlands," Yana replied, "but what good would it do to vent the—"

"Where exactly does it vent out to, professor? Where?" the Doctor pressed.

Yana frowned at the Doctor. "Fifteen levels below that chamber."

"And how long for it take to reach up to the couplings chamber?"

"Doctor?" Martha frowned. 

The time traveler waved at her to wait. He stared at Yana expectantly.

Yana gaped at the Doctor as if he was mad. "Twenty, twenty five minutes, but surely…" Yana sputtered. "Once you vent out the stet gases, there's no way to retract them. Ten minutes later, it'll reach _us_!"

"Plenty of time!" the Doctor announced with a broad grin. 

"Doctor, what you have planned?" Martha narrowed her eyes.

Ianto sucked in his breath. "You're planning to go into the chamber," he guessed.

"But that's madness!" Yana burst out. "No human can survive in there too long!"

"Well," the Doctor coughed. He took off his spectacles and grinned mysteriously, his eyes dark. "It's a good thing I'm not human then."

 

They were running again.

The klaxons drowned out the twin panting as Ianto ran alongside the Doctor down eerily empty corridors, feet pounding the concrete roads in unison. The emptiness that greeted them in every turn made knots in his gut. Ianto reminded himself again that it was because everyone was inside the rocket, waiting for flight.

"Tell me, Torchwood," the Doctor puffed as they simultaneously turned the corner, "why are you coming with me again?"

"You can't vent the gases," Ianto wheezed, "and fix the couplings at the same time. It's a multitasking feat even beyond you, sir." He skidded to a halt, barreling into the Doctor who stopped short without warning. "Are we ther—Oh God."

Ianto covered his mouth with his hand as if he could stop the smell of fresh blood from seeping into his mouth and down his throat. The Doctor looked at the contorted body lying prone on the floor with a grimace. 

"Is that the Lieutenant—" Ianto choked. He held his sleeve up to his nose. 

"No," the Doctor said. It was almost a growl. "It looks like it might have once been a woman." The Doctor lifted up a limp hand. He turned towards the open panels on the wall. He studied them with drawn eyebrows.

"I believe we may have found our culprit to the radiation spike," the Doctor murmured. He turned the hand over and nodded towards the damaged panels. "Electrical residue."

"It looks like someone found her first actually," Ianto managed. He fought down the nausea rising up his throat.

"She was butchered," the Doctor hissed. He rose to his feet.

Ianto could see bloody footprints along the field of his perception. He didn't dare lift his head to see past that. The glimpse of permanent fear was already etched into his mind.

"Let's go," the Doctor took Ianto by the elbow with a surprisingly gentle grip and led him away. They ran again, although this time, it felt like it was fueled with something else.

The couplings chamber was further down the hall and Ianto again bumped into the Doctor when he came to a complete stop.

In front of a gun.

"Do not come any closer!" 

Ianto recognized Atillo's voice but he couldn't speak. The Doctor stood in front of him, his posture relaxed, his hands up.

"It's fine," the Doctor assured the soldier. "We're with Professor Yana. We're here to help you. He sent us."

Ianto dared to peer around the time traveler. He stiffened at the terse dark face behind a rather large gun. A younger, but no less threatening, flushed face stood behind Atillo armed with another weapon.

"The alarms went off. Then we heard screaming," Atillo said, his voice accusing. The other behind him shuddered.

"It just kept going," the other rasped. He looked like he was in shock. "Then…then, it just stopped."

"Yes," the Doctor sounded very grim. "There's a body out in the corridors. A woman."

Atillo's mouth twitched. It was the only reaction. "I told Jate to get out when the alarms rang. We lost contact with the professor."

"We're here to help you," Ianto offered behind the Doctor.

"Yes, Torchwood, thank you. I think I had forgotten to mention that part before," the Doctor replied in a dry voice. He didn't turn around. 

Ianto glowered at the back of the Doctor's head. "Perhaps you weren't convincing running down the halls before, flapping your arms."

"I do _not_ flap my arms!" The Doctor lowered his hands and spun around to Ianto.

Ianto pursed his lips and pointed at Atillo. "If you wouldn't mind paying attention to him, sir?" Ianto asked archly.

The Doctor shot him an exasperated look but turned around.

"I wasn't flapping my arms, was I?" the Doctor complained to Atillo.

The Lieutenant appeared completely thrown off. "What? I-I…uh…no…The Professor sent you?" Atillo recovered, lowering his gun tentatively.

"Yes. I promise you're going to fly," the Doctor said urgently. "You two should go to the rocket."

"The chamber's flooding with stet radiation—"

"We found a way to bypass that, but the longer we talk, the harder it'll be." The Doctor was growing impatient. "Now hurry up and get to the rocket."

"But—"

" _Run_!" The Doctor's voice thundered.

They ran.

The Doctor was already putting on the radiation suit left behind.

"But the lieutenant said—" Ianto found himself protesting as the Doctor pulled the head gear over his face.

"Time Lords can tolerate radiation a little longer than you apes." Even though the helmet muffled his words, the Doctor was very cheerful as he studied the mainframes all along the wall. It was disconcerting.

"Besides," the Doctor continued as he directed Ianto's attention to one panel. "Once you vent the gases from here, we should have a few more minutes. Wait until we hear they're safely on that rocket." The Doctor peeked through the tiny square window into the chamber. "Looks like they were almost done anyway."

The suit crinkled as the Doctor walked towards the chamber.

Ianto stared at the dials, yet more technology he couldn't begin to understand. There was a lump inside his throat as he heard the time traveler very noisily approach the chamber. It was pushing, pushing until…

"You knew…about Jack."

The Doctor stopped at the door but he said nothing.

Ianto set his palms on the panel. He wished he had said nothing. Now was not the time, not with so much at stake.

"Yes." Despite the helmet, the Doctor's voice was clear.

Ianto swallowed. He stared at the wrist strap he wore.

"How long have you known?" he whispered. Ianto couldn't figure out why he was afraid to know the answer.

There was another loud rustle and Ianto was about to tell the Doctor to just go, they were wasting time, when the Doctor sighed.

"Ever since I ran away from him," the Doctor exhaled. Another crinkle. "I have to go in."

"G-good…good luck," Ianto rasped.

There was a pause before the heavy groan of the shielded door followed.

When the door closed, Ianto rested his head on the panel and swallowed hard.

 

Martha sat in front of the computer. She gnashed her teeth. Professor Yana was pacing behind her, Chantho just hovering and lord, she wished they would just stop!

The cables were now all twisted out in reverse, power cables branched into the TARDIS to reset the ship when the Doctor returned. 

_"Martha. Can you see me?"_

Martha squeaked when the two rushed forward and crowded around her.

"I'm here, Ianto," Martha managed, nearly pitched right off her seat when Chantho and Yana pressed in from behind. Martha madly waved them off. "Please!" she protested.

_"Pardon?"_

"Not you. I don't have visual, but I can hear you just fine. Is everything okay?"

_"Turns out communications went down before. The Doctor has evacuated Lieutenant Atillo and Jate. They're heading to the rocket."_

Martha wished she were there. She'd feel better within sight of the Doctor. "And the Doctor?"

 _"Inside."_ Ianto paused. _"I'll be venting the gases in a few minutes. We'll need you to tell us if the levels still go up in the chamber."_

"Aye, aye, Captain," Martha grinned. Ianto, oddly enough, didn't laugh. 

"The levels are very high already," Yana called out after a quick check. "He should get out of there."

There was a teeny scoff.

_"I was practically a host to a solar sun! I can handle a little radiation."_

Martha smiled at the voice. "Hello, Doctor. How are you doing?"

_"Martha, these radiation suits are absolutely barbaric! It’s like they’re pieced together with tape!"_

Yana behind her sputtered indignantly. Martha snickered. "Not too hot then?"

_"Bah, the S.S. Pentallian was hotter."_

"Lord, that doesn't count. We were heading towards the sun!"

_"Well, not deliberately!"_

_"Ms. Jones, the lieutenant and his assistant have reported they're in the rocket. I'll proceed to vent out the radiation now. Hello? Hello?"_

"I'm here!" Martha responded but all she heard was Ianto's muttered, "Damn."

"Ooh, communications went down on our side!" Martha wanted very much to kick something.

"Heading towards…the sun?"

Martha turned around and found Professor Yana and Chantho staring at her. Oops. 

"There hasn't been a sun in…a very, very long time. I can't remember ever seeing one." Yana turned to study the TARDIS. "What sort of man is he?" Yana approached the TARDIS slowly. "Time Lord, you said," Yana remembered, his voice thoughtful. "What exactly _is_ a Time Lord?" 

"It's uh…a long story," Martha hedged, fidgeting.

Yana's eyes were unusually dark, as if they filled his entire gaze.

"Yes," Yana said very slowly, "one I would be very interested in hearing when this is all over…"

 

"What is it?" 

Ianto stuck his face by the glass. 

"Communications seem to have gone down again," Ianto explained to the bulkily dressed Doctor. It wasn't a flattering suit—wasn't meant to be—and Ianto could imagine Jack having a row about wearing it. His Captain would probably rather strip down than wear it.

Ianto tugged at his collar. _That_ was not an image he needed in his head right now.

"No matter. I'm almost done."

There was a loud _thunk_ as the next coupling locked.

"It's a good thing the radiation was vented," the Doctor said, breathless, "otherwise even _I_ would have a hard time in here. Then," another _thunk_ , "I would have been worried." 

Ianto watched the Doctor a few more beats before he cleared his throat.

"Why?" Ianto asked quietly.

The Doctor apparently knew what he was referring to. He paused, just enough to make Ianto check his stopwatch—eighteen minutes—before the Doctor proceeded to the next little pole that was the couplings gear.

"It's hard to explain." The Doctor hesitated. "Well, maybe not really."

"Which is it?" Ianto pressed. He set his forearm on the door before he pulled back with a surprised hiss. Even the door was warm. Ianto checked his stopwatch again. Seventeen minutes.

The Doctor tapped a sequence code on the next coupling pillar. "Both, actually."

"Jack's a fixed point in time and space. A fact. He can't change, can't die. Ever. That was never meant to happen." The Doctor grunted as he tugged at the lever. It appeared to be stuck. After a few tugs, _thunk_.

"Even the TARDIS wouldn't be able to stand being near him. She probably would have thrown herself all the way to the end of the universe to get away." The time traveler snorted at the thought. He gazed at Ianto, but the helmet distorted his expression. "It's a Time Lord's instinct. It's in our guts. It would be hard looking at him because Jack's—"

"Don't," Ianto pleaded. His voice cracked. "Don't call him wrong. Don't call him a freak. Jack isn't. He's Jack. He's not wrong."

The Doctor look up and even between the barriers, Ianto could see he was sweating. 

The Doctor dropped his eyes and moved to the second to last one.

Ianto sniffed loudly. He rested on the mainframe by the door.

"Jack thought you came back," Ianto croaked. "In 1941. Said you came back for him."

"That wasn't me." The Doctor said wearily.

"I know that now, but Jack…" Ianto rubbed at his eyes. Damn place was dusty all over. "The whole time he was with _him_ , Jack…there were things he made Jack do…all in the promise to fix him." Ianto stroked the wrist strap. "He thought for sure you came back for him. He had waited so long. He was hoping you could fix him." 

"I'm sorry that wasn't us." The Doctor sighed. White condensation obscured the helmet for a moment. He fell silent.

Ianto watched the Doctor a bit more.

"What happened to him?" Ianto saw the Doctor stopped before continuing on. "Jack said he had died for real, during a Dalek invasion."

The Doctor considered Ianto. "Jack told you a lot of things." The Doctor didn't sound too happy.

"He didn't give me details," Ianto defended Jack. "Timelines and all that, just some things." When the Doctor wouldn't comment, Ianto tried again. "Jack doesn't understand. He doesn't know what happened to him. He always thought he was being punished somehow."

The Doctor never raised his head. "There was…a mutual friend…" 

Ianto gulped back the sudden lump in his throat. "Rose."

The Doctor's helmet shot up. He stared at Ianto for a long moment before lowering his gaze. 

"She looked into the heart of the TARDIS." The Doctor suddenly sounded very ancient. "Not even a Time Lord would dare to do that. All that power. They'll become gods, vengeful gods, if they taste it. She did and couldn't control it and…"

Ianto's heart sank. "And she brought him back."

The Doctor's cumbersome helmet bobbed. "Forever," he finished with a dark tone that said the subject was now closed. 

Ianto checked the time when the hollow sound of the machines around him proved to be too much. "Eleven minutes," Ianto muttered, more to himself. Then, out loud, "Nine minutes left, sir. We should leave before then." He dangled the stopwatch by the window for the Doctor to see. "Never leave home without my stopwatch," Ianto joked weakly.

"I'd been keeping track myself," the Doctor spoke up after a moment. 

"In your head?" Ianto was stumped.

"I can pat my head and rub my belly at the same time too, Torchwood."

Ianto smiled tiredly. "Your talents never cease to amaze, sir."

The Doctor just snorted.

After a beat, the Doctor coughed. "Should the case be I can't get out in time, I want you and Martha to take Professor Yana and Chantho into the TARDIS. Once the radiation reaches her, those cables should be able to convert it to enough power to restart the ship."

Ianto blinked. "But what about you? Won't the stet radiation kill you?"

The radiation suit looked odd when the Doctor shrugged. The whole outfit lifted with the time traveler's shoulders.

"Ah." Ianto remembered. "You will regenerate."

The Doctor awkwardly tried to clap, gave up, and went back to work. 

Ianto frowned to himself. "But if you vaporize, doesn't that cancel the regeneration out?" 

The helmet rose up to look towards him. Another shrug and the helmet went back down again.

 _Thunk_.

 

**Malcassairo**   
**Year 100 trillion…**

_"…without my stopwatch…"_

"Ah, I would help if I could but mine is broken," Yana lamented. He pulled out a fob watch and held it with both hands. He made a disparaging laugh. "An old relic. Like me. "

"Chan-Professor-tho," Chantho murmured.

Martha tapped on the keyboard. It amused her that despite the odd lettering, it was a QWERTY keyboard. Somehow, it was comforting to have something familiar by her.

"Dalek?"

Martha froze at Yana's murmur.

_"…regeneration."_

"Regeneration? Your friends talk in riddles," Yana mused out loud.

Martha stirred uneasily. "It's very hard to explain, Professor," Martha began. 

"Chan-your friends are most unusual-tho," Chantho giggled.

"Most of the times, I barely understand the Doctor myself," Martha chuckled. 

"Most unusual man, yes, but he made this work," Yana fretted. "He made the footprint harmonize…oh, all those years, these poor people placed their faith in us to take them to Utopia…stupid old man…we would have been here for years…" Yana sounded like he could weep. "Time and time and time again, always running out on me." 

"Chan-Professor-tho," Chantho whispered, dismayed. "Chan-you have done so much for these people-tho."

Martha glanced over to give her reassurances. She stopped at the sight of the timepiece clutched in his hand. "Where did you get that?"

Yana shrugged as he weighed it in his palm. He looked off into the distance. "I was found with it."

Martha frowned. She turned around completely in her chair. "What do you mean?"

"An orphan in the storm. I was a naked child found on the coast of the Silver Devastation," Yana lifted up the fob watch. "Abandoned with only this." 

"May I?" Martha extended out her hand. After a moment's reluctance, Yana deposited it into her hand.

The watch was a familiar weight, one that nearly fooled Martha into thinking she had the Doctor's by some odd mistake. With care, Martha turned it over to the circles and ellipses that etched the back. Martha nearly dropped the watch.

"Chan-Martha Jones-tho?"

"Have you ever opened it?" Martha stammered. She curled her fingers around it. Her heart hammered loudly. Is it possible? 

Yana scoffed. He took the watch back before Martha could think of an excuse to hold on to it. 

"Why? It's broken," Yana told her as he rubbed a thumb across its cover. "Besides, she said it wasn't time yet."

Martha furrowed her brow. "Time? Who said it wasn't time yet?"

"Me."

The voice sounded gravelly, almost mechanical. Martha shot the monitor a quick look, but there was still a snowy picture. When Chantho gasped, Martha spun back around. She started.

"Oh God."

A hunched woman—it was hard to tell under the rags—stood where the translucent panels were. It was like she had been dipped in blood. Her shoes were completely soaked through.

"You weren't here," Yana complained. He didn't react to the blood. "The Doctor fixed everything and you weren't here." Yana sounded almost accusative. 

"Things needed to be done," the woman just said, uncaring and without apology. From here, Martha could see a red hand, fingers melded together, brushed flat her front like it was a fancy dress.

"Who is that?"

"Chan-Old woman-tho," Chantho whispered to Martha.

"Old woman?" Martha shot the lab assistant a look. 

"Chan-she has no other name. She came looking for the Professor long ago-tho." 

"Come out where I can see you," Old Woman commanded, her voice suddenly clear and strong. "Come out…Miss Martha Jones."

Martha stiffened. She gave the monitor a nervous glance. Still no picture. Swallowing, Martha rose from her seat.

Yana appeared puzzled. "How did you know her name?" he asked Old Woman.

Martha tried not to shudder as Old Woman lifted her face, half-veiled, blotchy, bloated, swollen to the point Martha could barely see her mouth move.

"I knew many things, did I not?"

Yana nodded, looking dazed. He pulled the watch he held to his chest. "Now?" he asked, almost childlike.

The blue eye visible to Martha softened when it cast upon Yana. Old Woman nodded. When she turned towards Martha, however, it hardened.

"As one is reborn, another must fall," Old Woman hissed.

Martha took a step back when Old Woman pulled out a bloody dagger from her clothes.

"B-but I-I don't know you!" Martha blurted out. She took another step back and found her back against one of their processors.

"Not yet," Old Woman hissed. "And you never will!" 

With the last word, Old Woman screamed, her dagger high and lunged towards Martha. Martha cried out, her arms up in reflex.

There was a high-pitched whine coming from behind.

The scream stopped short.

" _No_!" Yana bellowed. 

Martha lowered her arms in time to see Yana catching Old Woman as she fell. Yana fell to his knees, cradling her until she was in his lap.

Martha twisted around and saw Chantho, the tiny little weapon still in her grasp, her feelers slumped, her eyes bright.

"Chan-I am sorry-tho," Chantho whispered. She hurried to Martha, a hand on her sleeve.

"Thank you, Chantho," Martha croaked. Her legs were weak from the near miss. She couldn't move, her eyes wide as Yana tenderly unraveled the folds of fabric from Old Woman's face.

Coarse rags, strip after strip, fell apart like flower petals. Old Woman sighed, her gnarled hands helping Yana.

Martha gasped as the hidden half revealed a flawless, pale face; scant wisps of what was once blonde hair fell across her face. It was creamy pale, paler in comparison to the painfully bloated left half of her face. No longer concealed, both eyes were clear and as blue as the Earth's sky. 

"What have you done? What have you done?" Yana wept.

"It's alright." Old Woman, who wasn't really an old woman, sighed as if her breath was leaving her body. Her hand shook as it reached over to stroke the ring Yana wore. 

"I've searched so long. Jumped through time and dark stars to fulfill your wishes," Old Woman whimpered. "I changed in that cursed Rift so I could find you."

"Don't leave," Yana pleaded, tears falling unchecked down his face. "These memories, only you can make sense of them."

"The watch…" Old Woman was fading. "Open it…All will make sense then…"

Chantho tentatively approached them. "Chan-Professor. Chantho is so—"

"Stay away!" Yana's face had morphed to something frightening. Both Martha and Chantho took a step back.

"Professor?" Martha stammered. She watched Yana curl a fist around his fob watch.

Old Woman touched his hand, the watch.

"Find me," Old Woman whispered. Blood trickled out of the corner of the unblemished half of her mouth. 

"Find me again, Harry." And then Old Woman was gone. 

Yana stared at her body. He sandwiched her limp hand over the watch with both of his. Then, with a tenderness that would have brought tears to Martha's eyes, Yana set both hands on the still chest. Then, he considered the fob watch in his palm.

"Professor, m-maybe you shouldn't open it," Martha said, her voice unsteady.

Yana ignored her as his fingers stroked the watch surface.

Chantho huddled closer to Martha. "Chan-go, Martha Jones-tho."

Startled, Martha gaped at her. "What?"

Chantho was transfixed at Yana. "Chan-the Professor was different ever since Old Woman came. You must get the Doctor-tho."

"But—"

"Go!" Chantho dragged Martha by the wrist and practically pushed her out of the lab.

The door slid shut and Martha found herself in an abandoned corridor.

"Doctor," Martha gasped. "Doctor!" She took off running.

 

At the last coupling, the Doctor hurried out of the chamber, stripping out of the radiation suit the minute the door closed.

"Nine minutes," Ianto reported as he checked the displays. The Doctor twisted around him to flip a lever. The time traveler punched a button and the entire room began to shake.

As Doctor frantically zipped from computer to computer, Ianto went to the computer station to try and get Martha Jones online again. But just as he tapped on the computer, Martha stumbled in.

"What happened?" Ianto exclaimed as Martha collapsed against him, winded.

"Doctor," Martha panted as the time traveler hung up, "it's the Professor. He…Chantho shot Old Woman…she was going to kill me…That body outside…God, I think _she_ did it."

"Martha, slow down," the Doctor ordered. He gripped her arms. "Slow down. What old woman? Chantho shot who?"

Martha gulped. She tried to slow her breathing. "There was an old woman…only-only she wasn't and she was in the laboratory and…She tried to kill me!" 

"Are you alright?" Ianto checked her from where he stood.

"Chantho shot her before she could do anything, but…Doctor, something's wrong!" Martha clutched the Doctor's arms. "Professor Yana! He's got this watch, this fob watch that's the same as yours. Same writing, same everything!"

The Doctor released her, his mouth opened in shock. "Don't be ridiculous."

"I asked him, he said he's had it his whole life." Martha stared up at the Doctor.

Ianto furrowed his brow. "So, he's got the same watch." 

"But it's not a watch," Martha twisted around. Her eyes were wide. She was still panting. "It's a thing, a chameleon thing." 

"No, no, no." The Doctor paced from one corner to the next. "It's this thing, this device, it re-writes biology. Changes a Time Lord into a human." 

"And it's the same watch!" Martha exclaimed.

The Doctor shook his head. "It can't be." 

"That means he could be a Time Lord," Ianto said. "You may not be the last one."

"But isn't that brilliant?" Martha burst out.

"It is, of course it is, but depends which one? Brilliant, fantastic, yeah. But they died, the Time Lords, all of them, they died!" The Doctor grew more and more agitated. 

"But this chameleon thing. If he was human, you wouldn't have known," Ianto pointed out.

The floor underneath them began to shake, nearly uprooting the three. Ianto looked up when he could feel the room rumbling. He felt a heady sensation rush over him. "The rocket?" he hoped. "Have we done it?" 

"Perhaps." The Doctor kicked aside the radiation suit on the floor as he studied the mainframes. He snatched what looked like an old style phone from the wall. 

"They have full velocity," the Doctor declared.

"Doctor! Think what the Face of Boe said," Martha said urgently. She clutched the Doctor's arm. "His dying words." 

"You are not alone," the Doctor murmured. His eyes widened and he lunged for the computer.

The words YANA blinked back on a snowy screen.

The Doctor spun around to Martha. 

"Did he open the watch?"

"I-I…" Martha stammered.

" _Did he open it_?" the Doctor roared and Martha reared back.

"Five minutes," Ianto barked as he checked his stopwatch. 

"It's not possible," the Doctor was still saying, all the while checking the processors but it looked more like it was automatic. "All of them. They died. Every Time Lord. I would have felt it if there was another out there."

Ianto started. He stared at the screen. His eyes widened. "Oh God."

The Doctor apparently had the same thought. "The Master," he hissed. Without warning, he spun around for the door. 

Ianto and Martha didn't question. They simply followed but the door abruptly slid shut.

"No!" the Doctor shouted. "Get it open! Hurry!" He whipped out his screwdriver and jammed it at the upper left corner. 

Ianto could feel his pocket watch ticking away within his waistcoat as he pried the metal casing off with a hefty whack of a nearby keyboard. Martha had found a metal rod and was trying to find an opening to lever.

Wires sparked and burned his fingers as Ianto tried a various combination of wires.

"Come on!" The Doctor grabbed both his and Martha's collars as soon as the door opened. He pushed, shoved until they began running, running as the alarms around them began to clang and rattle all at once.

 

The door shut as soon as they reached the laboratory. Martha had never seen the Doctor this way before. The Doctor literally threw himself at the door as it slid closed, his fists pounding and shouting.

"Professor!" the Doctor shouted at the window, his voice shrill with a panic Martha was starting to feel. He banged and banged the door. "Let me in!" He roared wordlessly. "You two! We have to get this open! Hurry!"

Martha helped Ianto pry apart the keypad again, the Doctor with his screwdriver stabbing at the door again. 

"I'm begging you professor! Professor! Chantho, are you there? Professor, whatever you do, _don't open that watch_!"

Martha could hear Chantho screaming inside, the whirring beep of the Doctor's sonic screwdriver, and what sounded like a high whine of her weapon again.

And growling.

"God…" Ianto breathed.

Martha looked over her shoulder. Down the long corridor, she could see the tattooed faces of the Futurekind.

"Doctor," Martha whimpered. The Doctor had stopped shouting to check over his shoulder. He tensed, his work on the door renewed. They all spilled into the laboratory as soon as it opened.

Martha sighted Chantho as soon as they entered. Martha dropped to her knees. Chantho laid prone opposite of Old Woman, her woeful small weapon still in her slack grasp.

"Chantho," Martha whispered as she swept a hand over her cool head. "Oh no, please wake up. Please." Martha's eyes burned. She lifted her head at the Doctor.

"She's dead," Martha's voice trembled.

The Doctor did not seem to hear her. He was pounding at the TARDIS. The windows glowed as if it was lit inside with a great golden fire.

"Doctor?" What was happening with the TARDIS?

"Master!" the Doctor shouted. "Stop this! You can't do this! Let me in!"

"It has already been done! It will still be done!"

That voice…

Martha stood up, walking towards the TARDIS as if hypnotized. Where has she heard it before?

"Radiation or cannibals, Doctor," the voice within the TARDIS shouted. "Take your pick!"

" _Don't do this!_ "

"Enjoy the end of the universe, Doctor." The TARDIS screamed and rocked on its base. "Bye-bye!"

"Martha!" Ianto shouted from behind her. Martha twisted around so fast; she was dizzy.

Ianto had his back on the door. Tattooed faces sneered hungrily through the window.

"The door's broken! It won't close!" Ianto gasped. He grit his teeth, his legs shaking as he bodily pushed against the door. Fingers were squeezing through.

"Doctor!" Martha shrieked as she grabbed the first metal piece she could carry and smashed at the fingers. Someone outside howled and fingers retreated. The door slid shut and Martha rammed her shoulder into it as well. No good. The door was already moving again.

"The stet radiation!" Ianto cried out. He fumbled for his pocket watch. "It's already flooded the couplings chamber by now!" the watch dropped and dangled off his waistcoat. Ianto couldn't retrieve it as he had to push when the door moved. Ianto groaned with the effort.

"How long?" Martha bit out.

"Six, five minutes!"

"Doctor!" Martha cried out.

"Doctor!" Ianto shouted.

The Doctor was still staring at the TARDIS. 

"No…" Martha gasped when the familiar whoosh-whoosh began. It wasn't possible! "Oh God, no."

"What? What is it?" Ianto managed before he yelped. A hand had got through. Ianto bit the searching hand hard and someone outside shrieked.

"The TARDIS! She's leaving!"

" _What_?" Ianto grunted as he dug his heels in and tried to stop the door opening wider. "I thought it…I can't keep the door closed!"

"No," Martha moaned as the Doctor pulled out his sonic screwdriver. "Don't go."

The TARDIS wailed, long and high as it slowly dematerialized until finally, it was gone.

"Jack," Ianto whispered in shock.

And the door, under their backs, moved another inch. The snarling could be heard like a pack of wolves at the door.

" _Doctor_!"


	38. "The Sound of Drums"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning For This Chapter:** strong language, dark, angsty, disturbing imagery (a matter of reader's interpretation, though)
> 
>  **Notes For This Chapter:** Note there are parallels to DW's "Sound of Drums" and briefly mentions things from DW's "42"
> 
>  **10/02/13** : Wish I could retcon those who read this chapter and the other one hours before. I'm so sorry! Those chapters must have been confusing! Parts pasted in the middle were _not_ in order nor the betaed version! (hangs head) My fault! Apologies for the mess!

**Act I**   
**Malcassairo**   
**Year 100 trillion…**

He could smell the stench of abnormal hunger. He could taste the sour tang of fear in his throat. With the alarms blaring, his stopwatch dangling off its chain like an anchor, the howling growing against his back, it felt too much like Canary Wharf. Ianto's heart hammered like punches inside his ribcage. 

Martha shrieked off to his left as a grimy hand touched her neck. The door couldn't hold up against dozens of cannibals, not with only two people serving as the barricade.

"Doctor!" Martha cried out as she swatted away the filthy hand pawing her. She dug her shoulder into the door. " _Help_!"

The Doctor shook out of his reverie and threw himself at the door, next to Ianto. But he didn't push.

"What are you doing?" Ianto exclaimed as he felt the Doctor pry his left arm away from the door. Ianto skidded and the opening widened. 

"Oi, not helping!" Martha shouted, panicked, as a head popped through the door. He snarled at Martha. She screamed. Ianto's abrupt punch with his right to the cannibal's mouth silenced him. The head disappeared back into the throng of arms. The punch, however, cost them and the door opened further. Ianto and Martha yelped together and shoved until the door slid back to their left. The cannibals outside growled like frenzied wolves.

"Hold still!" the Doctor complained as he tugged on Ianto's arm again. 

"Are you planning to feed them my limbs first as an appetizer?" Ianto snapped and yanked his arm, but the Doctor's grip was iron strong.

"And give them indigestion?" the Doctor scoffed. "Don't move!" And with a harder tug, he regained Ianto's arm. He shoved at Ianto's sleeves, baring his forearm.

Leverage with one arm was just the same as no leverage at all. Ianto gritted his teeth and dug his back into the door and pushed. The door, however, never moved either way.

"How much time?" Martha gasped out as she pushed.

"I don't know," the Doctor muttered, annoyed, as he grabbed Ianto's wrist firmly, his other hand poking him with his odd screwdriver. "Hold it still!"

"Not you!" Martha groaned. "The radiation!" Her foot slipped and the door edged to the right. Ianto and Martha pushed back to the left with renewed strength.

"Three minutes!" Ianto shouted as he fought to check his watch and keep the door from opening at the same time.

"Actually, two," the Doctor corrected him.

" _What_?" It wasn't clear who was louder, Ianto or Martha.

"Blast it, stop moving!"

Ianto gaped at the Doctor pointing the screwdriver towards Jack's wrist strap. The tip glowed and made all sorts of noises that only served to make Ianto even more anxious. "What are you trying to do? Jack said it hasn't worked in years!" Ianto protested. "It's broken!"

"That's because he didn't have me!" 

"And whose fault was that?" Ianto couldn't help barking back.

"Can you two stop your yelling for a tick and just _do something_?" Martha shouted. She clenched her teeth as she fought to put all her weight on the door.

The screwdriver bleeped one final high note. "Martha, grab hold!" 

"To what?" Martha exclaimed.

The Doctor reached over and ripped Martha's grip off the door and slapped it over Ianto's wrist.

Three things happened to Ianto at once: the door was wrenched open, there was distant screaming in the back as one by one, the cannibals were vaporized by the encroaching stet radiation, and this cold yet hot sensation of his insides being knotted took over just as the Doctor none too gently jammed his thumb on one of the odd buttons on the wrist strap.

Ianto wondered briefly if this was what's it like to be vaporized before everything blinked out of existence.

 

**London**   
**Present day…**

There was a moment of suspension, of weightlessness.

Then, falling.

Perhaps, Ianto mused absently, if they were forewarned, their arrival would have been more…graceful.

Refuse bins clattered, boxes flattened as the three popped back into physical existence…

Seven centimeters above the ground.

Bollocks.

Ianto yelped. His feet thought they were running while the rest of him thought they were standing still. He steadied when he could feel his toes touching the ground. He nearly had it until another body collided with him and they landed with a very loud _oof_. A bottle rolled away from an upset bin by his foot.

"Oh my head," Martha whimpered to the left of him. She leaned against a brick wall of what looked like a narrow alley, hand to her brow, another to her middle. She was far enough away that she was spared the awkward, rugby-like collision. 

Ianto groaned and was aware of an elbow digging into his belly. Brown hair tickled his chin. Wool draped over his face like a cloak. "Sir," he gasped out. He spat out wool from his face and thought Jack's greatcoat was better quality. "I must reiterate to you the necessity of cutting back on those scones you boasted about."

"I'm not fat," the Doctor mumbled from somewhere down his chest, clearly miffed. "Time Lords have a dense skeletal structure."

"Then kindly remove your dense skeletal structure off _me_ ," Ianto wheezed as the elbow thankfully moved. "I'm very fond of breathing."

The Doctor struggled to untangle his limbs. With Martha's help, the Doctor got to his feet.

Ianto smiled wanly at Martha as he stood up with a stagger. The world wobbled. Ianto wished that he could stop feeling like he was being squished then stretched over and over again. It reminded him of Owen's driving or worse, Jack's.

"That," Martha declared, out of breath, "was not fun at all."

Ianto agreed. He couldn't imagine how Jack did it before. Ianto gazed at the wrist strap on him and shakily closed its flap.

"That thing was really only meant for one time traveler," the Doctor muttered. "Be glad it took all three and didn't simply drop one of us somewhere else."

That was an unpleasant thought.

"I think I'm going to throw up," Martha whined, a hand to her mouth. Thankfully, she didn't vomit.

"Time travel without a capsule," the Doctor grimaced as he stretched his back, "that's a killer." He turned his head left and right, making a loud and painful crack. "Come on," the Doctor muttered. "Let's see where we are."

 

There was an overwhelming feeling that swept over him when Ianto saw the familiar structures and people of what looked like the right time. Shops and people greeted him with the sparkling gleam of ordinary life, seemingly untouched by what had occurred before. Ianto's knees trembled and he wanted to sit down for a moment.

"Did we make it?" Ianto murmured, low to the other two as they walked out off the alley where they had found themselves and into what appeared to be a shopping arcade. He looked at a young mother with her tot. A man rode by on his bicycle. A child ran by chasing another. Someone was laughing. Martha turned her head every which way, taking in everything.

"Earth, 21st century, by the looks of it." Ianto glanced over hopefully to the time traveler between them. "More specifically, London."

The Doctor nodded curtly. 

Ianto closed his eyes briefly and took a steadying breath.

Martha exhaled, relieved. "Talk about lucky."

"That wasn't luck," the Doctor bit out. "That was me."

This was getting to be too much and Ianto's head spun. Perhaps it showed on his face because suddenly, Martha was steering for some public seating. She never said anything; just chatted away, pointing out shops she'd recognized as she had two fingers touching his right elbow, leading them off the sidewalks and into the cement barriers and benches. Ianto dropped into one bench with a _whoosh_.

Ianto took a deep breath, then another. He was grateful no one suggested he put his head between his knees. The Doctor stared at the people who surrounded them, at a vagrant slumped by a closed shop's front alcove.

"All right?" Martha inquired, her hand on his knee.

Ianto nodded and wiped across his brow with a sleeve. He made a face. His suit was in dire need of dry cleaning. It smelt like sweat and blood and all sorts of smells he didn't want to think about.

Ianto made a shaky laugh. He lifted his wrist up to show them. "I guess the moral of the story is, if you're gonna get trapped at the end of the universe, get stuck with an ex-Time Agent."

The Doctor offered a tight smile but didn't berate Ianto for his lapse. "Or his vortex manipulator at least."

"A Time Agent?" Martha frowned as she craned her neck to examine the device closer. 

The Doctor gave her a headshake. Ianto shrugged to her. Martha looked like she wanted to ask more but she shook her head and shrugged. She looked resigned, as if she was used to having her questions unanswered. 

"But this Master bloke," Martha began. Her hand flitted in the air helplessly as she tried to wrap her head around everything. Ianto could sympathize. It still felt like he was running, the ground still moving underneath him.

"He's got the TARDIS," Martha lamented. "He could be anywhere in time and space."

"No. He's here," the Doctor replied, his words grim. "Trust me."

A chill settled in Ianto's chest. "We heard him…when we tried to call Jack."

The Doctor nodded, grave.

"So the Master traveled back in time to get…" Martha mulled it over, her mouth pursed. "But, we heard him when we were in Cardiff. When we were at the end of the universe, he wasn't even the Master yet." Martha waved her hands helplessly in the air.

"Time travel is confusing that way," the Doctor muttered as he scanned their surroundings, distractedly. "Our future became the Master's past."

"That's why he sabotaged the TARDIS," Ianto realized. His eyes widened. "Back in Torchwood, he sent it to the end of the universe so he…" He covered his mouth with his hand.

"We handed over the TARDIS to him," Ianto breathed. 

"She must have been programmed to only respond to him," the Doctor theorized out loud. "Not that she would go willingly. I heard her as she dematerialized." The Doctor scowled but there was also a proud glint in his eyes. "She'd have fought him every step of the way."

Another thought occurred to him and it felt like all the blood drained from his face. Ianto found himself shaking. "God…"

"Ianto?" Martha tilted her head and leaned in closer.

"You heard everything in the control room." Ianto didn't make it into a question but Martha nodded all the same. 

"Our lines went down as soon as you and the Doctor left. We only heard you but I couldn't contact you."

His mouth tasted sour, bitter and now Ianto thought _he_ was going to throw up instead of Martha.

The Doctor stared intently at Ianto, his eyes dark but not accusing. They were full of understanding and somehow, that only made it worse.

"You couldn't have known," the Doctor murmured.

"What?" Martha looked at the Doctor and Ianto. "What is it? What couldn't he have known?"

" _I_ told him how to find Jack," Ianto choked out, miserable. "In 1941. He took the TARDIS and must have gone there to find him. If it weren't for me…" Ianto's eyes burned. He felt cold and, God, so sick to his stomach. "Everything…everything started because of me." The world shrank around him. Ianto dropped his head in his hands.

"No, everything started because of the _Master_ ," the Doctor corrected him, his voice firm. "He did this. There was no way to predict this. No way we could have known."

"That woman…" Martha whispered. 

Ianto looked up. "What woman?" he croaked.

Martha stared past his shoulder, remembering. "There was this woman…she knew who Professor Yana was b-before he even knew it himself. She was going to kill me, said I will never know her."

The Doctor darkened. "What?"

"She… _she_ told the Professor to open that watch, that c-chameleon thing. Chantho told me she arrived months before we did and…and…" Martha struggled for words before giving up with a sigh. 

"Who is he anyway?" Martha wanted to know. "And that voice at the end, that wasn't the Professor."

"If the Master's a Time Lord as well, then he must've regenerated," Ianto guessed. "Before we were able to get in, I thought I heard fighting, weapon fire."

Martha's brow knitted. "What does that mean?"

"It means he's changed his face," Ianto explained. "Voice, body, everything, a new man." A stranger who posed as a friend, waltzed in and let Jack believe…Ianto swallowed hard.

Martha stared at him, displayed. "Then how are we going to find him?"

"I'll know him," the Doctor said all of the sudden. His jaw was set, his eyes determined. "The moment I see him. Time Lords always do."

Martha nodded, thoughtful as she stared around her. Something caught her eye. "But hold on, if he could be anyone…" Martha stood and approached a flyer that was tacked up on the wall. _Vote for Saxon_ , it read.

"We missed the election," Martha stammered as she read the flyer. Her eyes grew into huge circles. "But it can't be…"

Applause burst out on the street at something that was on the screen that hung high above the street.

_"Mr. Saxon has returned from the Palace and is greeting crowds inside Saxon headquarters."_

Martha veered around people cheering on the street. "I said I knew that voice," Martha breathed, her eyes wide. "When he spoke, inside the TARDIS." 

Ianto rose to his feet as well. They both followed Martha as she walked over to the screen, staring at it.

"I've heard that voice hundreds of times," Martha continued, disbelief in her voice, her expression. "I've seen him, we all have." 

Ianto raised his eyes to the screen. He stiffened at the image of a couple descending the red-carpeted stairs amidst recorded applause and live clapping.

"That was the voice of Harold Saxon," Martha said, incredulous. She gaped up at the news feed.

"That's him. He's Prime Minister," the Doctor declared in a low voice as he stared at the video that panned up to that familiar condescending smirk Ianto had seen so many times up close. 

"It was him," Ianto choked. He stared at the screen, so hard, his eyes burned. "That's who I saw in Canary Wharf with Jack. _He_ was the one who said he came back for Jack. _He_ said he was the Doctor."

Out of the corner of Ianto's eye, he saw the clouds shadowing Doctor's face, his once jovial expression now stormy.

Martha started. "Wait, so you're saying—" 

"The Master is Prime Minister of Great Britain," the Doctor hissed. 

The press on the screen was shouting something to Saxon. He merely smiled and pulled the young woman to him and waited a pause for the cameras to click and flash before he kissed her.

"The Master and his wife?" the Doctor blurted out.

Ianto searched the video even though he knew it was fruitless.

"Do you see him?" Ianto asked desperately. "Do you see Jack with him?"

The Doctor was staring hard at the screen, but Ianto wasn't sure if he was searching for Jack or for something on the Ma—no, he refused to call him that—Saxon's face.

"That woman…" Martha clutched Ianto's arm. "S-she…half her face was scarred but the other half…" Her fingers tightened around Ianto's wrist. 

"Doctor…" Martha was barely audible, her face white. "Harold Saxon's wife…she was there. At the end of the universe!"

Doctor spun around and faced her. "You certain it was her?"

"Her face was partially scarred, but the other half…Yes, yes, I'm sure of it!"

"She must have been there to wake the Master," the Doctor hissed.

Martha could only nod.

The camera zoomed in on Saxon's smirking face.

Ianto took a step closer, his hands balling into fists.

"Ianto," Martha murmured. She squeezed his wrist.

 _"This country has been sick,"_ Saxon declared as he looked towards the cameras. It was like he was smiling directly at them. 

_"This country needs healing. This country needs medicine."_ Saxon's mouth twisted to a sneer that seemingly only they noticed. 

_"In fact, I'd go as far as to say that what this country needs right now…"_ The sneer broadened and white teeth flashed. _"…is a Doctor."_

 

 **Act II:** _"Who'd call himself the Master?"_  
 **Downing Street, London**  
 **Present day…**

Lucy Saxon—she still marveled at the whirlwind from autobiographer to marrying the subject she was writing about—trailed behind her husband with his entourage of press secretaries, policy assistants and aides as they entered Downing Street for the first time officially as PM and wife. She wore a hint of amusement on her lips when others paused to clap as her Harry strode by, smiling, nodding, and acknowledging the fanfare with his own secretive smile. Harry had been confident about the elections, swore by Archangel and sure enough, Harry won the special elections by a landslide. 

But already, the vultures of government lined the corridors waiting.

"Finance report, sir."

"Military protocol, sir."

"EC directive, sir."

"Annual budget, sir."

"Policy recommendations."

Stack after stack they handed over folders and papers to her Harry with efficient, clipped rapid-fire words. Harry accepted each one with a look of mild tolerance and Lucy was half-tempted to take them and fling them back at their faces. She didn't, however, because Harry wouldn't approve of such a spectacle. What useless concerns to bother Harry with. Did they not realize it would be pointless in the end? Didn't they realize Harry was meant for bigger things?

Lucy stopped short behind her husband, outside the room where Harry would meet his cabinet for the first and last time.

It was with a sharp intake of breath that Harry turned around on his heels to her. He shared a smirk with Lucy.

"I'm so proud of you, Harry," Lucy murmured. It felt like her heart was bursting. She so wanted to call him by his other name, but it wasn't time. Harry said it wasn't time yet.

His eyes sparkled at her, always with more than he ever says and it drew her ever since she first met him. His lazy smile spread and he reached over to cup her cheek. Lucy leaned into his hand and thought she could feel him pouring into her through his tapping fingers. He pulled her in for a kiss. Someone watching from his entourage sighed wistfully.

Her joy, however, faltered when their lips met. Lucy could feel his mouth trembling minutely on her. Too soon, she thought in despair as she deepened their kiss to try and absorb the ever-growing hunger, the shakes away from Harry. She kept her hands from curling on his arms, from clawing his arms to keep him here and not go back to _him_. 

When they parted, Lucy could see the strain in his eyes. The universe that lived forever in his gaze dimmed a little; like stars winking out. It frightened her. It looked like Utopia. Harry had taken her there. Everything she'd know had shattered and she had screamed and screamed non-stop in his ship for two days. Those poor souls. Their _children_. They were all waiting in the approaching empty dark. Harry promised it would never grow dark like that again. He would fix it; save them all. He _promised_.

"Bless," Harry murmured to her and gazed at her like he was seeing something or someone else. Lucy wanted to hold tight to his hand, but ever mindful of appearances—Harry detested too much drama from her—Lucy dropped her hands and just smiled at him. Harry met her eyes with the pledge; _soon_ , his eyes read. Lucy had waited so long since their return from Utopia. She bided her time standing by Harry as he planned, mapped, then executed a plan Lucy barely comprehended. It didn't matter. He said it would fix things. That's all Lucy really needed to know.

Before Harry could enter the chamber to meet the cabinet, a young dark-skinned woman trotted up to him with the nervous manner of a schoolgirl.

"Sir, if you don't mind me asking," she stammered. It was amusing to see her dressed up in a copy of one of Lucy's old outfits. The paparazzi had printed countless pictures of Lucy during the elections and it seemed like all of London was mirroring her in all the fascination England was known for in regards to their celebrities. It had amused Harry to no end.

The girl was in a dark gray version of the Versace suit Lucy once wore during their public appearance at Westminster Abbey. "I'm sorry," the girl stuttered, "but it's all a bit new, what exactly do you want me to do?"

God, Harry was right. They were all such children.

"Oh, yes," Harry drawled, "what was it…" Harry pretended to give it some thought. 

The young woman didn't seem to mind that Harry didn't appear to recall her name. In fact, she preened at the chance to introduce herself. "Tish, Letitia Jones. Tish."

Tish? Lucy fought back the urge to frown. Harry said it wasn't flattering when she did that.

"Well then, _Tish_." Harry considered the Jones girl with a calculating eye. He offered a smirk and a raised eyebrow. "You just stand there and look gorgeous."

Lucy chuckled under her breath and saw Harry glanced back to her, bemused. He turned back to the young woman, to the expectant faces gathered behind Jones.

"Well," Harry rumbled and he gave a little bow to his audience. "Here we go again."

Everyone laughed but only Harry truly knew why it was funny.

"Knock them dead, sir!" Someone cheered from the back just as Harry wrapped his hand on the knob.

Harry turned back to the crowd, at the young faces who followed him throughout the entire election like sheep blindly herding to slaughter. His smile was blinding.

"They won't know what hit them," Harry promised. He winked to her and to lovely, clueless Jones.

Everyone laughed and cheered as Harry threw open the door with the kind of flourish uniquely Harry. Lucy stared at his back as the door slowly closed.

"A glorious day again!" Lucy heard Harry state to the lined and annoyed faces of the cabinet. "Downing Street rebuilt…"

Lucy broke her gaze from the door and turned back to the Tish girl. 

"Letitia Jones, is it?" Lucy inquired coolly.

"Tish, ma'am." 

"Yes." The curve she forced her mouth into hurt. " _Tish_." Lucy turned quickly. Her smile dropped but no one was watching. "Come. We'll wait for the Prime Minister at our residence," Lucy said quite firmly and started walking. 

Tish Jones had no choice but to follow but kept a respectable distance behind Lucy. That suited Lucy just fine. Harry was the one who had insisted she was necessary for whatever reason. She hoped it wasn't because _Tish_ could hear the drumming, too. Lucy clasped her hands so they wouldn't ball into small fists. 

"Mr. Saxon will come back to the residence first when he's done," Tish assumed more than asked because of course, everyone knew Harold Saxon was devoted to his wife. Tish sighed with the hint of romantic envy. 

Lucy wanted to turn around and slap her but she just kept walking. 

 

**Somewhere in London…**

"Home!" Martha cheered as she entered her flat. Martha tossed her front door key into a basket by the door.

Ianto barely had time to avoid the laundry rack by the door as he was steered into a brightly colored room by the solid grip on his elbow. The Doctor's thumb and index finger dug into his arm. 

"Kitchen's over there, bathroom's…" When Martha realized no one was listening, she rolled her eyes and threw up her hands. "Never mind."

"What have you got?" the Doctor demanded. He gave the compact room only a brief glance. "Computer, laptop, anything."

"But we saw him on the screen!" Ianto argued. He eyed the door. How long would it take to get from here to Downing Street? "We know where he is!"

"Yes, but not where _Jack_ is," the Doctor pointed out. The time traveler spun around, dismissing him as he waved his hands at Martha, rushing her along.

Snapping his mouth shut, Ianto glowered at the Doctor and tugged at his suit jacket—he must look like a sight now—and opened his mouth to say something then clamped his mouth shut again. Instead, he patted around his pockets until he found his mobile. Their jaunt through time had left it silent, but now, back in the 21st century, it was working again although ironically, it was still searching for a signal.

As soon as his mobile signaled it was ready, Ianto punched a number he knew by heart.

"Come on, come on," Ianto muttered. All he heard was the annoying dial tone.

The Doctor, who had been busy gesticulating to Martha, whipped his head around. "Who are you phoning?" 

"Torchwood, but there's no reply." Ianto frowned to himself as he pulled the mobile away from his ear. "Where could they have gone?" He tried Owen's mobile as well. Nothing. Damn, damn, damn.

"You can't tell anyone we're here!" the Doctor exclaimed.

"Why not?" Ianto demanded. "Someone needs to do something and since you're so determined not to let it be me, then it should be them!"

"We don't want the Master finding out we're here!"

Ianto narrowed his eyes. "Are you insinuating that my friends would tell him?"

"No! But obviously he's very connected in this century."

"We can't stand by and do nothing!" Ianto gripped his mobile tight in his fist. God, the urge to punch him was starting to overpower everything else.

"And what were you planning to do when you find the Master?" the Doctor challenged.

Ianto paced because it was better than standing still, better than feeling so useless. 

"You think you can walk right up to him and do what?" the Doctor continued.

"I don't know!" Ianto snapped. "Maybe a nice bullet to his hea—" Ianto's eyes widened when he pulled out something other than his weapon from his holster.

"There will be no more killing," the Doctor rumbled.

" _You_ did this?" Ianto shook the banana at the time traveler.

The Doctor stared back, unfazed. "Of course I did."

"When did you—Where on _earth_ did you find a banana at the end of the universe?" Ianto sputtered. "Give me back my gun!"

An eye blink. "No."

"You can't just take it!"

"But I just did."

"You—"

"Here you go," Martha announced, slipping in-between the two before the voices could escalate to something more violent. She passed over a laptop to the time traveler. "Any good?"

"It'll have to do," the Doctor said begrudgingly as he accepted it.

"Good?" Martha stressed, her hand on Ianto's chest. She stared up intently at Ianto. Martha refused to move, her hand planted on him like a vise. 

"The Doctor will figure something out," Martha murmured. She patted Ianto's chest. "You just have to trust he'll do it."

Ianto stared at her. After a moment, he deflated. He tossed the banana onto her tiny counter and nodded slowly. He offered Martha a wan smile. Martha squeezed his left hand.

"Here, Torchwood, why don't you go do something more constructive than shooting guns," the Doctor said, gripping Ianto by the shoulders and sitting him down. "Let's find out more before we go run off blindly, eh?"

"Never stopped you before," Ianto grumbled but he obliged, glad to be doing something at least. Fingers dancing across the keyboard, he bit back a wistful remark about the computer. God, he missed their computers. Tosh had always obsessed over maintaining them. It spoiled them; everything felt too slow now outside Torchwood.

"There are loads of Saxon websites out there, he's been around for ages," Martha explained. She leaned over, trying to see between them. "There should be something about him somewhere."

"Checking," Ianto reported as he typed 'Harold Saxon' into a search box. 

"I though you met him before? You didn't recognize him?" Martha asked as she peered over his shoulder. "He's been around for ages."

"I would have thought this would have caught Torchwood's attention," the Doctor muttered as he leaned over them to get a better look, "seeing he was an alien after all."

"We're not like that," Ianto seethed as he waited for the search results. He groaned to himself when the search engine came back with far too many results. Brilliant. 

"Jack and I lost interest in politics since…since Canary Wharf." Ianto blinked rapidly as he stared at the blurring screen. "Everyone I knew died there and those we couldn't save…" Ianto cleared his throat.

"Let's just say London was not helpful," Ianto rasped, unable to keep his voice from cracking. 

The Doctor got very quiet before he exhaled with a soft, "Ah."

Ianto thought he felt a warm hand settle on his back, but when he glanced up, the Doctor was looking intently on the screen.

"That's so weird," Martha marveled as she straightened and circled her room, "'cause the day after the election, that's only four days after I met you." 

The Doctor grimaced. He scratched the back of his head. "We went flying all round the universe while he was here all the time."

"Jack was waiting and he'd been here. Right here," Ianto murmured. He swallowed as he clicked on the first link. He growled under his breath. It was just a fan page, tiled with paparazzi photos of him and his wife. Ianto nearly shut the laptop. The smirk plastered all over the screen grated him. 

"You gonna tell us who he is?" Martha asked.

The Doctor was curt as he pointed to another link for Ianto to check. "He's a Time Lord."

"What about the rest of it?" Martha pressed. "I mean, who'd call himself the Master?" Martha drawled the last part mockingly.

Ianto snorted. "What kind of person calls himself the Doctor?" 

"Same kind who calls himself Torchwood," the Doctor quipped and gave him a hearty pat on the head. 

Ianto's head rocked forward at the head slap. He twisted around and glowered at the time traveler.

" _You_ call me Torchwood," Ianto snapped.

The Doctor grinned. "And it was a good name too, yes? Jones and Jones would have been too confusing. Never know when I may need to shout out your name and two Jones would have really been too much. Can't have you both come running if I call. Agree? I thought so."

Ianto opened his mouth to say something. Instead, he shook his head and then just turned back to the laptop. He refused to turn back around as he sorted through the various news websites. Saxon was found everywhere with his wife. Ianto sat back, a little numb. How was this possible?

"But besides being a Time Lord," Martha insisted. "What else?"

Ianto could hear the quirky grin fade behind him. "That's all you need to know," the Doctor answered shortly. "Come on, show me Harold Saxon."

While site after site was pulled up, Ianto could hear Martha moving restlessly behind them. He jumped when something squawked as Martha checked her messages.

"…Martha, where are you? I've got this new job! You won't believe it, it's weird. They phoned me up out of the blue…"

"Oh, like it matters!" Martha grumbled and she shut her answering machine off with more force than necessary. 

The Doctor didn't look over. He just pointed to one link.

"There. There! Try that one!"

"Would you like to try yourself?" Ianto grumbled. "It's easier when you're not hovering over me."

"I don't hover! You're too slow," the Doctor complained. "What is that? Five words a minute?"

"I don't tell you how to fly your time machine, don't tell me how to type!"

"Oi, are you two still at it?" Martha complained. "The Master could be at the end of the universe and back while you two have a go at it!"

Martha was right, of course. Ianto set his jaw and continued his typing. At the click, the screen turned black as a very modern looking website appeared. Saxon's smug portrait was pasted on the upper left corner. Ianto's right eye twitched. Ianto remembered that same arrogant expression in London, in Hartman's office.

One video popped up. Ianto blinked at Sharon Osbourne posing in the digital video.

"I'm voting Saxon. He can tick my box any day."

A few young rugby players beamed back on the next video. _"Vote Saxon,"_ they chorused. _"Go Harry!"_

"I think Mr. Saxon is exactly what this country needs…"

"Good Lord," Ianto murmured. It was too surreal. All those smiling faces endorsing that monster.

"The Master's created this whole…person…this…this Harold Saxon," the Doctor muttered. 

"But that's just it," Martha spoke up as she sat on top of her desk. "He didn't feel like a made up person. I remember him. I'd heard about Harold Saxon before I met you!"

"If the Master had gone back in time, there's a good chance you probably _did_ ," the Doctor agreed as he read over Ianto's shoulder at the testimonials. The time traveler made a face at the passages he read. 

"But what I don't understand," Ianto whispered as he studied one online article about Saxon launching the Archangel network. "After he stole the TARDIS, he must have gone straight back for Jack." Because of him. Ianto could feel a pricking at the corner of his eyes.

"Why Jack? Why him?" Ianto rasped.

"The Master told us he was fixing the future," Martha remembered. 

The Doctor sucked in his breath. 

"No," the Doctor hissed. "He wouldn't _dare_." 

Ianto flinched. It sounded like a snake coiled and poised to strike by his ear. Ianto glanced up over his shoulder.

The Doctor was staring at Saxon's picture; his eyes seemed to be burning with a dark fire that hurt to look at.

"Doctor?" Martha stammered. Even from afar, Martha caught the storm that crossed over the Doctor's expression. 

The Doctor stood straighter behind Ianto. "The Master has gone back in time."

"Well obviously," Martha snorted. "He has the TAR—"

"No, no, no!" the Doctor shouted. Ianto jumped.

"Doctor?" Martha squeaked.

"He didn't just go back in time, he's gone _back_! He's changed history!"

Ianto's brow furrowed. "But isn't that always a consequence of time travel?"

The Doctor looked frenzied, his hands waving, his eyes wild. He went back and forth between the two. "Yes, yes, all time travel causes ripples in time and space, but overall events usually stay the way they should, anchored like road markers that steer time to its proper place. They don't change, they don't—"

"Doctor!" Martha huffed. "We can't keep up! I don't understand! You and I, we've been time traveling all this time, what's different about this?"

Ianto suddenly knew. His throat tightened. The room rocked under him and if he weren't already sitting, the urge to sit down would have folded his knees. 

"He's doing it deliberately," Ianto whispered. His breath quickened. "You think…you think he went back in time, took Jack on purpose…to…to change history?"

The Doctor's face was like stone; his jaw clenched so tight, it looked like it hurt when he nodded once.

"The Master went back to take Jack, to corrupt his timeline…" The Doctor ran a hand through his brown hair. "Things are different now and the Master may be the only one who knows how different. Something happened that the Master wants to change and he thought by interfering with Jack's natural timeline, things will."

"He changed Jack's history," Ianto managed out. "So that means Jack might not belong here. He…" Ianto felt cold and empty. 

"He might not have originally been with Torchwood at all," the Doctor concluded when Ianto couldn't finish. The look of pity the Doctor gave him was unbearable. Ianto turned back towards the laptop. 

"This is something no Time Lord would ever do: interfering with someone's timeline."

Ianto's fingers trembled where they rested on the keyboard. He had always thought that things happened the way they should; Lisa had always teased his rather fatalistic view of life. But…was he _not_ supposed to have met Jack Harkness? 

The Doctor's voice had dropped to a low rumble, anger just barely below the surface. "The Master's gone too far. We were not gods. We don't do this."

"So what do we do now?" Martha sounded shocked, too.

The Doctor's right eye twitched. He returned back behind Ianto to stare at Saxon's beaming face.

"We stop him," the Doctor said, his words cold and brittle. " _I_ stop him."

 

 **Act III:** _"Mr. Saxon does like a pretty face."_  
 **Downing Street, London**  
 **Present day…**

Vivien Rook knew she was taking a chance when she flashed the identification from the _Sunday Mirror_ that Torchwood Institute had made for her before Canary Wharf burned. She'd learned that by talking fast and simply acting like you hadn't heard them, things went her way quite easily.

"I'm sorry, but you're not allowed in—"

Vivian hurried and took great care _not_ to look like she was hurrying. Her heels clicked as she hurried down the halls, past the offices, towards the private residence. The girl trotted out from behind her desk but Vivien was already past reception and towards the waiting area. 

"Harold Saxon, a modern Churchill." Vivian waved the article over her shoulder. The young woman scrambled to catch the pages tossed to her. "It's the definitive think piece on the great man himself." Vivien waved a hand in the air. "Oh, come on, sweetheart. You _must_ have read it."

The receptionist barely kept up, still teeth-gnashingly polite. "Um, not really, miss. Sorry, I'm new."

Perfect. Vivien considered her up and down. Pert nose, big eyes, she was like a doe grazing in the grass, and perfectly oblivious to the hunter's sights trained on her forehead. 

Vivien sniffed. "Mr. Saxon does like a pretty face," she remarked as she neared the door, her sales pitch running in her head. 

"But, I'm here to see _Mrs_. Saxon," Vivien announced as her hand wrapped around the knob.

The door opened.

Both Vivien and the aide halted by the door.

Her bravado had evaporated at the pale face studying her. "M-mrs. Saxon?" she managed. Vivien recovered quickly and offered the PM's wife a bright smile.

"Vivien Rook, Sunday Mirror. You've heard of me? I would like—"

"Ah yes," Lucy Saxon interrupted with a small upturn of her mouth. The door opened wider. "Vivien Rook. I've been expecting you."

Vivien Rook didn't know why; she shivered.

 

**Ministry of Defense**   
**Whitehall St., London**   
**Present day…**

Martha felt squished in her silver Corsa. When she first got it, she thought it was sufficient enough of a car for her. 

The Doctor was belted in to her left, his long legs folded under her dash. She could hear his knees knocking underneath as she drove to the address Ianto found texted to his mobile.

"You're sure this is the place?" Ianto asked from his hunched position in the backseat. Martha winced when she checked her mirror. In order to sit, his knees were drawn close to his chest, and Ianto had to lean forward so he wouldn't hit his head on the roof of her Corsa. His frame filled her mirror and while she didn't mind the view, it made driving a harrowing one.

Apparently, unlike the TARDIS, her vehicle was _smaller_ on the inside.

"These were the coordinates sent to your mobile." Martha checked the mirror. Poor Ianto's shoulders were rounded like a turtle. "Are _you_ sure this is the place?"

"Toshiko's _never_ wrong," Ianto declared. An odd look came over him and he checked his mobile again as he had the few times before. "Maybe they're on their way," Ianto murmured hesitantly. 

"Hmph," the Doctor grunted, unimpressed. He was studying something on the laptop, his fingers rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

Martha stared down the street in dismay as guards marched by. On horses, no less! The building stood looking formidable even from afar.

"How are we supposed to get in?" Martha lamented. "We don't know where your friend is."

Ianto fidgeted in the back. "Give me back my gun," he said quietly. "I'll go in."

"No," the Doctor just said without looking up.

"Fine," Ianto ground out. "I'll go without it then."

"You can't go by yourself," Martha protested. Her stomach knotted at the thought. Ianto looked very determined on the mirror. 

"I can't leave him in there either," Ianto returned. He waved towards the building. "There are computers in there. I could…I don't know…hack into them, find out where he is…"

Ianto's argument wasn't very convincing. Martha nudged the Doctor with her foot.

"Hm?" The Doctor was still staring at the laptop screen.

"Say something," Martha hissed. The Doctor blinked back at her, puzzled.

"Say what?" the Doctor asked. He looked completely baffled.

Ianto exhaled. "Look, I appreciate you finding this place, taking me here, but if you won't help me, I'll do this myself—"

"Ianto, it's _MOD_!" Martha burst out. "This…this isn't some place you can just walk right into and you don't know where he—Doctor!" Martha poked the Doctor again when she realized he wasn't paying attention again.

"Huh? What? Oh no, you shouldn't go. Bad idea. Very bad idea." The Doctor shook his hand in the air in veto. "I've seen your keyboarding skills. You wouldn't be able to hack into a Tetterian's tourist map and they're the stupidest systems in the galaxy. They actually use little rodents on wheels running inside their—"

"Doctor!" Martha grabbed his arm and shook him. The Doctor swayed left and right.

"What? What?"

Martha pointed outside. "He left!"

The Doctor leaned past her to squint at her window. Martha flushed as she could feel his weight against her, his hands close to touching her thighs. But then he leaned back, muttering as he exited the car. Martha shook her head, rolled her eyes, and followed.

By the time she caught up with them, the Doctor was trying to drag Ianto back to the car.

"Look, I'm not saying you have to come with me, but you can't stop me from going in either!" Ianto dug his heels on the pavement. He looked ready to have a row with the Doctor.

Martha glanced around. The bobbies on the street were paying no mind. Nevertheless—the Doctor had the tendency to draw attention no matter what—Martha tugged at both their sleeves.

Ianto gave her a tight expression before he turned back and stared at the Doctor, his gaze unflinching.

"I can't, I _won't_ , leave him behind."

Martha studied the Doctor. An odd look crossed over his face and to her surprise, the Doctor let go of Ianto's arm. He smiled faintly.

"All right then," the Doctor murmured, "let's go find him."

Ianto stared. "You don't have to come with me."

"Please," the Doctor scoffed. "You'll never find him in time. I know the way and we'll find him much faster together."

Martha shot the Doctor a look. "Wait…you know the way?"

"You've been here before?" Ianto said, a skeptic look flitting over his face.

The Doctor just gestured them to follow as he strode, quite confidently like he belonged, towards the side entrance. 

"No, but there was a map," the Doctor quipped. He smiled pleasantly as he approached the guard by the side entrance. "Good morning. Nice morning, is it?"

"It's been _raining_ all morning," the guard grumbled. He considered the Doctor with narrowed eyes.

Martha bit back the smile as Ianto stared at the exchange. The Doctor simply handed over the psychic paper to the bored guard, which the guard glanced at, snapped to attention, then waved them through.

The Doctor marched right through, past security. He looked down at his temporary visitor's badge with amusement.

"As if anyone looks at these things," the Doctor mused as he hurried them along with a hand. He settled one hand on Martha's back as he checked both ends of the hallway they turned into. "This way," he instructed as he directed them to some stairs. "It said all Alpha clearance projects were on the top floor."

"How do you know all this?" Ianto whispered as he went up the stairs after the Doctor. He stopped halfway up the second landing, his elbows on the rails.

"That's what it said on the map," the Doctor explained. "Now come on, make use of those long legs, Torchwood."

"Wait," Ianto hissed. He caught a bit of sleeve before it past him. "What map?" He looked over to Martha, bewildered. "How do you have a map of this place? How do you know where he is? And wha—what did you give that guard?"

The Doctor rolled his eyes and shook his arm out of Ianto's grip. "For someone in a rush, you certainly have a lot of questions." 

"Maybe because I like to arm myself with a little information," Ianto replied, a bit testy. "Seeing as someone stole my gun."

"I didn't _steal_ your silly firearm," the Doctor sniffed as he went up the stairs, three at a time. Lord, it was just like the running, only uphill. "I gave you something in exchange."

"You gave me a _banana_ ," Ianto hissed. "I don't need a banana!"

"Nonsense, everyone needs a banana. They're a good source of potassium."

"Will you just answer my questions? _Please_?"

The Doctor stopped. Martha sagged on the rail, panting. She glanced up at the winding and still rising stairs. Oh Lord.

"Please," Ianto pleaded. "What map?"

The Doctor looked at Ianto like he was surprised at the question. "The one on Martha's computer."

Martha gaped up at the Doctor, half a flight above her. "Wha—I don't…how…" Martha took a deep breath. " _My_ computer? The one in the car?"

The Doctor's eyes went from Ianto to Martha. His eyes widened as something dawned. 

"Ah, yes. That's right. I hacked into their servers; memorized the map." The Doctor beamed. "Didn't I tell you?"

Martha rolled her eyes.

Ianto gaped at him. "You hacked into the Ministry of Defense computers? Just now?"

"Yes, that's right."

"With _my_ computer?" Martha added.

The Doctor nodded impatiently. "Yes, yes, would have been sooner, but Martha, your car was such a funny shape," the Doctor complained. "Now come on—"

"What did you give that guard before?" Ianto demanded.

"I can answer that one," Martha replied with a grin. It was gratifying she knew one of the answers. "It's called psychic paper. It'll become anything you think of: identification, letter, anything."

Ianto studied the blank paper the Doctor passed over. He turned it on both sides.

"So, whatever I think, it'll show up on this thing?" Ianto asked, his face dubious. He handed it back to the Doctor.

The Doctor looked at it, started, then he narrowed his eyes at Ianto.

Ianto bared his teeth. "I guess it works then," he said brightly before he went up the stairs, passing the Doctor.

"Cheeky ape," the Doctor muttered and climbed the stairs after Ianto. It looked like it was suddenly a race.

Martha took a deep breath as she leaned on the rail. She shook her head at the loud stomping above her.

Men, she thought with a huff. Didn't matter if they were straight, gay or alien, they all still act like children. 

After another lungful of air, Martha went after them.

 

Ianto leaned back against the wall. He wiped his upper lip with a sleeve. The Doctor and Martha bookended him, winded. 

"Saxon was the former Minister of Defense of this place," Martha whispered. Ianto felt her press up against him as they edged towards the door that led out to the top floor. 

"He goes back years, he's famous, everyone knows the story." Martha lifted up her hand and counted down the list with her fingers. "Cambridge University, rugby Blue, won the athletics thing, wrote a novel, went into business, marriage, everything. He's got a whole life."

Ianto opened the door a crack and peered down the hallway. He shut the door quickly. UNIT personnel were prowling the corridor, not bothering to hide the fact they were armed. 

"He's got the TARDIS," Martha continued in a low voice. They edged away from the door as they heard footsteps. "Maybe the Master went back in time and has been living here for decades."

"No." The Doctor shook his head. "I doubt the Master has the patience to do that sort of thing."

"But he was there in London 1941 when he came for Jack," Ianto remembered. 

The Doctor scowled as he did each time Ianto mentioned 1941. He placed a finger to his lips when he checked again and the way was clear now.

Without a word, the three slipped out of the hallway. Ianto swallowed. It looked as elaborate as Torchwood London. How were they going to find Jack?

"Oh hello! We're new here but we were sent by Mr. Saxon to…"

Ianto groaned. He felt exposed standing here as the Doctor walked up to someone and started chatting like they were old friends. "Tell me he didn't just walk up to that guard," Ianto moaned.

"He's using the psychic paper," Martha whispered back.

That didn't make him feel any better. Ianto couldn't watch as the Doctor returned, beaming. 

"Told you we were going the wrong way," the Doctor said out loud as he led them away. 

Ianto's feet barely cooperated as he was steered in another direction. The Doctor hissed at him not to turn around so he swallowed and said nothing as Martha walked a little too close to him.

They stopped at a door, after a few turns. Suddenly, there, in front of the plain white door branded with the red lettered warning 'Alpha Access Only', Ianto couldn't move. He was vaguely aware of the quiet whirl of the Doctor's sonic tool at the card swipe. His mouth went dry at the answering _blip_ and the door clicked.

"The guard said no one is authorized to go in here anymore except for Saxon and his people," the Doctor murmured by Ianto's ear. "No one's been in here for days."

The Doctor reached over to grab the handle but Ianto's hand whipped out and briefly touched the time traveler's wrist. The Doctor said nothing. He merely pulled his hand back.

Ianto took a deep breath, gripped the handle and turned it. His courage returned at the first step and he flung the door open. By the third step, he was already steering past the gut-wrenchingly familiar coral vines. Fourth step, Ianto was past the frosted wall barrier that divided the space.

Ianto didn't realize he was cutting his palms open yanking out the hated bindings and monitor wires until he felt Martha tug him away and the Doctor stepped in front of him.

"All right. Let the Doctor do it," Martha murmured. She had gauze from somewhere and pressed it firmly over one deep cut on the fleshy part of his left palm. The pain cleared the haze that took over Ianto's vision. He staggered back a step and finally took in what he couldn't before.

Jack lay on the dais just like the first time. Everything was the same: the strange crystalline sculpture above, the same pinkish golden coral that snaked up the walls, around the dais, the same alabaster stillness of Jack.

"What is this?" the Doctor hissed as he pointed his screwdriver on the device connected to the IV lines. It silenced and the Doctor proceeded to remove the lines that snaked into Jack's limbs. 

Ianto tore away from Martha and carefully worked out the IVs on Jack's upper torso. 

"This," Ianto seethed as he showed the Doctor the tubing with a shaking fist, "is PV-35 to keep him under." Ianto squeezed the line. "It…I was told the process hurts. They keep him under so it wouldn't hurt." Or so Ianto hoped. He stared at the IV before savagely tossing it aside.

"A sedative of some sort," Martha concluded. She stood there, rocking from foot to foot. 

It ached to look at Jack like this, sleeping so still and unnatural. Ianto found his hands trembling.

"Clothes," Ianto fumbled. He suddenly didn't know what to do. "H-his clothes."

"I'll find them," Martha promised, her hand on Ianto's arm. She flushed when she took in the gown Jack was in. She tentatively checked his pulse. She looked up and nodded at the Doctor before she went checking the lockers that lined the walls for clothing.

"And this?" the Doctor bit out. He lifted one of the thick tubing, tipped in blood.

Ianto swallowed. "I…I don't know," Ianto confessed. "Jack…he was told it could fix him."

"Fix him?"

Ianto looked up and leveled bleak eyes at him.

"Ah," the Doctor exhaled. He examined the tubing end. The Doctor narrowed his eyes. With care, the Doctor sniffed it. He stiffened.

"I can smell the Vortex on it." The Doctor dropped the line as if burned.

Ianto's eyes burned. "Torchwood Institute and Saxon had an agreement to…to…"

"You drained him. Bled off the Vortex inside him," the Doctor snarled.

"Vortex?" Martha whispered as she came forward with a pile of cellophane wrapped clothing and boots on top of the stack. "Ianto? I found these."

"They're his," Ianto confirmed as he accepted them. He hugged them to his chest, feeling ridiculous at the relief he felt seeing Jack's coat. He avoided looking at the Doctor. 

"They…" Ianto began. "They used what they collected from him…Torchwood…there was this spatial breach…above Canary Wharf…"

" _Jack_ opened the dimensional shift?" the Doctor rasped as if all the air was knocked out of him. " _He_ let them in? The Cybermen? The Daleks?"

"He didn't know!" Ianto's head shot up. "Jack thought this would fix him. The Doctor—"

" _I'm_ the Doctor!"

Ianto bit his lower lip and dropped his gaze. He carded his fingers through Jack's hair and said nothing. Ianto couldn't stop himself from stroking Jack's hair, wishing the strands didn't feel so cold, his skin feel so cool, like ice.

After a beat, the Doctor sighed. "How long does it take for him to come out of this?"

Ianto shrugged. "Before, he was under a few weeks—"

"Weeks?" The Doctor's words were thin.

Ianto swallowed and nodded. "It took a couple of days. After, when it was just a couple of hours, it took a matter of minutes." Minutes were all it took for Canary Wharf to be overrun, Ianto thought. He unwrapped Jack's clothes and snapped them out. He froze at the sight of blood on the back of the shirts.

The Doctor said nothing but Ianto could feel his stare through the shirt as he motioned Ianto to sit Jack up. 

Jack's head lolled against him when Ianto propped him up. His chest propped up Jack's upper body. Ianto undid the gown, pulled it down to his waist and with the Doctor's help, dressed him in the bloodstained white t-shirt and buttoned shirt.

Ianto settled his chin against Jack's temple and even though Jack lay limp against him, the world stopped moving too fast. His thoughts felt clearer now. Ianto gripped Jack by the shoulders.

"Jack, we're here," Ianto whispered to Jack's ear, not caring if the Doctor heard him. Ianto huddled closer to Jack. He wanted to bury his face to Jack's shoulder. It finally felt like he had come home. 

"I'll do his trousers," Ianto said, his voice a bit unsteady as he settled Jack down on the platform with a hand cupping the back of his neck. He switched places with the time traveler.

Even though Ianto knew Jack wasn't modest, Ianto kept the hospital gown gathered over Jack's middle and groin as he carefully pulled the trousers up and did his flies quickly. He did up Jack's boots almost by memory and remembered a time slipping them off, felt Jack's warm mouth on his bare ankles as he stripped Ianto of his shoes and socks. Ianto wanted to run his hands over the cool skin, wanted to examine the fold behind his knee, hard muscle along his torso, but it wasn't time. Not now. Not here, in this place too similar for his comfort.

There was a quickened exhale above him. Ianto looked up and something in his chest loosened.

"He's waking up," Ianto croaked.

 

 **Act IV:** _"I was gonna vote for him."_  
 **Ministry of Defense**  
 **Whitehall St., London**  
 **Present day…**

The Doctor immediately leaned over Jack, his eyes intense on his face as Jack stirred. "Captain," he murmured, his mouth close to Jack's ear. "Steady there, you're all right."

Jack's eyes flew open and before anyone could react, his fist flew out.

"Doctor!" Martha yelped as Jack's fist glanced off the Doctor's jaw. Startled more than hurt, the Doctor fell back with a grunt.

"Jack!" Ianto scrambled over. He braced Jack's shoulders before he rolled off the platform.

"Blimey," the Doctor grumbled from the floor, a hand to his jaw. "This century doesn't like me very much."

"Jack, Jack, it's okay," Ianto hastened to say as Jack bucked under his hands. Martha, seeing the Doctor was all right, hurried over to pin down his legs. 

The reaction was a violent one.

Jack lashed out, nearly kicking Martha in the head as his legs twisted. His head banged against the platform as he tried to throw Ianto off him.

"What's wrong?" Ianto cried out. He staggered back and avoided getting his chin knocked by Jack's head. "Jack!" He caught Jack's shoulders between his hands and stared into his face. "It's me," he pleaded. "You're okay! We're getting you out of here!"

Jack's only response was a hand whipping out towards Ianto's head. He missed.

"Wait!" the Doctor hissed as he hurried back to the dais. "Hold on! Get those binds back on him."

"What?" both Ianto and Martha exclaimed.

"Just do it unless you want him to kick you again!"

The Doctor pulled Jack's wrists into the straps again, all the while muttering, "Sorry, so sorry."

Jack growled. He thrashed, frenzied, nearly dislocating his shoulder as he tried to sit up despite the restraints.

"What's happening?" Ianto stammered. Jack bucked underneath him. The straps must have registered because Jack renewed his struggles to the point Ianto was afraid bones would break.

The Doctor held up a hand, telling Ianto to wait. He leaned over Jack again and in front of him, snapped his fingers.

Jack didn't react. Exhausted, he lay there, his chest heaving. He didn't flinch when the Doctor muttered something long-syllable and alien that sounded like raisins or something.

"He's blind."

Ianto's head shot up. "What?"

The Doctor demonstrated with another finger snap centimeters from Jack's face, then his ear. Jack never reacted. "Deaf, too."

Ianto stared down at Jack. He carefully settled his hand on Jack's shoulder and Jack flinched again.

"He doesn't know we're here to help him," Ianto murmured, dismayed.

"I think that's why this was done to him."

Martha sounded stunned. "If he doesn't know who we are, he'll fight us all the way out of here."

The Doctor studied Jack, his lips pursed. "I can think of one way…"

"Me, too," Ianto muttered. He dipped his head and sealed his mouth over Jack's.

Jack at first tensed, his mouth rigid when Ianto tentatively swiped his lower lip with his tongue but after gentle prodding and a nip, Jack relaxed, his lips parting and oh God, he missed this. Jack's moist mouth surrounded his tongue, his exhales caressed him from the inside. Ianto felt Jack make a sound into his mouth as Ianto slipped his hands up and cradled Jack's face.

Someone cleared his or her throat.

Ianto and Jack parted with a wet gasp.

"Ianto?" Jack panted, his eyes blank and tilted towards Ianto's direction. 

Relieved, Ianto sagged. He stroked a knuckle against Jack's jaw. Jack closed his eyes in relief before they flew open again.

"What are you doing here? Are you here alone? They said you were with—"

Ianto settled his fingers against Jack's mouth. Jack understood and quieted.

"Well," Martha commented breathlessly. " _That_ worked."

Ianto's smile dropped and he glanced up. The Doctor arched an eyebrow. He wagged his sonic screwdriver at him.

"I was thinking of letting the captain feel this, but I suppose the direct approach works too," the Doctor drawled.

God. Ianto flushed as he went to undo Jack's binds. He ducked his head. "Sorry," he stammered.

"Oh, it was quite all right," Martha chirped, forgaving him a little too enthusiastically.

"Martha," the Doctor groaned.

"Are the others with you?" Jack said, his voice too low for anyone but Ianto to hear now. Ianto threaded his arm around Jack's shoulders to ease him off the platform. "Gwen and the others?"

Ianto shot the Doctor a panicked look. He bit his lower lip. Ianto grimaced as he tried to bear Jack's weight as Jack shakily climbed off the dais, but days possibly bound to the thing left Jack with shaky balance. Jack stumbled.

Martha hurried over to help. They both yelped when Jack's hands grabbed at her chest when his knees buckled. Martha jumped back the same time Jack did. He lifted his hands and shook them slightly.

"That wasn't Tosh or Gwen," Jack said in a thin voice. "Ianto?" Jack staggered, trying to stay upright until Ianto grabbed his arm.

"Martha?" The Doctor frowned.

"I'm fine," Martha squeaked, her arms folded protectively in front of herself.

"I'm not going to ask how you knew that, Jack," Ianto murmured, his mouth twitching at the corners. He schooled a more appropriate face towards Martha.

"Where are the others? Who's with you?" Jack paused. His shoulders slumped. "I guess you can't tell me…" Jack laughed strangely and gestured towards his own face. "Whoever these people are…they didn't like that I tried to escape." Jack shrugged, but Ianto could tell Jack was struggling to stay upright. 

Ianto rested his head against Jack. Jack awkwardly gave his general direction a pat, landing on his ear.

"I saw Owen and the others before," Jack murmured urgently. "They were arrested as terrorists…for opening the Rift."

Ianto stiffened. Jack could feel it against him. 

"You don't know where they are?" Jack guessed. Ianto shook his head against his cheek and Jack muttered a curse. Jack straightened or at least tried to and starting falling away from Ianto. When the Doctor caught him, Jack reared back with a violent lurch.

"Ianto?" Jack hissed tersely, his arms out to ward the Doctor off.

Ianto ducked under one arm and gave Jack's left hand over his shoulder a squeeze.

Jack relaxed. "Wish I can hear you," Jack sighed.

"Me, too," Ianto murmured. His hands curl around Jack's arms.

"We need a system." Jack brightened and his eyes, despite seeing nothing, crinkled.

"One kiss for yes, two for no?" Jack suggested, his eyebrows waggling.

"He hasn't changed one bit," the Doctor grumbled. Martha snickered.

Ianto was reveling in the feel of Jack too much to even pretend he was angry. He gave Jack's hand two brief squeezes.

Jack pretended to sigh tragically. "I guess that could work, too."

"Spoilsport," Martha joked lightly.

Ianto flushed furiously.

"Blimey, even his ears!" the Doctor marveled.

"Not helping!" Ianto bristled.

"Oh. Did you need our help? You looked like you were doing fine on your own, Torchwood."

Ianto growled and for some reason, Jack tensed. He edged closer to Ianto, standing halfway in front of him.

"Okay?" Jack rumbled. He stared in the Doctor's general direction with a frown.

Ianto smiled sadly at Jack and squeezed his hand once.

"You got outside help?" Jack guessed.

Ianto pressed his fingers around Jack's once for yes.

"You trust them?" Jack murmured.

Ianto ignored the Doctor's sputter and tightened his hand around Jack's hand. 

Jack sighed. He nodded reluctantly. 

"Alright," he muttered. Jack was resigned. Ianto could feel Jack's grip tighten over his. "Then lead the way, Mr. Jones."

 

The Doctor triggered a fire alarm that evacuated everyone out of the building and they simply went with the crowd like fish swimming up a current. It took a few breaths before Martha's knees stopped knocking and a few tries before she could get her fingers to turn on the ignition. She resisted speeding away when she drove past the guards gathering in front of the building. She couldn't believe it. They had just walked out of MOD!

Jack Harkness was exhausted by the time they had reached her Corsa. The Doctor and Ianto gave each other worried frowns over his slumped head that Martha couldn't understand. The poor fellow had to be exhausted from his ordeal. Even Martha couldn't help checking constantly if he was okay. She wasn't sure why the Doctor's former companion was the Master's prisoner, why he was rendered deaf and blind, but they got him out. He was safe now, yes?

The roads back to her flat were thankfully clear. The Doctor was checking her laptop again for anything on the whereabouts of Ianto's teammates. Martha checked her mirror again. Jack Harkness, his vintage coat draped over him, dozed against Ianto's shoulder. 

Harkness or Captain as she heard the Doctor call him was a striking man from what she could tell. Tall like Ianto, dark hair and broad shoulders, the captain stood, even currently blind and deaf, like a mountain yet he didn't physically loomed over her. Rather, he filled the room.

And wouldn't you know it, Martha sighed. Taken as well. It was seriously feeling like a conspiracy.

Martha glanced up at her mirror again. She stifled a giggle. They did look brilliant together though. 

"There's something on the back of his head," Ianto spoke up after a moment.

The Doctor twisted around in his seat. He hissed. "That must be what's causing his blindness."

Martha could see in her rearview mirror that Ianto had tilted Harkness' head onto his shoulder, one hand cupped at the back of his skull, his other hand parting the dark strands of short hair.

"What is that?" Martha blurted out, aghast. From here, she could see a small square of crystal embedded at the base of Harkness' skull. Ouch!

The Doctor was practically kneeling on his seat now to get a better look. Martha had to slow down. The last thing they needed was to be stopped in a traffic accident. 

"Looks like a crystal from Arcateen," the Doctor murmured.

"A what?" Martha asked as she watched for the ramp to her street.

"We came across these before," Ianto explained, tensely. "It lets one read people's thoughts." 

The Doctor scoffed. "Among other things." He leaned in, nearly spilling into the backseat. "Hm, looks like it's receiving a signal from somewhere. I think if we just remove it, he'll be fine." The Doctor twisted back into the passenger seat. "We could do this at Martha's place."

The car swerved a little and the two men yelped.

"What?" Martha exclaimed. "We can't…that thing looks like it's wired…this requires surgery! My flat's not an A&E!"

"He can't walk around like this," the Doctor argued. "Once we remove it—"

"It will kill him!" Martha interrupted. "No! We can't do this! Ianto, tell him!"

On the mirror, she could see Ianto absently stroking Harkness' head. The other mumbled something before quieting back to sleep. 

"Ianto?" Martha said, sharper. 

"You really think by removing it, his vision will come back? His hearing?" Ianto asked, subdued.

"Yes!" Martha snapped before the Doctor could answer. "They probably will seconds before he _dies_!"

"Martha," the Doctor called out, his voice low but firm. "It's all right."

Martha squeezed her steering wheel. "No, it's not! W-we should be taking him to the hospital or find a doctor!" She caught the Doctor's look out of the corner of her eye. "A real doctor!" Martha snapped. "Of medicine! Not a medical student! Not a—"

"Okay, okay," Ianto interrupted. He sounded strained. "Can we talk about this later?"

Martha dropped into a sullen silence. She hunched over her steering.

"How is he?" the Doctor asked finally. 

"Still asleep," Ianto said in a low voice, which Martha thought was odd considering Harkness was deaf. "It's never taken him this long before."

Before? Martha saw the Doctor giving her a warning look. Martha bit her lower lip and kept her eyes on the road.

"How is all of this possible?" Ianto asked brokenly. "How can people vote for him?"

"The Master had the TARDIS," Martha pointed out. "He could have gone back, lived as Saxon."

"When he was stealing the TARDIS, I tried to fuse the coordinates," the Doctor muttered. His face darkened as he remembered. "But whatever program infected my ship, it wouldn't read my commands, all I managed to do was block out one hundred trillion from her navigations."

"But there wasn't enough time to do all this," Ianto insisted. "He went back, convinced Jack to come with him, then he was in my time. If he had stayed afterwards, that's barely more than a year and a half on Earth! That couldn't be enough time to fool everyone!"

"The Master was always sort of hypnotic," the Doctor mused, "but this is on a massive scale."

"I was gonna vote for him," Martha spoke up.

Martha felt the Doctor start next to her. "Really?"

Martha fidgeted. "Well, it was before I met you," she defended. "And I liked him."

"Why do you say that? What was his policy? What did he stand for?"

"I don't know, he always sounded good." Martha drummed her steering wheel as she fought to recall. She remembered seeing him on the telly. "Like you could trust him." Martha smiled to herself. "Just nice. He spoke about…" Martha's brow furrowed. "I can't remember, but it was really good. Just the sound of his voice."

"What's that?" the Doctor blurt out.

Martha nearly stepped on the brake. "What?"

The Doctor pointed at her hands on the wheel. " _That_! That tapping, that rhythm!"

Martha nearly pulled her hands back until she remembered. "I don't know!" Martha exclaimed. She hadn't realized she was doing it. "It's nothing! I don't know!"

"When he came, nearly everyone in Torchwood was doing that," Ianto said tersely. "Sometimes I caught Jack doing that."

"The sound of drums," the Doctor muttered.

Martha darted a look over to him. "What?"

"Professor Yana, before he regenerated, said something about hearing drums in his head."

"So?" Ianto bit out. "What does that mean?"

The Doctor scowled. "I'm not sure."

Just then, Martha's computer began beeping on the Doctor's lap.

The Doctor scoffed. "Our Lord and Master is speaking to his kingdom. Martha, turn on your radio."

Saxon's voice came on after a newscaster announced a special broadcast across all channels. 

" _Britain, Britain, Britain. What extraordinary times we've had. Just a few years ago, the world was so small. And then they came. Out of the unknown. Falling from the skies_." 

Martha clenched her jaw. She was relieved as she sighted her street _._

_"You've seen it happen. Big Ben destroyed. A spaceship over London. All those ghosts and metal men, the Christmas Star that came to kill."_

The Doctor muttered about pig-headed astronauts and swordfights. Ianto shifted in his seat.

 _"Time and time again and the government told you nothing. Well not me. Not Harold Saxon. Because my purpose here today is to tell you this."_ Saxon paused dramatically. He sounded almost triumphant when he continued. _"Citizens of Great Britain, I have been contacted. A message for humanity from beyond the stars."_

The broadcast crackled and a high-pitched voice took Saxon's place.

_"People of the Earth. We come in peace. We bring you great gifts. We bring technology and wisdom and protection. And all we ask in return is your friendship."_

Martha felt a chill rippling down her arms. She parked her car in front of her flat and twisted around in her seat to listen. 

_"Oh, sweet."_ Saxon sounded gleeful after the declaration. _"And the species has identified itself. They're called the Toclafane."_

"What?" the Doctor exploded. He nearly hit his head on the roof of her car when he straightened.

" _Tomorrow morning they will appear, not in secret, but to all of you. Diplomatic relations with a new species will begin_." 

"I don't believe this," Martha muttered as she climbed out of her car. She took out her front door key. "Come on, let's get your friend sorted and—"

_"Tomorrow, we take our place in the universe. Every man, woman, and child, every teacher and chemist and lorry driver and farmer and, oh, I don't know, every medical student?"_

"Martha, wait!"

There was a rush of heat that zipped over her head. It sounded like a lion's roar. It felt like a sun's fury drawing near. Martha shrieked as she felt Ianto tackle her. Martha lay there, Ianto on top of her and felt the world explode above her.

 

 **Act V:** _"Nice to meet you, Martha Jones."_   
**Somewhere in London**  
 **Present day…**

_…thrum-thrum…tap-tap…_

The darkness was disconcerting. It made the rhythm louder when there was nothing else around.

Jack could feel himself moving his feet but couldn't see them. He could feel Ianto gently pushing his head down to duck into a car, but he couldn't see what kind of car it was. It was a tight fit. Ianto was plastered against him, arm around his shoulders, legs tucked next to his. Not that Jack was complaining; Ianto's presence was an anchor in the dark. 

The comforting presence of someone familiar by him chased the beat away and its hollow silence wasn't too bad. Ianto's hand stayed in his, which was probably embarrassing for Ianto, and secured him in place in a roiling sea of silence and uncertainty. 

Nevertheless, Jack still felt uneasy about being led around. He could sense the presence of two others, two others who were _not_ Torchwood. And he knew something was wrong. Ianto's heartbeat, that lulled him in the car before, started hammering harder just now. He found himself jerking awake when Ianto's body, which was propping him up before, vanished abruptly and when he tried to follow, he recognized the tendrils of heat from an explosion flaring bright against his skin.

"Ianto?" Jack couldn't hear himself speak, but he couldn't care at this point if he was shouting or not. The hotter the blast felt, the more Ianto's absence was felt. Jack made his way out of the car. Jack staggered towards what felt like the source of the fire. He'd dive in there if he had to. Jack groped blindly towards what felt like the hottest point. " _Ianto_!"

A body collided into him, pushing him back before he could throw himself into the fiery throes to find him. The hand suddenly gripping his was a relief. Jack felt around until he could feel Ianto's face against his palm. Jack could feel the dampness of sweat, Ianto's hair plastered to his forehead. Jack could only imagine what Ianto must look like right now.

"You okay?" Jack tried to lower his voice but it was hard to tell. With the hand not holding Ianto's, Jack patted his shoulders, his arms, his chest. He ran his fingers through Ianto's hair, checking his scalp until Ianto swatted his hand away. Jack wasn't sure if he was glad he couldn't feel anything. "Are you hurt?"

The two squeezes around his fingers made him weak-kneed. Jack didn't care what it looked like; he gathered Ianto against him and hugged him hard. Ianto buried his face into his shoulder, his fists grabbing the back of Jack's shirt.

"Explosion?" Jack murmured. Jack hoped Ianto's newfound allies weren't caught in the blast. 

Ianto nodded against him. His hand pressed Jack's hand once.

Jack exhaled. Fire was hard to forget. He remembered how Normandy felt on him, how the burning sands of Boeshane were hot on his skin. His nostrils flared with the acrid bite of heat and wanton destruction. He wasn't sure what was going on but Ianto alone with people he didn't know and explosions didn't add up to anything good. 

"Next time, just use me as a shield," Jack whispered—or at least he hoped he did—into Ianto's ear. "At least _I'm_ fireproof."

Ianto stiffened. Jack could feel him burrowing deeper into Jack, his head shaking fervently into the hollow of his shoulder.

Jack sighed, not surprised. He'll just have to make sure he was close enough to be one anyway. 

It was frustrating, lost in the dark in so many ways. Jack could feel Ianto vibrating against him, his body stiff. Arguing, Jack realized. Ianto was arguing with someone. 

Before Jack could ask, he felt himself prodded back towards the car and they were driving once again. This time, it was a lot faster with a lot more swerving and braking. Jack felt his stomach lurch at each sudden turn. There was urgency in the way the car shook that left him tense and he didn't know why.

Ianto was still close by, arm around Jack's middle and holding him like a child's toy. He was shaking, his other hand fumbling for something. When Jack reached up, he frowned when he thought he could feel the hard plastic curve of a mobile, Ianto's jaw moving rapidly as if he was talking into it. Ianto kept squeezing Jack's hand as if trying to reassure of himself of Jack's presence. 

Jack sat patiently, letting Ianto clutch him with what felt almost like desperation. He couldn't do anything else right now.

"Ianto?" Jack murmured again, wishing he could at least figure out if he was shouting or whispering. He could feel other people around him and the odd sense of anger lingering heavy in the air. He didn't like it. There was this dark emotion clinging to his skin from all sides. Even if he couldn't hear it, Jack could _feel_ them arguing, shouting, and Ianto's grip growing tighter and tighter until it started to hurt.

Then, the car stopped.

Jack wondered why no one was getting out of the car. The car hummed underneath him, the engine idle, waiting. He could feel Ianto breathe heavily against him, leaning forward as if looking at something up front. Jack leaned forward as well and was startled when he felt short, shallow thumps around him. The car jerked, then twisted around, sending him crashing into Ianto as he felt the car do a 180. Something sharp rained on his cheek. Glass. The car window. _Gunfire_.

Jack didn't hesitate. He grabbed Ianto and threw him down on the seat, covering him with his body. More glass rained from above. He could feel Ianto squirming frantically underneath him and Jack knew the young man probably didn't appreciate being smothered, his face squashed under Jack's arm, his legs spilled to the car floor.

The car was shaking. _Ianto_ was shaking. Jack could once again feel the waves and waves of arguing above him. Ianto was still trying to get out from under him. Jack cleared his throat.

"If that was gunfire," Jack barked—it better be loud this time—towards the front of the car. "I think you better ditch this car. _Now_."

Ianto nodded against Jack in agreement and Jack felt the thrumming of him talking, muffled underneath him. Jack cautiously sat up. No more gunfire, but he could feel a breeze blowing against his hair. Huh, whoever they were, they shot out the rear window.

After a short while—it was hard to tell with no light or voices to gauge time—Jack felt the car stop again with a shudder. 

The air was heavy with tension, and the anxiety was so taut, so acute, that Jack's skin prickled.

Ianto stroked his hand to catch his attention. When Jack turned towards his direction, Ianto tentatively touched something on the back of his head. A bolt of pain jolted Jack. He clamped his mouth shut in case it wasn't a good place to start yelling. Then again…

" _Fuck_!"

Ianto rubbed a knuckle across his jaw in apology.

Jack tentatively reached around and gingerly felt it. It felt like a square scab. It was still throbbing ever since Ianto touched it.

"I guess this is what's causing…" Jack pointed a finger and made a circle around his own face.

Ianto squeezed his hand yes.

The gesture was hesitant and Jack knew why.

"You think we need to take it out," Jack guessed.

Sure enough, there was a long pause before Ianto tightened his grip once more. 

"I'm not going to like this, am I?" Jack's mouth twisted into a wry grin.

Ianto simply rubbed his knuckle over Jack's right knee.

Jack swallowed but he forced himself to smile towards where he hoped Ianto was.

"Well." Jack forced his hand to loosen before he broke Ianto's fingers.

"Let's get this over with then."

 

"No," Martha repeated. Her voice echoed in the tunnel under the bridge where they had hidden her poor bullet-riddled car. 

"I won't do this. Doctor, this…this is barbaric! I _can't_ —you're asking me to _butcher_ him!" She turned towards Ianto with a plea, but to her shock, Ianto merely averted his gaze. Jack Harkness was moved to the passenger seat, his face far too calm for what they were talking about.

"Martha, we need him with us, but not like this," the Doctor tried to explain.

"You won't get him at all!" Martha was growing hysterical. She could feel bile rising up her throat. "This could kill him!" First Saxon's people arrested her parents. Ianto can't reach his family, she can't reach her prat of a brother Leo and now the Doctor wanted to cut open poor Jack Harkness!

"Fine," the Doctor snapped at her unexpectedly. " _I'll_ do it." He pivoted on his heel and headed back towards the car.

Ianto's apprehensive eyes beseeched her from inside the car. They made her call the Doctor back. "Wait," she said, her voice cracking. "Better…better let me do it."

Martha's hand shook as she approached the car. Someone handed her a pocketknife, which she accepted with a numb nod. Ianto was in the driver's seat. He'd pulled the passenger seat down flat and the captain was facedown on his stomach. 

The bloody shirt back made her pause when she opened the door. The Doctor was already situated in the backseat, his hands holding on to Harkness' head like a human clamp. Ianto, white lipped, had the captain's left hand sandwiched between both of his. The car light was on and shone on the crystal branded into the captain's skin. It twinkled up at her. 

Martha straddled Harkness, the knife in her hand. She swallowed. Oh God, she can't do this!

"Martha, it'll be all right," the Doctor murmured.

"Easy for you to say," Martha whispered. She glanced over to Ianto but to her dismay, Ianto didn't look like he was going to change his mind. He stared up at her with a bleak, unhappy expression but he said nothing when his eyes drifted over to the tiny knife she held. Martha's breathing quickened. This can't be happening.

"You know," Harkness suddenly spoke up in an unusually bright voice, "while normally being in this position brings back fond and kinky memories, could you hurry?" The captain paused. "I need to scratch my nose."

Ianto choked out a laugh. The Doctor chuckled hoarsely and Martha giggled, although it came out a bit hysterical. Harkness raised up his right hand to give her a thumbs up before wrapping his right arm around the head of the passenger seat.

"It's all right," Harkness said calmly. "Just do what you have to do."

Martha gulped then leaned down, one hand splayed on the small of his back. She could feel muscles bunching, bracing. Gingerly, she felt the outline of the crystal with a finger before she made a cut just outside border of the tiny square.

Jack Harkness grunted but he remained still. He didn't make a sound at the second or third cut. 

Martha relaxed. Maybe it was just stamped onto his skin, maybe just glued, and just peeling it off like so would be fin—

There was a jolt that sizzled up through the tip of Martha's knife to her arm. Martha screamed. _Jack_ screamed. She fell out of the car when Jack convulsed.

"Hold him down!" the Doctor shouted as he reached for the back of the captain's neck for the crystal. "Martha?" he called out of the car. "Are you all right?"

"F-fine," Martha managed to say. Her entire arm tingled. Her body quivered as if a charge had rippled through her and in a way, maybe that's what happened. She watched, dazed, her vision fuzzy, as the Doctor pulled at something. Jack stopped screaming, but even through teary eyes, Martha could see his body thrashing, pinned in place by the Doctor's firm grip on his neck like a bug. 

Martha tried to get up, reaching the passenger seat when she felt something splatter onto her face the moment she stuck her head in. It was something hot, only droplets but she was afraid she knew what it was when she saw the Doctor pull out what looked like a glistening red hair-thin wire attached to the square from the back of the captain's neck. A wire seven centimeters long glistened red and black. 

"Vicious little thing," the Doctor declared when he pulled it completely out. 

Ianto stumbled out of the car on the other side, fell to his knees, and threw up.

Jack shuddered then stilled.

"Oh no." Frantic, Martha climbed back into the car. She turned Harkness around on the blood soaked seat. She checked his pulse, placed her head on his chest. Nothing! Oh no, no, no, no…

Martha opened the captain's mouth, pinched his nose, and tilted his head back. One breath, two breaths. She moved to compressions next.

"Martha," the Doctor rasped. He sounded ragged. "Leave him. Stop."

"No, you have to let me try," Martha begged. She saw Ianto get back on his feet, a hand to his mouth. "I have to try." She shrugged away the Doctor's hand on her.

"Martha," Ianto rasped as he climbed back into the driver's seat. He looked absolutely wrecked.

Martha's lower lip trembled. "Why did you make me do it?" she whispered. Martha checked Jack's jaw again. "There's no pulse. No heartbeat. Oh, Ianto, oh god, I'm so sorry." Martha sniffed.

"He's dead."

Suddenly, the body beneath her heaved and Jack Harkness made a loud gasp.

Martha shrieked. "So much for me!" She scrambled off him, her hand patting him on the chest. "Easy! Easy! Deep breaths now!"

"W-was someone kissing me?" Harkness gasped as soon as his breathing calmed.

The bluest eyes she'd seen since Ianto's focused on her. Martha swallowed at the clarity of the gaze. It was like looking at a summer sky.

"Ca'tain Jack 'arkness," the captain said breathlessly, but in the same timbre as before. A shaky hand touched her chin with his fingertips. "And 'ho are you?"

Bloody hell, now that she got a real good look at him, the man was _gorgeous_. Martha got her stupid mouth working again. "M-martha Jones," she squeaked. Okay, sick man, he just had surgery, bugger, and shouldn't she be mopping his brow or something?

He cast a dazzling if somewhat weary smile on her.

"Nice to meet you, Martha Jones," Jack rasped.

"Oh, give me a break!" the Doctor exclaimed, sounding disgusted.

Jack frowned and it looked like it was automatic when he shot back without looking, "I was only saying hello, Do—"

Jack stilled and he looked past Martha's shoulder. He tensed. 

"Captain," the Doctor rumbled, his gaze steady on him.

Harkness levered out of the car, staggering back a step. He looked surprisingly steady for a man who just had his head cut open.

"Doctor," Harkness returned in an even voice.

Ianto went around the car to him. He touched Jack's arm hesitantly. "Jack?"

Jack Harkness appeared to relax minutely at Ianto's voice. His eyes darted to Ianto and the hard line of his shoulders eased. "You okay?" he murmured as he gripped Ianto's arm tight. He pulled Ianto closer to him. Martha swallowed at the suspicious look he gave her now. " _These_ guys were your help?"

Ianto tugged at the captain's sleeve. "Jack," Ianto whispered. 

Jack kept his eyes on the Doctor.

"You regenerated…again," the captain said, his voice low and wary. "Getting to be a habit for you."

The Doctor never replied. He merely stared at him. Martha thought he looked a little sad.

Martha wondered why Harkness, however, acted like he was cornered, his back pressed to the car. She wondered why he was making sure Ianto was far away from them when it came to her.

"That's right!" Martha burst out. "You think he's the _other_ Doctor!"

"Martha…" the Doctor started to warn.

"What other Doctor?" Jack hissed. He tensed and took a step back. Ianto looked very pale all of the sudden.

"The one you were with the whole time," Martha continued, eager to have everything sorted. "He's not the—"

" ** _Martha_**!" the Doctor thundered.

Martha jumped. "What?" she stammered. She stared at the Doctor, hurt. "I just wanted to—"

"Damn!" the Doctor exploded, not looking at her now.

Martha whipped her head around to what he was looking at. She moaned.

Jack Harkness and Ianto Jones were gone.

 

If the ground didn't shake so much, Jack would have known where he was going. Instead, he made sure he held onto Ianto's hand and did something he hadn't done in a long time.

Jack ran.

"Wait!" Ianto yelped as he tried to catch up, but Jack dragged him. He would have thrown Ianto over his shoulder but he didn't think Ianto would have appreciated the manhandling and Jack still felt so… _not here_ , that Jack doubted he had the strength.

Suddenly, Ianto's hand slipped out of his grasp.

" _No_!"

Sand and alien screaming and people running and so many bodies and Grey, where is he, oh God, he let go of his hand, he—

"Jack! Jack, I'm all right! I'm right here!"

"Grey?" Jack stuttered. He felt the world spinning, too much, his head hurt, his body, hands were on him, he couldn't move, dark, so dark, tearing into him mind and body and…

Somewhere, in the soup of screaming and pain and memories that couldn't be memories, Jack heard the soothing syllables of a voice he knew lulled him in the dark murmuring against his ear. Jack felt the pounding in his chest slow, the tight vise that choked the air out of him loosening and the golden, blood mottled sands of his childhood fade into concrete and a white face.

Jack exhaled.

"Jack?" Ianto sounded scared, terrified, really. His hands shook as they settled on both sides of his face. "Jack, look at me."

Blinking, Jack focused until Ianto's pale expression sharpened into view. 

"Ianto," Jack managed. He found himself standing, propped up by a brick wall in some alley, away from prying eyes, Ianto pressed up against him. Jack moved his hands up to Ianto's shoulders and gripped tightly. "Ianto," he repeated, stronger.

The wild panic retreated from Ianto's expression. He sighed and closed his eyes for a brief moment. "Thank God," Ianto's voice trembled. "You stopped breathing. I—" Ianto moved his hands down to Jack's torso. 

"We should keep moving," Jack said hoarsely. He straightened. He tried to gather his thoughts, but it was like wrapping his arms around running water. He needed to get Ianto away from the Time Lord first. "Where are we? We need to head back to Cardiff, find the others, get you as far away as we can from this Doctor—"

"Jack, the Doctor…"

Jack nodded, his arms moving up around Ianto's shoulders. Briefly, he wondered what happened to have made the Time Lord regenerate. "Gwen said you were with him. How did that happen? How did you end up getting me out of there with him?" Jack tensed. He shook Ianto a little. 

"He didn't do anything…did he?"

A chill crawled up his back when Ianto gazed at him with suspiciously bright eyes. Jack felt cold.

"God, Ianto, I'll kill him."

Ianto shook his head and rested his forehead on Jack's chest. "No," Ianto rasped, his voice wobbly. "Jack…Listen. I'm fine."

Jack exhaled sharply. "Thank God. How did you end up with him? What's going on?"

" _Listen_." Ianto leveled his gaze at him. "Jack…that man before… _he's_ the Doctor."

Jack stared back. He nodded wordlessly, not understanding.

For some reason, Ianto looked ill.

"The man you met in 1941…" Ianto swallowed. His voice dropped, so low, Jack had to lean forward.

"That wasn't the Doctor."

Jack's brow knitted. He shook his head. "No, you're confused. Remember? Time Lords regenerate—" 

"Jack, he never regenerated to that face! That man in 1941 was Harold Saxon. He was _never_ the Doctor. He wasn't _your_ Doctor!" 

The world shrank around him.

Ianto gripped his braces, his eyes wide. "I saw him. We were sent to the end of the universe. A hundred trillion years. I met him, _spoke_ with him before he regenerated and stole the TARDIS—"

"He _what_?" Jack wondered if he was still under and was only dreaming. He gaped at Ianto. "The TARDIS?"

Ianto nodded miserably. "He's somehow infected the TARDIS when it was attached to the Hub—"

"Wait, wait, wait." Jack was suddenly feeling dizzy. "The TARDIS showed up in _Torchwood_? In Cardiff?" Jack slumped back against the wall. His mind reeled, too cluttered to sort out. 

"The man you knew, the man who left you the first time, the one we just left back there… _He_ was the Doctor you remembered." Ianto's voice steadied. "The man who came back…in 1941 with the TARDIS. The man I saw in Canary Wharf with you…"

Jack's throat hurt for some reason. His eyes blurred. "He wasn't the Doctor," Jack completed the sentence when it looked like Ianto couldn't. Jack shook his head. "No, something's not adding up. The Doctor called me, after Abbadon, he said he was…" 

"That wasn't him," Ianto murmured. "The man who went back for you…The Doctor called him the Master."

"What's with those names?" Jack tried to joke but the laugh was strangled in his throat. "There should be some Time Lord badges or…or…" Jack couldn't remember what else he wanted to say.

"So, not the Doctor then," Jack mumbled. He wondered why he couldn't feel his limbs right now.

Ianto nodded, his eyes on Jack. "It was Harold Saxon, not…not…" He curled his hands around Jack's wrists. Jack recoiled and Ianto looked devastated. "Jack, God, I'm sorry."

Jack settled back against the wall. It felt like it was holding him up now. There should be something, Jack thought distantly. There should be something that he should feel. Jack searched Ianto's face. He couldn't find the lie in it. He wanted to. Anything would be better than the shattered look on Ianto's face. There was a cold lump returning in his gut, but it had been so long, that Jack didn't recognize it at first. All it was doing was sitting in his stomach. There was no pain. All Jack could feel was numb.

"Jack?" Ianto's face was a mirror of when he returned from the memorial service, fragile as glass, his eyes sharp with emotion he could barely curb. 

Ianto squeezed the hands he held, refusing to let go when Jack tried to pull away. Jack's skin crawled; he felt clammy, oily, and he wanted to tell Ianto to stay back but Ianto held on painfully to his wrists. 

"Jack," Ianto murmured again, almost pleading. And for a moment, Jack couldn't fathom why Ianto looked like he was about to cry.

"Just tell me," Jack rasped. Jack ran his tongue across his cracked lips. "All of it."

 

 **Act VI: _"What do we do?"_**   
**Somewhere in London**  
 **Present day…**

The empty streets were damp from the evening drizzle and the thin rows of trees that lined the sidewalks lent the arcade an otherworldly feel. Right now, another planet would probably be better, Martha fumed.

Martha looked up from her pacing and breathed out a sigh when she saw the two men trotting down the deserted shopping arcade. The Doctor had assured her they would return. 

When the two drew closer however, Martha's relief faded. They were pale, too pale, and as ashen as when they first came across the bound Jack Harkness in MOD.

"Sorry about that. Misunderstanding," Jack Harkness quipped. Ianto stayed by his right elbow, so close, he was a shadow. He bared his teeth at Martha in a smile. It looked forced. 

"Thought you two would be at Cardiff by now!" Martha exclaimed, relief and frustration jumbling her words up into a mess. "Not that it would have helped because it looks like he has his miserable fingers in every corner. He's even got Tish and if Leo doesn't go under—"

"Who?" Ianto interrupted before Martha could launch into the panic she could feel bubbling in her gut. "Who, Martha? Who?"

"Saxon! Leo finally called back. I was talking to my brother Leo when he…he…" Martha waved towards the row of closed shops. The Doctor was pacing back and forth in front of one with her mobile pressed to his ear. "He suddenly came onto the line. The Doctor's talking to him right now."

"The Master?" Jack spoke up in a flat voice.

Martha glanced over to Jack. His expression revealed…nothing. Absolutely nothing. The Captain stared back at her without even a twitch. He stood with his arms stiff and unnatural by his sides. He didn't act like he cared the back of his shirt was stained with dry blood for all to see. 

Ianto kept checking Jack and made no attempt to be secretive about it, but Jack either didn't notice or care. Ianto turned back towards Martha, his expression haggard. 

"What are they saying to each other?" Ianto glanced over to the Doctor, who was now seated, the mobile close to his mouth.

"Something about a war, I don't know!" Martha bit her lower lip. She was still shaking—with anger, with fear, she wasn't sure. "The Master kept babbling on the phone with me about some sort of drumming, that we took something from him, about…" She paused.

"About me," Jack said stiffly. He cracked a smirk. It looked painful. "I'm flattered."

Martha spied Ianto reaching for Jack's hand but Jack abruptly tucked them into his trouser pockets.

"He misses his Companion." Jack flashed her a grin that was too bright, too perfect that all Martha could feel was an ache in her chest seeing it. "Can you blame him?"

"Jack," Ianto murmured, distressed. 

Jack inhaled, a deep intake that jerked his body. Martha spied his right hand opening and closing before he spoke again, his voice steadier.

"Do we know where the rest of our team is? Gwen and the others?" Jack didn't look at Ianto. His voice was brisk. "You said you found no record of them being there."

"The Doctor didn't see anything," Martha recalled. She dropped heavily onto the concrete benches. Her knee bounced as she gnawed on her lower lip. "He'd hacked into MOD's servers and there was no mention."

Jack frowned. "First time I tried to escape, there was this man…some sort of scientist there muttering about an execution."

"Execution?" Martha exclaimed. "Here? In _Britain_? For what?" What did that mean for her mum and dad? And Tish?

"Terrorism. For opening the Rift," Jack murmured. 

Martha snapped her fingers. "That's right! When we landed in Cardiff, the Doctor did say that the rift had been active."

"You know," Jack commented lightly, "a few minutes earlier…" His face clouded over. 

"Well, the Doctor never could get the TARDIS to listen to him properly," Martha joked. She made an odd chuckle and wished it banished the shadows from both men's eyes. It didn't. "I've been traveling with him for nearly a year and I have yet to see him land on target."

A light dimmed Jack's eyes. "A year, huh?" 

Martha had the feeling she said something she shouldn't have. She cleared her throat. 

"I heard you were with the Doctor for a time," Martha began tentatively. "That you were—"

"His Companion?" Jack's face screwed up. "You could say that." Jack snorted. "Well…depends on which Doctor you're referring to."

Martha's forehead lined. "Huh?"

"Jack," Ianto tried again. "Don't do this to your—"

"Do what?" Jack spun around and stared hard at Ianto. "What? _What_ did I do?"

Ianto matched his gaze, but then something flickered in his stare and Ianto's eyes dulled with pain, but Martha doubted it was for himself.

Jack's eyes shifted sideways. Jack coughed into a fist. 

"Jack—"

"Just leave it," Jack said gruffly.

"You can't blame your—"

"Ianto. _Don't_." Ianto clamped his mouth shut. 

Martha squirmed in her seat. She averted her eyes. It felt like she was intruding, that she walked in on a conversation she shouldn't have. She was grateful when she saw the Doctor gesturing.

When they approached the Doctor, he pointed to a shop window. Martha gaped at the images of the Doctor, Ianto Jones and herself on the telly.

"Tell me how you’ve done this. What are those creatures? Tell me!" the Doctor demanded to her mobile, his voice low. He jabbed a finger on the glass, leaving a finger mark on the surface.

 _"…consider to be armed and extremely dangerous,"_ the anchorwoman was saying as their photos lined up on the screen. 

Martha placed her hands on the glass. "Look!" she pointed as the screen changed to a smaller video of people being carted away, forced to board a plane. The screen had _'Terrorists captured'_ branded at the bottom.

"Jack," Ianto hissed.

"I see them," Jack said grimly. 

" _He is not your Companion_!"

Both Ianto and Martha jumped at the Doctor's fury. Jack, on the other hand, only watched the telly, his jaw clenched. 

"You have no right to interfere with him! He wasn't yours to—" The Doctor spun around and his eyes widened when they landed on Jack, as if seeing him for the first time. The Doctor winced and turned around again. 

"You know," Jack said conversationally, his eyes glued to the monitor, "all this attention is really embarrassing." Jack's mouth quirked into a grin towards Martha. "I'm actually a shy person. Isn't that right, Ianto?"

"Painfully so, sir," Ianto returned with a weak smile. He watched Jack the whole time.

"Don't do this. I can help you. You could stop this right now, we could leave this planet. We can fight across the constellations if that's what you want. But not on Earth."

Martha gave Ianto and Jack a worried look. Jack's expression was stony.

"If you won't let me help you," the Doctor hissed. "Then, I'm sorry, I must stop you."

The Doctor's arguing was growing louder, no longer the often-cheerful tone he favored. Still talking, the Doctor's gestures didn't grow wild with his anger; rather, his limbs seem to grow jerky, more contained as if there was rope wound tightly around his body.

It was frightening to watch as the Doctor darkened, his eyes stormy with an anger Martha had never seen even when they were in Torchwood.

"You did _what_?" the Doctor breathed. He spun back around to stare at Jack with what looked like shock.

"That's a UNIT plane they're getting on," Jack said quietly, still watching the newscast, but Martha caught him darting a furtive look at the Doctor. "If we can get the flight plan, we'll know where they're being taken."

Ianto leaned in and squint at the screen. "We could use Martha's computer and track it down."

Martha patted the laptop she was holding along with the folded greatcoat. "Lucky thing this has a good battery life!" she quipped. 

Martha handed Jack back the coat when she caught him staring at it. She observed silently as Jack shrugged into it and buttoned it all the way to his throat. Perhaps he was cold, Martha guessed. It certainly suited him though the coat was more World War two than twenty first century. 

The Doctor had gone quiet now, his face serious as he listened. He frowned mildly, rotating slowly until he looked up to his right. Everyone else did the same.

"He can see us!" the Doctor snarled, seeing the CCTV camera blinking at him.

Martha flinched when she realized the camera was moving, tracking them. It stilled on Jack and her mobile in the Doctor's hand cackled. 

The Doctor pulled out his sonic screwdriver and fired at the CCTV camera. The camera burst into sparks and metal shards. 

The Doctor rested back on the shop glass. He looked stunned. "He's got control of everything."

Martha flinched as the camera sizzled above them. It sounded like an angry snake. "What do we do?"

"He has Torchwood. We've got no one to help us," Ianto added, gravely. Jack set his mouth, his eyes hard.

The Doctor gazed at Jack with an unreadable expression. Jack, on the other hand, stared at a point past the Doctor's ear. 

"Doctor," Martha called out sharply. 

The Doctor stirred and looked at her, almost dazed. 

"What do we do?" Martha repeated.

The mobile he still held buzzed with Saxon's taunts. The Doctor grimaced and shut it off. He looked at all of them, his eyes settling on Jack again. The Doctor pursed his lips.

"We run."

 

Lucy found him seated at the head of the empty table, the vacant cabinet seats turned towards him, the mobile smashed to bits. Harry stared out the shuttered window as if they were transparent, as if he could see the rain outside.

"He has him," Harry murmured, his fingers tapping on the table by his empty drink glass. " _My_ Captain. He took him."

Lucy jumped when Harry's fingers curled into a fist and thumped and thumped the mahogany table. Knuckles slowly blotched first pink, then red.

"Harry!" Lucy slipped her hand under his fist and cried out when it smashed into her hand instead. Harry drew his fist back immediately. His face was contrite as he cradled her reddened hand.

"Ah my darling," Harry murmured. He uncurled her hand and inspected it. "My poor, poor Lucy. My most faithful Companion. I'm so sorry."

Harry drew her hand to his lips and kissed each fingertip. Lucy swallowed back a whimper. 

"So loyal," Harry muttered. "To the very end." His smile was fragile. "You came back for me, awakened me, _died_ for me…ah, Lucy…I had to find you again."

Harry always spoke in riddles. Even when she first met him, when she was in his TARDIS, and when they hovered above a burning Canary Wharf, Harry was succinct about his thoughts, his plans. When they witnessed Utopia's truth and watched all those bright, shining faces of hope crumble into horror, Harry would only say that things were as they should be.

"I've tasted the Vortex. I've seen what needs to be corrected." Harry's eyes shone with the same hunger as before. "I know why I failed before. The Doctor watched two civilizations burn, but he is no god. He is only as powerful as the allies who stand by him." Harry petted the hand he held. 

"One by one, his children of time will fall and the Doctor will be cowed."

Harry gave her a pitying look. "You tried to kill one for me, but died instead."

"I'm sorry," Lucy murmured even if she didn't understand her crime.

"No matter," Harry reassured her. His lips lingered on her knuckles and pulled back from her hand with reluctance.

"I have dealt with the other myself." His smile grew feral and Lucy shivered. "He didn't break before. Always the Doctor's freak, all smug and brave, smirking while I bled him and ripped his insides apart." Harry chuckled and his grip shrank around her hand.

"Not this time. No, not this time. He can hear the drumming like me now. He will shatter before me and I will rebuild him. My Captain." Harry's eyes shone with his breathy vow. 

Lucy kept her smile pasted firmly on her face. She said nothing about the twitch in his touch. She knew he needed what was siphoned, thirsted for it like water. It frightened her; Harry's eyes sometimes went white after he was with it, his voice faraway as if he was out of her reach. 

But it didn't matter. It was gone now and she was still here. She may not hear the drumming like they do, but she was his Companion, his _wife_. Lucy preened under his tender attentions, so lost in his voice that she wasn't careful.

" _I_ stayed with you Harry. Not him. He doesn't deserve you. He _left_ you—" 

Lucy cried out when a hot palm whipped across her face. Lucy, her eyes filling, held her throbbing cheek.

"Harry," she choked. Her eyes watered with agony. "I-I'm sorry."

"We should get some makeup for that," Harry said mildly. He stroked the heated cheek with a gentle finger, but his eyes warned against repeating what she said. "We are meeting President Winters tomorrow." He patted her arm. "Must look presentable."

Lucy nodded numbly and followed Harry out.

 

 **Somewhere in London**   
**Present day…**

"Here."

Ianto stirred drowsily against the solid, sturdy feel of Jack's shoulder. He looked up with gritty eyes. The Doctor stood over them, his long brown coat hanging off the crook of a finger.

The Doctor appeared worn, war weary as he gazed down at Jack, currently dozing, propped up against a cluster of empty barrels across from where the Doctor had set up shop. Jack had kept away from everyone, even from the hearth they'd built inside a barrel to ward off the damp cold that always seem to hang over London. Jack stayed hunched by the cluster of empty drums, silent, even when Ianto sat down right beside him.

"Has Martha returned?" Ianto mumbled around a yawn. He rubbed his eyes with a knuckle. He studied Jack, his brow furrowed. They were just sitting here. When had they fallen asleep?

"It's only been a few minutes," the Doctor explained before he tossed his coat over Ianto's lap. "If you two won't come near the fire, at least use this. It's warmer." The Doctor sniffed at the sight of Jack slumped against a barrel, oblivious to the conversation around him. The Doctor straightened. "Hard to sneak up to the Master with you two sniffling and sneezing. Not very inconspicuous."

Ianto rolled his eyes. "Your concern overwhelms me, sir," he said but accepted the long brown coat. Ianto picked at the frayed threads. It felt surprisingly warm despite its ratty appearance. 

The Doctor grunted at Ianto's surprise. "You never know what climate one arrives in. Not practical to carry around so many coats."

Carefully, Ianto draped the wool outerwear over Jack. He smiled sadly to himself when Jack mumbled something, shifted closer to Ianto, his hip touching Ianto's, and quieted.

"He's exhausted," Ianto whispered. He couldn't help but brush back a dark strand of hair away from Jack's eyes. His fingers lingered on Jack's cool forehead. Still too cool. It reminded him too much of after Abbadon. Ianto snatched back his fingers before panic could make him shake Jack.

"I don't think I've ever seen him sleep this much since…" Ianto paused. Ianto's smile flickered and faded into apprehension. "Well…never, actually." 

"The Master's drained him. It will take Jack some time to recover."

His stomach clenched. Ianto raised startled eyes at the Time Lord. "Drained?"

The Doctor merely frowned. He flinched and his eyes shifted away from Jack. 

"It's like dipping into the heart of the TARDIS," the Doctor said cryptically. He stared off at the laptop he was working on. "Time Lords didn't dare even think of doing that. All that raw power, the temptation, all that time and space…" The Doctor gazed across the factory to the little work area he set up. 

"Humans, most of all, can't handle such power," the Doctor murmured. "It would either burn their minds alive or drive them absolutely mad before they died."

Ianto turned worried eyes back towards Jack. 

"He never looked into it. He was touched with that power," the Doctor said. Ianto glanced up at his tight smile. The Doctor shrugged but even that looked painful. "It changed him, did quite the opposite of what it should, and now he's like the Vortex itself; never changing, always renewing."

"And that's why you can't even stand to look at me right now."

Ianto started when Jack lifted his head and leveled a steady gaze at the Doctor.

"Still in the habit of eavesdropping, I see," the Doctor rumbled. He cleared his throat behind a fist. 

"Like you said: never changing." Jack stared up at him unflinching.

The Doctor, to his credit, matched the intensity of the gaze for as long as he could before he sighed. The time traveler shook his head.

"You should be resting, Captain," the Doctor would only offer and with his hands in his pockets, went back towards the makeshift table across the building.

"Who could rest with all that talking?" Jack called out to the Time Lord's back but the Doctor just waved a hand over his shoulder. 

Jack blinked when he looked down at himself. Jack pulled off the coat tucked over him and considered the material bunched between his fists. Something unreadable drifted over his face and his expression turned to something sadder.

"I don't think brown was ever my color," Jack rasped. He flipped it out over Ianto's shoulders like a cape. Jack shrugged deeper into his own greatcoat. "You, on the other hand…" Jack waggled his brows at him, but it was a sorry attempt. Jack, tired of trying, averted his gaze.

"You should be sleeping," Ianto scolded, unable to conceal his worry. Jack's smile was brittle; his eyes a bit dull and lacked the quick-witted luster Ianto always responded to each time. 

Ianto waved towards the fire by the Doctor; its orange flame danced in the dark. 

"He thought you looked cold," Ianto whispered. He didn't know why, but looking at the solitary figure tapping away on Martha's computer gave him a lump in his throat. 

"I'm not." Jack's response was clipped. Ianto didn't dare refute him.

"Purple!" the Doctor suddenly declared and now he was rearranging things as whatever new idea now inspired him, making him look like a frenzied little dog. Metal screeched over concrete.

Ianto caught Jack's eyes on the Doctor, a tiny smirk on his lips before his gaze snapped forward again. Ianto sighed.

"Do you want to lay down a bit more?" Ianto asked. "Martha might be awhile getting food."

Jack shrugged. "Not hungry," Jack mumbled. He hunched deeper into his greatcoat.

"Well, _I'm_ starved," Ianto forced his words to be light. "I haven't eaten in a hundred trillion years."

Jack's mouth twitched. "Poor Ianto." Jack smiled wanly at him. He gestured Ianto to sit closer. 

"I think I can tune this thing to the government wavelength," Jack explained when Ianto paused. 

"Ah. Your wrist strap is proving to be very useful. First as a time traveling device, now this." Ianto pulled back his sleeve and turned his wrist over. 

"No, no, keep it on," Jack suggested. He grinned and his voice grew husky. "It looks good on you."

Jack's voice was hot by his ear and Ianto couldn't help but shiver. He gave a little snort that made Jack chuckle for some reason. 

"I don't trust your fashion sense," Ianto retorted. "You thought I would look good in a pink shirt."

Jack's fingers stroked the leather wrapped around him before he flipped it open. "Actually," Jack breathed next to him. "I think you look good in _any_ shirt, Mr. Jones. Or no shirt at all."

Ianto closed his eyes. He knew what Jack was trying to do. His words, while saturated with suggestion, were also heavy with the desperation to talk about anything else, hungry for the bits of what was normalcy between them. It was a thinly veiled farce, but God, he missed this side of Jack as well. The feel of Jack's body next to him, around him, was reassuring. Jack's voice surrounding him like the air he breathed was energizing. Ianto suddenly didn't care if the Doctor could see them; Ianto leaned in further and dropped his head back onto Jack's shoulder. 

Jack's chest heaved against his back gently, his knees on either side of Ianto, his arms circled around and supporting Ianto's left arm as Jack's fingers manipulated his strange wrist device. Ianto watched sleepily with Jack's quiet murmuring in his ears explaining each step, the function of each button with his deep, rolling baritone rumbling by his ear like a lullaby.

At some point, Jack grew quiet and Ianto blinked blearily with the realization he'd drifted off again.

"Sorry," Ianto yawned. "Finished?" He wiggled to sit up higher to take a look.

"Wait," Jack whispered, stopping him. 

Jack's arms wrapped around him tighter and Jack rubbed his mouth next to Ianto's ear. Jack curled himself around Ianto and dropped his chin on Ianto's shoulder.

Ianto merely nodded and gratefully sank back against Jack's chest. He took a deep breath, drinking in the scent of Jack: the sweaty, salty tang of spice and air and life itself. Ianto settled his head against Jack's jaw and rubbed his temple along the side of his face until he felt a light kiss by his hairline.

They sat there, huddled in the manmade alcove of barrels and wooden pallets. Ianto watched Jack's legs stretch out in front of him, Ianto's legs out in front of him as well, Jack's arms folded across his chest, his mouth by his ear, yet Ianto didn't feel trapped. He felt tethered; things were finally making sense again. Ianto let a small sigh escape and wiggled a little closer to Jack.

Jack sniffed and pulled Ianto closer.

"I was going to come back."

Ianto nodded at the hesitant whisper fluttering at the back of his neck. Ianto raised his left arm to show Jack the wrist strap in response. Jack brushed a finger across its weathered flap.

Jack buried his face into the back of Ianto's hair. A tentative touch brushed behind his ear. A shy nibble grazed the back of his neck. "I thought if he could…fix me, I could give you what you deserve."

Ianto's hands drew up to curl around the arms across his chest. He gave them a brief squeeze.

Jack tightened his hold and said nothing.

"Tell me what you're thinking, Jack." Ianto pleaded quietly when the silence proved to be too much. He stroked Jack's hands clasped over his own wrists, knuckles white. "Please…"

"Ianto," Jack sighed. "I'm not thinking about anything but how to get our team back and stop Saxon from making this the biggest political debacle since Chancellor Dent was found wearing his mistress' green brass—"

"Jack."

Jack shook his head and buried his face in Ianto's right shoulder blade.

"I'm tired," Jack rasped after a beat. His voice cracked. "I'm just…I'm so tired."

Ianto nodded, swallowing. He rubbed Jack's arms folded over his chest.

"I just want this to be over."

Ianto twisted around to stare at Jack. 

Jack's face echoed John's death and Ianto, for a moment, thought he could smell car exhaust again. Jack's face then shuttered, like blinds turning and changing the bleak despair Ianto saw lurking in almost colorless eyes into an emotionless mask.

"Jack?" Ianto felt the hammerings of panic in his chest.

Jack shook his head again and drew Ianto back against him. Ianto opened his mouth to protest, to say something, but he felt Jack resting his chin on Ianto's shoulder, his arms around him unrelenting and desperate. There was a silent plea in the embrace. 

Ianto sighed. Ianto covered Jack's arms with his. He idly stroke Jack's right wrist with a finger.

"I missed you," Ianto said finally. "The whole time we were there, all I wanted to do was come back to you." He swallowed. "We never had a chance to talk after…" 

Ianto sucked in his breath and gripped Jack's arms so he wouldn't pull away.

"After everything. There had been so much left unsaid, so much that needs to be said. What we did. Jack, we—"

"You all did it for love," Jack murmured. "How can I hold that against any of you? You loved Lisa."

Ianto flinched. The resigned tone was never meant to be an accusation but it hurt like one. He twisted around until he was practically nose-to-nose with him.

"Yes," Ianto whispered. He looped his arms around Jack's torso. He wished there was a way to pull Jack closer. "I loved Lisa. _Loved_. I think I will always but it's in the past." Ianto took a deep breath. "I…" Ianto's voice stuttered. Bollocks. It shouldn't be this hard to say to a man. "Jack. Right now, I-I love—"

There was a strange flicker of fear that zipped across Jack's face, so quick, Ianto wasn't sure he saw it. 

"Back to work." Jack patted Ianto on the shoulder. He sat up, shrugging away from Ianto as he rose to his feet. 

Dismayed, Ianto stared up at him. "Jack…"

"Later, Ianto. Not now." Jack shook his head. "Let's get our guys back first, stop Saxon, then we'll talk, okay?"

There was a voice screaming in his head that it would never happen. "No, I think we need to talk about this now."

Jack stared at him as if he'd gone mad. "What is there to talk about?" Jack took a step towards the Doctor. He stopped when Ianto stepped in front of him.

It was like facing down a pit bull. Jack's chest expanded at the obstacle.

"We have work to do," Jack said tightly. "Move."

Ianto opened his hands entreating towards Jack. "We'd never talked about what happened."

"Yes, we did. You went to the end of the universe, I went with an imposter, and now he's Prime Minister." Jack was short, his grin humorless. "I think I got the gist of it." He didn't step around Ianto. Instead, he drew up to Ianto, almost in challenge.

"Ianto," Jack whispered, low. 

Ianto shook his head, his throat working, his mouth like cotton. "Wait," Ianto pleaded. "Jack, what happened—"

Jack made some sort of noise. "We don't have time for this," Jack hissed. "We have to focus on what's important here."

"Exactly! _You_!" Ianto fought back a wince when Jack took another step to the side and Ianto blocked him. 

Jack was trembling. And it should have been a warning sign for Ianto, but his heart was screaming too much. It was like he could see Jack bleeding inside, unchecked. Something cried inside Ianto to help him. 

" _Move_."

"We need to talk about Sax—"

" _I don't want to talk about him_!"

Jack charged up to Ianto, breathing hard, his fists clutching Ianto's jacket by the lapels. Ianto froze. For the first time since kneeling before Jack's Webley after Lisa was discovered, Ianto thought Jack was going to hurt him. Ianto clenched his body to stop himself from rearing back. His knees struck the barrels behind him. Jack was chest to chest with him; his pupils were pinpricks with…Ianto weren't sure. Rage? Fear? Shame? No one emotion settled on Jack's face.

The Doctor was suddenly behind him. "It's not him you're angry at, Captain." He settled a hand on Jack's shoulder.

The flinch and the growl "Don't touch me!" was simultaneous. Jack whipped around, his hands slapping away the Doctor's hand. His fist reared back.

"Jack!" Ianto grabbed the elevated hand with both of his before it could sail across. 

Jack snarled and twisted away from both of them. He crashed against the empty barrels as he stumbled back.

The noise roused Jack. He blinked and leaned back heavily on the large canisters, looking a little stunned. He stared at his fist as if it wasn't his. Slowly, it lowered and dropped to his side. Jack waved them both back when Ianto and the Doctor tried to approach.

"Just…give me…Hold on…" Jack's hands fanned uselessly at them, warding them off. Jack staggered to the back of the factory.

"Jack," Ianto pleaded. He took a step towards Jack who wearily waved him off as he stumbled away.

"Leave him be for now," the Doctor advised. He grabbed Ianto's sleeve.

"But," Ianto protested as he watched the lone, slouched figure by the far wall, one bent arm against it to brace himself, head bowed as if praying. Ianto couldn't tear his eyes away from Jack. 

"Things won't get solved immediately here," the Doctor told Ianto in a low voice. "The Captain is understandably angry right now."

"At Saxon," Ianto muttered to himself.

The Doctor sighed long and tired. "Yes. Probably at me as well, but more than likely, mostly at himself."

Ianto screwed up his face to hold back whatever was coming up his throat. "He didn't know. There was nothing he could have done," he protested weakly. He felt lightheaded with the irrational need to wrap his arms around Jack and never let go. Ever. 

"Intellectually, I'm sure he knows, but I have found the human heart is often in disagreement with logic."

Ianto screwed up his face. He balled his hands up.

"He's trying to hold it together right now," the Doctor murmured. He patted Ianto on the shoulder. "Give him time to do that."

Ianto was about to brush the Doctor's hand off his shoulder when Jack tensed, spinning around to look at something past them. Ianto and the Doctor, alarmed, both spun around. They relaxed when it turned out to be Martha hurrying into the factory, smelling like fish and chips.

Jack materialized by Ianto. "How was it?" Jack sounded all business to her.

"I don't think anyone saw me." Martha was breathless as she steered for the work area to set her bags down. "Anything new?" she asked anxiously.

Ianto pulled back his sleeve to reveal the wrist strap. "Jack's got this tuned to the government's wavelength so we can follow what Saxon's doing."

Irritation flitted across Martha's face. "Yeah, I meant about my family."

The Doctor trotted back to his cluttered, homemade station and dropped down in front of her laptop. "Still says the Jones family was taken in for questioning," the Doctor reported. "Tell you what though, no mention of Leo."

Martha beamed as she passed around the bags of fried food around the stack of wooden pallets that served as their table. "He's not as daft as he looks." She paused and looked over to Ianto.

Ianto was digging around the bag, pulling out cups of tea and wrapped packages of fish and chips. At Martha's look though, he swallowed. Ianto shook his head.

"I left several messages," Ianto croaked. "I haven't heard back from anyone. I don't even know if they heard my messages"

Jack quietly settled a hand on Ianto's lower back. It stayed there until Ianto composed himself and went back to distributing the food.

"We're talking about our families on the run." Martha sat down on a large spool, her face pale with shock. "How did this happen?"

Ianto bowed his head and concentrated on unfurling the napkins. Jack rubbed tiny circles on the small of his back.

"Nice chips," Jack spoke up, breaking the silence. He poked at the wrinkled foiled package but didn't partake.

The Doctor nodded as he popped a chip in his mouth despite the steam. "Actually," the Doctor agreed, looking disconcerted with steam wafting out of his mouth like a kettle, "they're not bad."

Martha gave them all a look and gave up with a sigh. She gave her food a glum look.

"You should eat," Jack prodded her food closer to her with a finger. "I have a funny feeling there'll be a lot of running later."

Martha gave him a shaky smile of thanks before peeling back the foil on her food.

"That's sound advice, Captain," the Doctor commented quietly. He looked at Jack's untouched meal.

"I'm not feeding you," Ianto muttered as he crammed a chip in his mouth. He didn't realize until he had opened his meal that he was famished. "I'm too busy getting fat here."

Jack chuckled half-heartedly before breaking off a piece of fish to taste.

Ianto washed his food down with the worse tea he'd ever tasted. He mused that he was spoiled with the perfectly filtered and brewed tea Jack makes. He took a sip and caught Martha giving him a look, her eyes then sliding over to the Doctor, who was busy making faces at the teabag in his cup. Ianto swallowed and shot her a mildly panicked look and shook his head, to which Martha replied with a kick to Jack's shins.

It was poor timing because Jack was drinking his tea and he sputtered. Ianto gave him a sheepish grin and nodded towards the time traveler. Jack narrowed his eyes no.

"Just spit it out," the Doctor muttered. He didn't look up as he plucked his teabag out of his cup and tossed it over his shoulder with disgust. "You have questions. You humans always do."

It was a reminder that the time traveler was indeed alien, a reminder that oddly enough made Ianto feel better about asking. Must be the Torchwood influence, Ianto thought ruefully. Aliens he could deal with. It was humans he was still having trouble with.

"So," Ianto began, "who is he?"

 

**Act VII:** _"It's in the phones!"_   
**Somewhere in London**   
**Present day…**

Jack chewed—he had no choice because Ianto kept putting chip after chip in his hand—while he listened. The accent was different, too, not just the face, Jack realized. There was messy brown hair instead of close-shaven, regular sized ears close to his head—thank god—wiry where he was once broader, and wearing glasses for Pete's sake. Glasses? Can he be any geekier? And what was it with Time Lords and their European accents anyway? He tried to imagine the Time Lord with an American Southern accent or a Canadian one. Jack blinked, momentarily distracted. Too weird. 

It's the same person, Jack told himself as he batted away Ianto's stubborn insistence to give him more food. It was an odd déjà vu hanging over him as Jack studied the man/alien across from him, talking in that uncomfortably soothing tone like an ancient storyteller. He found himself once again trying to find the similarities and differences. 

Regeneration is a bitch, Jack decided, giving up. It was again a different face, different voice, but apparently the same man.

Right?

"…Citadel of the Time Lords…"

The Doctor sounded nostalgic when he described the mountains and grass of a civilization long gone by his century and Ianto's. His chest twinged when the Doctor's voice lowered in grief. 

The legends of Gallifrey always made it sound perfect, Jack mused. Time softened the harsh light of fact. Everything looks better with time.

It made him want to laugh just as the Doctor—Jack was trying hard to think of this stranger as him—began to describe the Academy. Jack listened, his throat working. He couldn't imagine being taken away from his family at eight.

Then again, a snide voice said, breaking into his thoughts, Grey was taken away much younger than that.

Jack dropped the chip, his stomach churning. He doubted time, all the time he has in fact, could ever make _any_ of this look better. 

Jack absently peeled the crunchy layer off the fish. He mentally sighed when Ianto confiscated the demolished seafood and substituted it with one of his more intact ones. Ianto's only response to Jack's glare was stuffing the stolen one into his mouth. Ianto looked like a chipmunk; a polite chipmunk as he turned back towards the Doctor. 

"…that's when the Master saw eternity…"

The mention of the bastard's name made his head throb, the absence of the dark rhythm was a physical hurt he didn't understand. Ghost hands, touches, burning raked up and down his body. It was like being in a murky room in the TARDIS again when waking up meant falling into a nightmare.

"…could be seen the whole of the Vortex…"

A sharp pain pierced his chest. The man sounded like he actually sympathized with Saxon. 

"…some would run away…"

Jack watched a grimace cross a face he was trying so hard to find something familiar in. 

"…some would go mad…"

Guess we know which one the Master was, Jack thought, his left eye twitching. Jack set his jaw. The urge to throw up made his eyes water and his jaw ached from the effort trying to hold it in.

Ianto's knee suddenly bumped against his in quiet support. Jack smiled bitterly into his tea—seriously, a teabag?—and tried to quell the tremors still vibrating throughout his body. They hadn't stopped since Ianto told him. Told him about Saxon, the end of the universe, about all the pain and agony and the sheer torment Jack thought he was willing to take because it was the Doctor was for noth—

"Why me?" It came out before Jack could stop himself. He took another sip, not caring that the hot liquid scalded his tongue. The food he ate was lodged in his throat. 

The Doctor stopped mid-sentence and looked at him.

Not for too long, Jack thought with a pang. It looked like it was uncomfortable to look at a thing like him.

In the back of his mind, an odd beat Jack was trying to ignore kept humming in rhythm. Go away, Jack snarled at it.

"I'm not sure." The Doctor exhaled. He tore off a chunk of chip to eat it, but then he dropped it back down onto his pile of food 

"He said he was correcting the future."

"You think he went back to tamper with my timeline," Jack recalled. Jack clasped his hands together. "He went back specifically…for me." Jack crooked a grin he didn't feel. "I must have made an impression on him somewhere in time."

Ianto fidgeted next to him. The younger man drew closer, his knee so close, any closer he would have been in his lap. 

The Doctor nodded, his face hooded and dark, as dark as it was on the game station. Now Jack fidgeted. Different faces, yet the same unsettling look of barely controllable rage on all the Time Lord faces he'd encountered. Jack wondered if this was genetic for their species. The instinct to back away was overwhelming.

"Time Lords would never consider doing this."

"Nor would Time Agents," Jack added. He exchanged a wry look with Ianto. "Can't really say. Sorry. Timelines and all that."

Ianto just nodded and then promptly shoved a fork of fried fish into his hand. Damn it.

"But if the Master went back to his timeline, wouldn't Jack have noticed?" Martha asked the Doctor, brow furrowed. "I mean, that things were different?"

"We only saw Professor Yana change to Saxon so how could he have gone back and changed anything if he already did?" Ianto added.

"And what about the TARDIS?" Martha pointed out.

"It was preprogrammed somehow to take us to the end of the universe," Ianto reminded them all.

"Right. So how could the Master do that if he wasn't the Master yet until we got there?"

The Doctor shot Jack an exasperated look that Jack replied with a shrug. But he couldn't help but smile a little as both Jones were now picking up speed. It was like running downhill, heading right for the Time Lord.

"…must have been there planning for ages. And how he knew we were going to be refueling…"

"…saw him in London, but he didn't get the TARDIS until year one hundred trillion…"

Jack observed the Time Lord—it was easier to think of him as a Time Lord instead of as the Doctor—growing more and more miffed. He kept trying to speak, only to be interrupted by Ianto or Martha. He had to admit, it was a little funny. 

"Blimey!" the Time Lord burst out. A couple of chips scattered to the floor. "You're all thinking in linear lines! _Nothing_ is linear. I don't think anyone can truly draw a straight line, except for me, of course. That's the problem with you silly apes; only seeing from point A to point B!"

Ianto had his mouth open. He snapped it shut, blinked at the Time Lord then turned to Jack.

"Did he just call me a bloody primate?" Ianto huffed. 

God, Jack could just hug him sometimes. 

"Don't take it personally," Martha quipped. "When we don't do anything right, we're apes. And when we do something right—"

"We're fantastic," Jack spoke up hesitantly. There was a faint memory of Rose sputtering when she and Jack were called that after she'd gotten lost in the market on Jutlanteva, three minutes before a civil war erupted. 

The Time Lord beamed at Jack. He raised a finger up in the air, oddly familiar enough that Jack recognized it was some form of the Doctor's lecturing posture. "Right. You humans have such a tendency to muck things up unintentionally all the while persevering in the most trying situations that you put yourselves into in the first place, but that's not your fault since you were all evolved from apes."

Ianto stared. "How are you able to insult yet compliment an entire species in a single breath?" 

The Time Lord, nonplussed, didn't miss a beat. "Superior lung capacity."

Ianto sucked in his breath like he was going to bellow before he turned towards Jack in frustration. Jack shook his head. A smile that felt strange to make quirked his lips. Ianto and the Time Lord weren't getting along for some reason; he'd never seen Ianto so ruffled. It was actually…kinda hot.

Ianto jabbed a finger at the Time Lord. 

" _This_ is who you were waiting for since 1869?" Ianto griped. His eyes widened as soon as he said it and his finger dropped. Ianto appeared horrified at his slip.

"1869?" Martha wrinkled her nose. She gaped at Jack. "But that will make you over a hundred years old."

"And still looking good, don't you think?" Jack joked. He flashed her a bright smile and elbowed Ianto lightly. 

The remorse retreated from Ianto's face. He smiled weakly, but his eyes were still pale with apology.

Jack gripped Ianto's closest knee and squeezed.

"Yes, well," the Time Lord coughed. "It does us no good trying to sort out how the Master has done this. Time is too jumbled and squiggly to untangle. It's all wibbly wobbly timey—What?" The Time Lord paused, blinking at Jack.

"Jack?" Ianto tentatively settled his fingertips on Jack's thigh.

Jack caught himself staring and he dropped his gaze to gather the turmoil twisting in his gut.

"Jack?" Ianto acted like he was ready to shake him.

His mouth dry, Jack took a gulp of bitter tea, aware of the stares on him.

"You really are him," Jack said hoarsely. He leveled his eyes at the Doctor. "Doctor."

"But that's what we've been trying to tell you," Martha blurted out. "You only believe us no—"

"Martha." The Doctor was barely a whisper but Martha clamped her mouth shut all the same.

Ianto's fingertips grew to be a warm curled palm on his thigh. Jack's stare stayed on the Doctor.

The Doctor, to Jack's surprise, didn't flinch away. His eyes were unexpectedly warm yet sorrowful.

"Some things never change, eh, Jack?"

Jack didn't know why, but he laughed or tried to. Ianto's hand gripped his thigh, his fingers digging into the large muscle. 

"At least you got rid of the big ears," Jack stifled a snort from breaking free. There was a strange suspicion it would warp into a sob. 

The Doctor scowled. "My ears weren't big. Everyone else's were too small." He sniffed. "It would explain why no one listened to me."

"You think _that's_ the reason?" Ianto drawled. He didn't remove his hand and his leg was comforting against Jack's. 

"This regeneration thing," Jack began. He waved towards the Doc—God, he didn't know how, but Jack knew it was _his_ Doctor. And it drew out more questions than he was prepared to think about. His head spun. 

"Kinda cheeky," Jack finished lamely. 

The Doctor said nothing but gave him a sad and weary twist of his mouth.

Martha glanced at them both, her face puzzled while nibbling on a piece of fish.

Then, something beeped wildly on Ianto's wrist. He jumped.

"Uh," Ianto stammered. He straightened out his left arm away from him. "Jack? This thing is doing something."

"Huh." Jack pulled Ianto's wrist towards him.

"Huh? T-this won't send me back to year one hundred trillion, will it?" Ianto asked, squirming in his seat as Jack squinted at his wrist strap.

"Not without me, you're not," Jack muttered. He frowned at it. "You said it was fixed."

"Yes, he waved his little toy—"

"It's not a toy!" the Doctor sputtered.

"Just looks like one," Jack shot back as he flipped the flap up. Ianto leaned in, almost touching forehead to forehead as he studied the wrist strap. Jack's brow rose. "Encrypted channel with files attached." Jack pressed a few buttons and his brow rose higher. "Don't recognize it."

"Someone's trying to contact you?" Martha guessed. 

"Or someone's trying to contact _Torchwood_ ," the Doctor said tightly.

Jack lifted his head and bristled at the disapproval that darkened the Doctor's eyes to coals. 

"Everything Torchwood did and you're part of it," the Time Lord hissed.

Anger welled up for no particular reason, anger, if Jack thought about it, which was really meant for something or someone else.

"Yes," Jack just said, his mouth a hard line. He stared back at the Time Lord, his chin stuck out. 

Ianto stirred uneasily next to him. 

"I've told you before," Ianto said softly to the Time Lord. "The old regime was destroyed in Canary Wharf. It's different now."

"A man foolishly thought it was worth sacrificing his life to save me to lead this Torchwood," Jack grated out. He refused to look away, dared the Doctor to. "I won't apologize for it."

The Doctor studied Jack with that damn stare that used to bug Jack way in the beginning when he was with him and Rose. 

The Doctor softened.

"I don't think it was foolish at all, Captain," the Doctor just said. His eyes cleared. He gestured towards the laptop. "Patch it through to the laptop."

As everyone huddled around the laptop, Jack released the breath he didn't know he was holding.

 

It was a light chime that beat in sets of two, grouped in fours. It beeped and dinged away from the laptop as soon as the Doctor made a few adjustments with the mobile he held and his strange hand device. 

"What is it?" Ianto tried not to think about how it echoed eerily in the decrepit factory. 

"Mind control?" Martha whispered as she listened. 

"No, no, no, no. Subtler than that." The alien shook the fist clutching the mobile. "Strong-willed people would question it. But contained in that rhythm, in layers of code, 'Vote Saxon. Believe in me.' Whispering to the world." 

Ianto wondered why everyone in Torchwood wasn't compelled to do the same. Ianto groaned ruefully. He scrubbed his face with both hands.

"We never switched to Archangel," Ianto explained. At Martha and the Doctor's baffled looks, Ianto shrugged. 

"We never submitted the paperwork. Jack…" Ianto cleared his throat. His mouth curled to a tiny smile. "He liked the idea of having his own satellite if everyone else switched." Although Ianto suspected it was more that Jack loathed doing the paperwork.

The Doctor scoffed. He paused and gave Ianto a look, his eyes sliding sideways to Jack before he fiddled with his mobile some more and began to read out loud Ms. Vivian Rook's Archangel document.

Ianto checked next to him and was dismayed to see Jack looking a little dazed. Ianto moved his hand back over his leg, heartened to see Jack's eyes clear on contact.

Glazed blue turned towards him.

"All right?" Ianto murmured, his brow furrowed.

Jack gave him a shaky smile. His fingers slid up to cover Ianto's.

The Doctor suddenly made an odd little jump as if he was electrocuted.

"Oh! Yes! That's how he hid himself from me 'cause I should've sensed there was another Time Lord on Earth!" The Doctor waved his hands madly, one holding the mobile, the other his sonic tool. "I should've known way back, but the signal cancelled him out."

Jack roused further. "Any way we can stop it?"

The Doctor pursed his lips as he considered the laptop, his brow twitching. "Not from down here. But now we know how he's doing it."

"And we can fight back?" Martha asked, excited.

The Doctor's grin was a flash of white in the dark. "Oh yes!"

 

It was the first real glimmer of hope since their return to the 21st century. Martha watched the Doctor dismantle her laptop with little regret. Jack and Ianto were pulling chips and boards off her laptop. At least they looked like they knew what they were doing. Martha was simply passing over tools the Doctor pointed at.

"Ah."

Okay, that didn't sound good. "What is it?" Martha leaned over to peer over the Doctor's shoulder at the piles of what was her computer.

The Doctor made a show of pointing and counting. He waved his finger up and down like a conductor's wand towards them.

"Four of us." The Doctor held up a key in each hand—his and Martha's.

"Two keys," Martha counted. She still wasn't sure why the Doctor needed keys but even she could see the problem.

"Three," Jack corrected. He lifted up his left boot up. "Never knew if my key would be taken away and I would get…" A weird expression crossed his face. "…locked out."

Martha gaped as Jack twisted the low heel on his boot to reveal a tiny compartment. Out dropped a very familiar looking piece of metal. Jack hesitated, the key in his fist before he handed it over to the Doctor.

The Doctor accepted the key with a solemn expression. "I promise, you _will_ get this back," he told Jack quite seriously.

Surprise and gratitude flashed across Jack's face but he covered it with a curt nod.

"Then…" Martha glanced over to Ianto, seated next to the captain and glowering at Jack.

"I'm coming with you," Ianto declared. He locked glares with Jack. 

"Three keys," Jack pointed out. "It'll be saf—"

Ianto narrowed his eyes. "I don't _care_."

"Ah, we do have this!" the Doctor spoke up and pulled something out of his pocket with a flourish.

"Great," Jack grumbled.

Martha cringed at the tiny square crystal. "I can't believe you kept that thing." Martha shuddered. At least the blood was wiped clean.

"It was patched into the Archangel network before. That's why there was a backlash when we tried to remove it. For whatever reason it was used, we could use it like the keys to imitate the signal's signature, use our pieces as carriers, not preferable but unless I can get a mass duplicator, there's no way I can—"

"All right!" Ianto looked comical waving his hands at the Doctor, halting yet another one of his tangents. "Will it work or not?"

The Doctor pursed his lips at the interruption. If Martha didn't know any better, Martha could have sworn that looked like a pout.

"I think it will," Martha added hastily before the two go at it again.

Jack was staring at what the Doctor held. 

"Arcateen."

Martha wrinkled her nose. "Huh?"

Jack nodded bleakly at it. "The Do—Master and I were at Arcateen at one point and he brought those back into the TARDIS. I think he installed one in her."

The Doctor darkened and he held up the crystal between his index and thumb.

"Would explain how he was able to control her. It reads thoughts and can transmit and impose thoughts as well," the Doctor muttered. "Otherwise she would have fought him, every last circuit of her."

Martha, out of the corner of her eye, saw Ianto drop a hand on Jack's shoulder. There was that overwhelming feeling again that she wasn't being told everything.

The Doctor startled her by clapping all of the sudden. "Right. History! Moving on! So three keys, one circuit bibbly bobby thing here, one, two, three, four of us. The mathematics is sound! Hah! We're almost there although a spot of tea would be perfect—No, no, no, Martha, they used teabags. I can taste the twigs and the little crawly things that…"

"Geez, he really hasn't changed one bit," Jack grumbled, but there was a weird little smile on his face. "This regeneration looks young though."

"Not _that_ young," Ianto muttered. He shot Martha an exasperated look.

The Doctor scoffed and went back to doing whatever he was doing.

It was a long few minutes of work again. She didn't dare call Leo again. She caught Ianto constantly reaching for his phone, only to abort it, his face crumbled in barely hidden anguish. Martha drifted over to him and sat to his right. Ianto pressed his mouth together but nodded when she rubbed his right arm up and down.

The Doctor, absorbed in what he was doing, muttered to himself, as he squinted through his eyepiece and jabbed with his screwdriver. He began ignoring them. Martha rolled her eyes. Typical.

Jack, after watching the Doctor for a time, silently passing him tools, cleared his throat. "Doctor."

The Doctor squinted through his spectacles at Jack.

"I'm sorry."

The Doctor's brow rose above his glasses.

Jack took a deep breath. "Battle at Canary Wharf. I…I saw the list of the dead."

Still puzzled, the Doctor's forehead lined.

As if talking to a child, Jack lowered his voice. "It said Rose Tyler."

The Doctor's eyes widen. "Oh no, sorry! She's alive!"

Jack started. "You're kidding!"

The Doctor beamed. "Parallel world. Safe and sound. And Mickey. And her mother!"

It was like someone had turned on a light. Jack grinned broadly, his eyes laser blue with amazement. He surged up to his feet, shouting "Oh yes!" before he hugged the Doctor. The Doctor looked both pleased and startled at the same time as he thumped Jack's back soundly.

"Good old Rose," Ianto muttered under his breath. His shoulders slumped even though he was still smiling at Jack.

Martha looked at the men jump apart awkwardly but still grinning like it was Christmas and Martha offered Ianto a sympathetic shrug.

"You too, huh?" Martha murmured.

Ianto would only sigh.

 

Standing at a secured airstrip in Heathrow, Ianto resisted fingering the key looped around his neck again. 

Remarkable, Ianto thought as he spied the keys hanging around Jack and Martha's necks. The Doctor elected to wear the crystal. Insisted, actually.

UNIT soldiers and anonymous people dressed in dark suits walked past him. Like the invisible lift, they were ignored as they stood there like Jack's suggested ghosts. They made no sounds, no sudden moves and just watched the dark SUV stop in front of a plane.

Ianto could feel Jack tensing next to him when Saxon climbed out of the vehicle, his wife close. Ianto swallowed back a growl as Saxon strolled across the tarmac with an openly bemused smirk.

The sneer, that arrogant little—Ianto grit his teeth. He was just across from him. A quick dash's reach.

Fingers quietly wrapped around his left hand. Ianto lifted his heavy head and looked at Jack.

"Jack," Ianto croaked.

Jack said nothing, his eyes tracking Saxon were like hard flints, hooded and cold. Jack squeezed Ianto's fingers and Ianto understood. Ianto gulped but stayed where he was.

"Oh my God…"

Ianto turned back towards the runway. There was the police van again, Saxon greeting the exiting prisoners with childish glee. Lucy Saxon stood meters away, clapping as her husband taunted Martha's father.

"Don't move," the Doctor warned.

"But—"

"Don't!"

Anguished brown eyes watched as the Jones family were prodded up into a private jet.

"I'm gonna kill him," Martha whimpered. She stared at her mother, her lower lip trembling.

"What say I use this perception filter to walk up behind him and break his neck?" Jack offered tightly.

Ianto pressed Jack's fingers in agreement.

"Now _that_ sounds like Torchwood." The Doctor turned and frowned at Jack with disapproval.

"Still a good plan," Ianto muttered darkly.

Jack's shoulder bumped him but he kept his narrowed gaze at Saxon.

Ianto could feel the time traveler's eyes on them both.

"He's a Time Lord," the Doctor exhaled. "Which makes him my responsibility."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Ianto hissed.

Jack sounded resigned when he answered instead. "It means he's not here to kill him."

The Doctor nodded, his face determined, fixed on Saxon as he and his wife boarded a small jet. 

"I'm here to save him."

Jack made a strangled noise. Ianto suspected it was suppose to be a laugh.

"Ianto was able to pull the flight plan for the plane that took the others out of Martha's computer. It said _Valiant_." Jack tugged Ianto's wrist close to him and if it meant Ianto was pulled closer to Jack, Ianto didn't object.

"Might be where they're all going," Ianto agreed.

"Aircraft carrier _Valiant_ , that's a UNIT ship," Jack calculated as he cradled Ianto's arm and punched in the coordinates.

"How do we get on board?" Martha whispered.

"Does that thing work as a transporter?" the Doctor asked, leaning in.

"Since you revamped it," Jack confirmed. The wrist strap beeped and they all looked up nervously, but most of Saxon's entourage had boarded save Saxon, still standing on the runaway. "Coordinates set," Jack reported. He looked over to Ianto with a crooked smile.

"Last chance."

Ianto pressed his mouth together and clasped Jack's hand holding his wrist. The Doctor slapped his hand over the wrist strap, then Martha. 

They all looked at each other. They nodded as one. Jack tapped a button and the familiar weightlessness took over.

Just before everything turned into brilliant light, the last thing Ianto thought he saw was Saxon turning to stare right at him and smile.

 

 **Act VIII: _"Welcome to the Valiant."_**   
**Valiant**  
 **Somewhere above London**  
 **Present day…**

You would think, Ianto was able to ponder during that dizzying spin, after the first time, it would get easier.

It didn't.

Once again materializing centimeters above the floor, Ianto braced himself for a rather spectacular landing.

Strong arms caught him in a bear hug.

"Got you," Jack rumbled reassuringly in his ear.

"Oh, that thing is rough!" Martha complained somewhere behind them. Ianto spied her clinging onto a pipe that stood like a serpent coming out of the ground. She got up, holding her head.

Jack's neck popped loudly and Ianto winced. "I've had worse nights," Jack groaned but he winked at Ianto.

Martha sounded breathless. "I don't know how you can travel like this, Captain."

Jack set Ianto down flat on his feet. "You get used to it. And it's usually not so instable with one going for the ride." Jack paused. "And it's Jack. I'm defrocked." 

"Huh?"

"Never mind." Jack exchanged a rueful grin with the Doctor past Ianto's shoulder. Jack turned back to him, brow furrowed. His hands still gripped Ianto on the shoulders. "Ianto? You okay?"

His head still reeled from the near fall. "I don't think I very much like time travel," Ianto announced breathlessly. 

"Pfft," the Doctor scoffed. "That wasn't time travel! We hopped! Wall-less, spinning little jump barely counts as time travel."

"Beggars shouldn't be choosers," Jack shot back. He stared at Ianto, his critical gaze moving up and down his frame until Ianto gave him a nod. Jack's grip relaxed but didn't let go.

Ianto was content to stay within Jack's reach. He surveyed what looked like the underbelly of a ship. Pipes snaked around every available wall space. Steam puffed out from the joints and filled the room they were in with acrid, oil-tasting fog. Ianto made a face when lifting his left foot up revealing something…unpleasant.

Martha squinted at the portholes along the walls. She raised a hand to shield her eyes. "It's dawn," she said, surprised. Martha tiptoed to peer out a porthole. "Hold on, I thought this was a ship. Where's the sea?"

"A ship for the 21st century," Ianto explained. He remembered Lorrie once telling Lisa about her visit up on the ship. 

"Protecting the skies of planet Earth," Jack added.

"An airship!" Martha squeaked just as the roar of a jet went over them and landed on the extensive aerial runway.

Jack chuckled. "Welcome to the _Valiant_."

 

Following the pipes out, it turned out they were in the lower levels, the bowels of the ship. Martha grimaced as she struggled to keep up with the three men. She kept one hand on her key looped on the shoelace because it kept flying past her ear. Running, always running, Martha mused. For once, she wasn't complaining though. Every footstep felt like the tick-tock of a clock. The longer it took to find her family, the longer they were with the Master. And from what she observed with Jack and his oblique references about the Master, it wasn't tea and crumpets.

The length of the hall of smoking pipes was daunting. The squeals and tiny paws scampering away made her cringe. There were too many stairs leading to nowhere, doors that opened to yet more hallways; it felt like they were running in circles.

Without warning, the Doctor stopped. Martha yelped, squished as she couldn't stop in time and Ianto barreled into her. Even now, she wasn't used to the sudden stops. Jack appeared more prepared; he sidestepped the moment the Doctor halted.

Like a retriever, the Doctor cocked his head.

"What is he doing?" Ianto panted.

Martha looked ahead. It was yet another long corridor of pipes. She hopped in place. "We have no time for sightseeing!"

The Doctor waved a hand wildly towards their general direction. "No, wait. Sh, sh, sh." The Doctor tilted his head towards a set of stairs to his right. "Can't you hear it?"

"Hear what?" Ianto gasped. He looked over to Jack, who would only purse his lips.

"Doctor, my family's on board," Martha pleaded. Oh, now wasn't a good time to get distracted.

"And our team," Ianto demanded.

"Brilliant!" the Doctor burst out.

"You hear her, don't you?" Jack, after staring at him for a long moment, spoke up in a low voice.

"Hear what?" Martha frowned, puzzled, at Jack then at the Doctor. Why were they stopping? 

The Doctor didn't answer. He burst into a broad smile and pivoted towards the steps. "This way!" he shouted, his feet clanging loudly down the metal steps.

Martha looked at Ianto, who looked over to Jack, who just shrugged.

"I would follow him before we lose him," Jack suggested mildly, hands behind his back. "Last I recall, he's a trouble magnet when he's alone."

Martha blanched. Jack has a very good point. 

Together, the three spun around and chased after the Doctor.

 

God, he missed this.

Despite the situation, despite the growing headache pounding in the back of his head, Jack missed the running.

It was the stupidest thing to miss. Of all the things to long for, to yearn for, missing the abrupt, shifting gears, ground pounding running should be the last thing on his list. But God, he _missed_ it.

Ianto kept a dogged pace next to Jack, his jacket flapping behind him, sweat glistening across his brow. His mouth was set in a determined line, his legs pumping; Ianto made sure he kept the Doctor and Martha in sight.

Martha ran on heels, too. Impressive. She must have had plenty of practice.

Grimy coppery pipes zipped past them in a misty corridor Jack was sure took up the entire length of the ship. He was beginning to regret not paying better attention to the covert dossier left behind by Hopkins about the UNIT ship. 

His head was being squeezed like a vise, hammering with each step eating up the distance that separated him from the Doctor. Jack was too distracted by it to figure out where they might be and just blindly followed the Doctor. Huh. Some things never change. 

A set of double doors at the end of the hallway wasn't enough to slow the Doctor down. His palms slapped on the doors and with a great heave, the doors split open, too quickly to even make a sound. Jack often forgot how strong the Doctor really was. He made the mistake of underestimating the Doctor once in an ancient game of arm wrestling. Even with Rose putting her weight into it with Jack, they still lost but it could be because they were laughing too hard.

The Doctor opened his arms wide when he set foot into the newly revealed room. 

The TARDIS stood against the back wall. Crates surrounded her like sentry guards. 

"Oh, at last!" the Doctor cried out, ecstatic. He ran towards her, laughing.

"Oh, yes!" Martha cheered. The crease on her forehead ever since they had started running smoothed out.

Even Ianto breathed a sigh of relief and gave Jack a lopsided grin.

It ached to see the TARDIS among the boxes like ordinary cargo, however. "What's it doing on the Valiant?" Jack muttered, following the other three into the TARDIS. 

Once they were in her chambers, everyone slowed and stood on the ramp in collective shock.

"Oh God," Ianto gasped.

Grating as high as its vaulted ceilings loomed red and dark. The central console was cracked open, raw and exposed like a fissure on the earth, the once charming little knobs and antiquated dials were gone, stripped from what was left of its pink golden coral. She bled red light, shrouding the chamber with a crimson glow that made everyone look demonic.

"What the hell's he done?" Jack hissed. The thunder in his head filled his ears.

The TARDIS wailed low and long at Jack's voice. 

When Jack's hand hovered over one of the remaining columns, the entire ship trembled. It moaned in Jack's head. Judging by the Doctor's expression, it did the same in his head, too.

The Doctor whipped around. His face was ghastly under the blood red light. "Don't touch it!" he warned the others as he drew near one of the remaining coral pillars mangled into the shape of a web. 

Ianto pulled his hands back the same time Martha did. "I'm not going to."

Martha stared up at the strange metal grating. Crimson fire danced on her dismayed face. She looked ready to cry. "What's he done, though? Sounds like it's sick."

Warbled chimes faded in and out. Jack's gut clenched as his knees shook. Ghostly memories of faces, of pain—his pain, _her_ pain—assaulted his mind. All this time, from the start, she had tried to protect him. 

"But I didn't listen," Jack whispered.

The Doctor circled the strange metallic pillar with a wide-eyed expression, his mouth agape.

"It can't be." The Doctor sounded stunned. He stood there, his hands floating outside what was effectively a cage. He shook his head. "No, no, no, no, no, no, it can't be!"

There was real horror on the Doctor's voice. "Doctor, what is it?" Jack asked. Despite the Doctor's warnings, Jack settled a hand on the curve of a coral. He swallowed at the lukewarm stone under his palm. A flutter, a brief pressure in his mind weakly responded.

Jack sharpened his voice. "Doctor!" 

"He's cannibalized the TARDIS," the Doctor snarled, anger now replacing disbelief. 

The TARDIS whined feebly. The red light glowed darker and the TARDIS quieted.

The exposed wiring and configuration tickled Jack's memory. Basic Time Agency training. "Is this what I think it is?" Jack asked. He placed both hands on her now. It was like before, the shivering, the low melody of sorrow. God, he was so stupid. How did he miss all this?

A howling in his ears squeezed, pushed to get out of his skull. Jack's hands now clung to the TARDIS for support.

"What has he done to you?" Jack breathed. 

"It's a paradox machine," the Doctor bit out. "The Master's turned her into a paradox machine!" The Doctor settled his hands on the curved cage, feeling around it. 

"I can barely hear her," the Doctor murmured. His face screwed up in distress.

"Is she dying?" Ianto whispered. Fear sharpened his voice an octave higher, with a barely controlled quaver. He stood by Jack. He seemed afraid to touch her. Ianto kept his arms rigid against his body but he never looked away from the heart of the TARDIS.

"No," the Doctor said. He kept his voice low as if talking to a wounded animal. "Not yet." The Doctor paused at a gauge meter welded to the cage. He crouched down to inspect it.

The Doctor's eyes narrowed. "As soon as this thing hits red, it activates." The Doctor snaps his fingers towards their direction. "Watch, watch, I need a watch."

Jack smiled wanly when Ianto produced his stopwatch and handed it over to the Doctor, who started, checked the back for some reason, and gave Ianto a look before flipping it over.

"At this speed, it'll trigger at 8:02."

Ianto took back his fob watch and glanced at the face. "A little over an hour from now," Ianto calculated.

"First Contact is at 8:00, then two minutes later…" Jack trailed off. He kept his hands on the coral vine. Maybe the TARDIS could absorb what he held, but all he felt was the dim flutter under his palms. Jack gulped back the sourness in his throat. 

Jack raised his eyes up at her. "I didn't know," Jack rasped. He closed his eyes briefly and leaned his forehead against the stone. The cool stone actually felt good on his flushed skin and Jack felt horrible for it.

"What's it for? What's a paradox machine?" Martha said. Her huge eyes were fixed on the cold cylinder cage surrounding the ravaged console.

"More importantly, can you stop it?" Jack asked urgently. He looked over to the Doctor, his hands still on her, like hands on a bleeding gash. Come on, just take it, Jack pleaded in his mind.

There was a fleeting heat on his palms then like a wall dropping down between them, the connection was lost. 

The Doctor glanced up at Jack with a mild frown. "Not ‘til I know what it's doing." The Doctor glanced up at the tall pillar of mesh. "Touch the wrong bit, blow up the solar system."

That would be bad.

"But there must be something," Ianto pressed.

The Doctor's face was bleak. He sighed and stroked the coral winding out from under the column.

"We can certainly try, old girl," the Doctor murmured to the stone. The TARDIS bleated. Jack realized with a pang that the stone looked dull and gray.

Jack could feel the TARDIS's frail apology cooing in his heart. She felt like she failed him. No. No, he failed _her_.

"Captain?"

"Jack?"

Above them all, the TARDIS whined.

Jack felt like he was sinking into the rock that remained, her living flesh now cool and perhaps dying after all. He had stood here before, bent over, and let that monster tear them both apart.

" _Jack_?"

Hands braced his shoulders but Jack found he didn't have the strength to pull away from her. Her cries tore inside his chest, his head cracked with each note of agony that echoed the same misery so long ago and he had neglected her.

"I'm sorry," Jack managed as he felt his hands pried away from her skin. Separation made her vibrate, made his knees buckle, made his vision darken.

"Captain!"

"Jack!"

Jack felt himself falling, his head caught on something hard that made hot rain stream down his face. Someone screamed, horrified, but as the pounding in his head morphed to a twisted version of _thrum-thrum_ , all Jack could do was stare at her once golden walls.

Then, he knew nothing else.

 

In the dark, Ianto waited. 

The room was still recognizable despite the darkness. The bed under him was soft—he preferred a firm mattress—but the warm body curled by his hip was a familiar presence Ianto would recognize by touch alone.

Jack.

Ianto toyed with the handkerchief in his hands. Jack had clipped his head when he crumpled without warning. It had only stopped bleeding recently. He couldn't see the thin, starched square of linen, but Ianto could feel the crusty stiffness of dried blood on it.

The shadow to his left never moved, never stirred since they had moved him in here. The Doctor said he was going to see what he could do and advised Ianto to just wait for Jack.

It was put as an order, one with which he was more than happy to comply.

The silence unnerved him. Away from the main chamber, the ship was mute and quite cold. Ianto could feel the moist condensation on his breath lingering as he inhaled and exhaled in an effort to calm down.

Bryce never called back. Nor anyone else in his family, but there was no news about them either. Ianto had warned him to take his family and go into hiding and knowing the idiot, he'd probably had taken everyone to their grandfather's old bomb shelter and forgotten to tell Ianto. The twa—

His chest clenched and the nervous tirade running in his mind silenced. Ianto took a deep breath, a long diver's pull of air and released it slowly.

His hands shook nevertheless.

Ianto wished Jack would wake up. Ianto wished Jack would tell him everything would be fixed. It was mad to make such wishes like a child but sitting in Jack's old room, in the dark, his mobile refusing to ring from anyone in his family, Ianto needed to do something before he screamed.

The breathing next to him hitched.

Almost immediately, Ianto felt the relaxed curve of Jack's spine stiffen, but the rest of Jack was still, motionless.

Ianto closed his eyes and swore to himself. He opened them again and made sure he didn't touch Jack.

"It's me," Ianto murmured. "No one else."

Jack never moved, remaining curled up, his back towards Ianto, his face towards a wall.

"You fainted and hit your head. He thought it might be more comfortable resting in here." Ianto waited for a response.

Sure enough, quiet but steady, Jack replied.

"I didn't faint."

Ianto couldn't find it in himself to smile or even pretend to. "Of course not."

"And he didn't know," Jack rasped.

Ianto twisted the stiff square of cloth around his fingers. "But _I_ did. I should have remembered, should have told him to let you rest in another room." Ianto paused.

"I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for," Jack said in a dull voice.

"I think I do; you just won't let me."

"Because you're a self-flogging bastard who happens to look real good in a suit."

Ianto dared to settle a hand on Jack's hair. Jack fidgeted against him. 

"Careful," Ianto whispered. "That's harassment, sir."

Jack snorted but didn't turn around.

They sat there on the bed.

"Where is he?"

Ianto didn't need to ask whom Jack was referring to. "He and Martha are seeing what they can do."

"We should go help him." Jack, however, made no attempt to move.

"And blow up the solar system?" Ianto scoffed. He rubbed his hand on Jack's shoulder. Even the wool felt cold. "There's time," Ianto hushed. "There's time to catch your breath."

Another pause and Ianto could feel a tiny nod. Ianto settled back on the headboard, his hand still rubbing little circles on Jack's right shoulder, too light for Jack to possibly really feel it, but Ianto could feel him relaxing.

After a moment of silence, Jack spoke up again.

"There was this planet we once visited. They experienced only two hours of sunlight every thirty-hour day. The inhabitants were like tall willows, dancers, pale in color, hairless. They'd practically evolved with no eyes."

"How did they see?" Ianto whispered as he tried to imagine sightless, graceful people swimming in the dark.

"By touch." Jack turned and Ianto could sense he was looking at Ianto.

"They felt if you were happy or sad or angry by touch." Tentative fingers briefly brushed across his knee before retracting. Jack turned back to his side. 

"They felt what you felt with touch, tell you how they felt by their touch. These people saw their world's colors with their hands." Jack sighed. "Everything they made carried their emotions. Every piece of art, music, clothing they made just sang."

Ianto closed his eyes and let his hand wandered to Jack's lower back.

"You said felt," Ianto whispered. "Past tense."

"Habit. Your future was my past."

Ianto considered it. He shook his head. "You said felt," Ianto repeated. "What happened to them?"

Jack sighed. 

"Alien invasion. There was nothing we could have done. It was in a past we can't change. We came back seven millennia later and the planet was like a dead moon." 

Ianto's eyes burned. He said nothing, kept his eyes closed and let his fingers drift up to Jack's rigid stomach and he massaged the pain he could feel there.

Small comforting circles over crisp cotton had hushed sounds of fabric. The tension under Ianto's touch didn't go away.

"He hurt me," Jack suddenly said in a small voice.

Something trickled down his face. Ianto nodded even though there was no way Jack could see it. "I know." His voice—thank God—was steady.

Jack turned to his other side and faced Ianto.

"You don't know who I'm talking about," Jack said softly.

Ianto sniffed quietly. "Does it matter?" Ianto asked the shadow next to him. 

"Not really," Jack replied. He fell quiet again. 

The emptiness choked him with its raw, weeping silence. Ianto carefully traced the ups and downs of Jack's arm and side. 

"There are clean shirts in the closet," Ianto hushed. He patted the folded shirts on his lap. "Thought you might want to change."

"I want to change."

The dismal answer made Ianto swallow. He forced his voice to stay bright. 

"Well," Ianto said. "Mustn't keep them waiting then."

Jack sat up cross-legged in front of him. Up close, Ianto could see Jack's face sculpted in shades and shadows. Jack's blue eyes were flat in the dark and Ianto told himself that it was because of the lack of light that Jack's eyes no longer sparkled.

"Can I help you?" Ianto whispered. He reached for Jack's shirt. Ianto felt Jack acquiesce when Jack didn't pull away.

Carefully as if it was made of fragile rice paper, Ianto stroked the broad cloth across Jack's chest before his fingers traveled to the buttons. He could feel Jack's chest rising and falling, faster than it should yet Jack never stopped Ianto.

Button by button, they slipped out of their tiny nooses and the shirt parted to reveal the blood matted undershirt.

Cotton rolled over Jack's head and discarded. Ianto unfurled the clean ones and Jack silently dressed, buttons picked and fastened in the dark.

Something told Ianto not to move when he felt Jack trace the topography of his face with the tips of his fingers. When they drifted to his lips, Ianto parted his mouth slightly and nipped them.

Jack paused. His uncertainty was palpable in the way he breathed and in the way he touched yet didn't touch. Jack leaned in closer and brushed his lips across Ianto's mouth.

Ianto sat still and let Jack swipe his tongue carefully across his lower lip, his fingers still light and uncertain on his shoulders. He could feel the tip of Jack's nose rubbing along his jaw before his mouth sealed over Ianto's mouth.

They both leaned in and when Ianto felt Jack's lips pressed on his, he nearly wept as his body remembered the fragile softness of Jack's mouth that belied his seemingly endless strength.

Hands strengthened around his shoulders but never bruised as Jack tilted his head, his tongue slipping into Ianto's mouth, his body a furnace against Ianto's.

Ianto took care not to touch Jack, let Jack take what he needed in those hesitant nips and kisses he rained on Ianto's face. Even when the kiss deepened over his mouth, Ianto just sat there because he could feel Jack shaking, trembling and the grip on Ianto's shoulders was beginning to mark.

Then, with a gasp, it was over. Jack dropped his hands, jerked back and panted.

In the dark, without touching, Ianto knew the semi-erection uncomfortably swelling between his legs was alone. Jack's scent always seemed to intensify when aroused. All Ianto could smell from him right now was a suspicious salty tang.

"I love you."

Somehow, here in the dark, it was easier to say. Ianto could hear Jack's breathing stutter.

"I…" Ianto flicked his tongue out to lick his lips. "I should have said it before. I never understood it myself."

"And you understand it now?"

The dead response hurt. Ianto knew there was a chance it would never be returned but Ianto had hoped, had wished.

Jack's hands cupped Ianto's face.

"First time I thought I felt that way," Jack said hoarsely. "It was with two people. I always thought I was willing to die for them." Jack laughed bitterly. "I did. Then they left."

Ianto lifted his left hand to cover Jack's on his jaw.

"Second time, we both felt the same. Then I left _her_ and she waited her whole natural life for me."

Ianto moved both hands to cup both sides of Jack's face. It felt damp. Ianto rubbed his thumb across a cheek and there was nothing more.

"Third time, I…" Jack sighed. His hands dropped away. "I told him and for it, he…"

"You don't have to say it to me," Ianto told him and realized he was telling Jack the truth. It didn't matter if Jack never said it to him. 

"You deserve it to be said to you. I…" Jack shuddered. "I…"

Ianto couldn't sit there anymore. He looped his arms carefully around Jack's neck, making sure Jack was aware where his hands were, and he pulled Jack closer until he could feel Jack's head under his chin.

Jack trembled, dry-eyed and silent, as Ianto held him. Sitting cross-legged facing each other, nothing else existed for Ianto. Just Jack, just him solid, living in his embrace. Ianto felt just as safe and secure when Jack slipped his arms slowly around Ianto's middle.

"Ianto…I _want_ to say it."

Ianto smiled watery over Jack's head. "That's enough."

"No, it isn't." Jack talked into his chest. "You deserve someone who could say it, write it, show it, sing it. Everything. I should be doing that."

Ianto couldn't help but hug Jack harder.

"Such a bloody overachiever, Harkness," Ianto choked out, caught between a wet laugh and something more uncontrollable bubbling up to the surface.

Arms tightened and nothing more was said. Ianto kissed Jack's hair over and over until Jack stilled. After a moment, Jack straightened and Ianto felt lightheaded with the loss.

"We should go back out there," Jack said, his voice steadier. "You with me?"

Ianto drew closer to Jack and kissed his mouth. "Let's finish this."

 

 **Conclusion**   
**Valiant**  
 **Somewhere above London**   
**Present day…**

"Ow."

The spark was sudden. It was only a tiny spark, but it still must have hurt. She fanned her hand wildly in the air.

Owen gritted his teeth. Who knew a little thing like Tosh could be so heavy?

Stuck in yet another cell with no one else around, Tosh had one of her clever ideas again. Something about crossing voltage and hard wiring the power, blow out the controls, blah, blah, blah. All Owen cared about was getting out. He'd zoned out after Tosh said she could get them out and missed the part when Gwen volunteered his services to give Tosh a lift.

"Hurry up, Tosh," Owen grated. Her knees on his shoulders, her skirt hitched up to places Gwen warned he'd better not look at; she was gripping too hard with her thighs over his ears. "I think the blood stopped flowing to my brain."

"Hang on a tick," Tosh muttered. 

"This is stupid. It won't work. I feel like I'm in a circus," Owen complained.

"I'll be damned if some overzealous faction of UNIT imprisons me again," Tosh muttered, her voice tight.

"Hate to break it to you," Owen panted. _Christ_ , she was getting heavier. "We're not being imprisoned by UNIT. We're being _executed_."

"Same thing," Tosh grumbled. "Will you stop moving?"

"Will you stop trying to crush my head?" Owen snapped. He locked his knees and tried to think of a tree, a rock, anything immovable. "Or are you trying to give me an aneurysm before I meet the firing squad? Hurry the fuck up!" 

"Just one more…"

Crossing the other wire didn't help Tosh either. The blue electrical zap made her flinch violently and her knees automatically squeezed until Owen thought his head would pop.

Owen staggered.

Toshiko, currently meters off the ground, one hand on the ceiling by the light grating, one hand grabbing at his right ear—like that would bloody help—yelped.

"Hold her steady, Owen!" Gwen hissed from behind. She kept watch by the bars. "I swear if you drop her, so help me, I will kick your ass!"

"She's heavy," Owen complained but he stilled. "Tosh, did you have to wear such pointy shoes? They're digging into me chest!"

Toshiko scoffed. "Did you have to be such a skinny bloke?" 

He ought to deposit her cheeky ass on the floor right now. 

Toshiko wiggled to reach the one wire left and Owen stared straight ahead and tried not think about how she smelled like peach blossoms. "I need the third wire to short-circuit the locking mechanism. Hold still!"

" _I_ hold still? _You_ hold still!"

"Will you two both be quiet?" Gwen snapped, barely keeping her voice down. "We don't want the guards to—"

Someone…coughed.

"…hear," Gwen finished with a defeated sigh. 

_Shit_.

Toshiko jumped off Owen's shoulders in a flash, landing nimbly on her feet. She frowned at Owen and he twisted around. His brow rose. There was no one standing in front of the cell.

Gwen frowned and carefully peered out between the bars with Tosh. The hallway and the cells across from them were unoccupied. Gwen curled a hand around a bar and tried to angle her head closer to the bars…

And came nose-to-nose with a face that popped up out of nowhere on the other side of the bars.

A squint and the face cleared into a cheerful smile. "Oh, hello!"

Gwen shrieked. She backpedaled into Owen, who tried to catch her but they both ended up on the floor.

That _hurt_.

Toshiko gaped at the miffed looking Doctor as he straightened up from his crouch. He seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. 

"That wasn't the reception I was expecting," the alien complained, his face pained. "I think that shattered my inner ear. Good thing these cells are soundproof." He stuck a finger in his ear as he held up a pendant that looked too much like the crystal Saxon held up in MOD.

In a wink, Martha appeared next to him. "Serves you right," she scolded the Doctor, her hands on her hips. "Told you not to do that."

"How you'd—you were just…" Gwen stammered, still in a sprawl next to Owen on the floor. Owen was too busy gawping at the two to tell her to get off his legs. "You just…out of nowhere!"

Tosh pursed her lips. 

"Tosh. Psst."

Owen turned sharply towards Tosh's direction; he blinked and found Jack grinning broadly in front of Tosh.

What the— 

Jack winked at Tosh as he held the bars with both hands. "Hi!" he whispered brightly.

"You used perception filters!" Toshiko burst out. "Brilliant!"

Jack pouted. "I'm fine, thanks for asking."

Gwen and Owen were by the bars in an instant. Owen scanned Jack up and down. He didn't like how pale their captain looked. Was there still blood loss even if Jack can't die—no, more like can't stay dead. Wait. Was that a new shirt? When the hell did Jack find the time to change?

"Where's Ianto?" Gwen demanded. 

"Doesn't anyone say hello anymore?" Jack complained but he made a show of sweeping his hands towards his left in a 'ta-da' fashion. Ianto stepped out from behind Jack, a little rumpled, a little dirt-smudged—that probably upset Jonesy—but intact.

"Done!" the Doctor announced as he pocketed away his strange glowing screwdriver thing. There was a _beep_ and a dull click as locks turned.

As soon as the barred door glided open, Tosh and Gwen flew out and barreled into Ianto. Tosh looked like she didn't care if she squished the stuffing out of Jonesy. Ianto stammered—or squeaked, he looked like a squeaking sort of bloke—before wrapping his arms around them both. Tosh wrapped her arms around Ianto's middle, Gwen around his neck.

Owen spared Jack another glance. He thought the smile was a little too forced. Owen's frown deepened. He wondered how hard it would be to get their captain to subject to a medical checkup later.

"Oh right, they give _you_ hugs," Jack griped but resentment was absent in his voice. 

"I make very good coffee," Ianto deadpanned over the girls' heads.

"Oh, come here, you!" Gwen wiggled free and now threw herself around Jack. Tosh joined her. Jack chuckled, although he did look surprised. "You two had us worried sick!"

Toshiko reluctantly pulled away. She nodded hesitantly towards the Doctor and Martha. They all looked ragged but whole; they had all the right amount of arms and legs. 

At the sight of the odd keys and crystal tied with string in their hands, Tosh's eyes lit up and her reservations was gone. She was already turning the key around in her hand, chatting with the Doctor like they were old friends.

Owen rolled his eyes. He gave up trying to listen when their conversation grew into words with too many long syllables. He slid his gaze over to Ianto. Owen was close enough now to note a bruise on his forehead. Pupils look even though and there was no slurring. He grunted at Ianto.

"Oi."

"Owen." Ianto gave Owen a curt bob of his head.

Owen nodded towards Gwen who was now giving Martha a hug. Christ, Cooper was certainly affectionate today.

"Girls thought you dissolved in that ruddy police box, mate."

"Hardly," Ianto sniffed as he brushed his palms across his jacket. He made a face. One of his pockets was hanging off its threads halfway. "Time traveled, actually." 

Owen shrugged, tried to look bored. Wouldn't do to get silly like the girls. "Where you go?"

"To the future, actually."

Owen's right eye twitched. "Future, eh?" Owen regarded Ianto. He didn't _look_ different. "What's it like?"

Something odd flitted across Ianto's face. "Cannibals."

"Cannibals?" Owen pursed his lips and stared. Ianto stared back. 

Owen blinked.

"Bugger."

Ianto nodded gravely.

"Trust me, time travel isn't usually like that," Jack said. He approached from behind. He dropped an arm around Owen's shoulders. "Okay?"

Owen glowered up at Jack from under the captain's arm. "You better not try that mushy huggy stuff with me," Owen growled. Jack dropped his arm with a grin. "You still look like shit, by the way," Owen added. "How did you two come here together?"

"Long story," Jack said, his mouth flattened. "Too long to tell you now."

"Do you have your TARDIS with you?" Tosh asked the Doctor hopefully.

For some reason, Jack, Jonesy, the Doctor and Martha fell silent.

"What?" Gwen directed her question to Jack. "What happened to it?"

"Saxon has it," Ianto said. His face grew dark.

"What?" Wonderful. Now the psycho could pop in and out whenever he pleases. 

Gwen stared. "So how did you get up here?"

Ianto pulled back a sleeve revealing Jack's leather strap. 

Owen rolled his eyes. Of course. Another one of those things Jack neglected to tell them about.

Owen watched Jack's face carefully. "So I take it that means you know Saxon's—"

"Yeah," Jack said in clipped tones.

"And that he's not really—"

"Jack knows, Owen," Ianto interrupted hoarsely. "He knows."

At Jack's blank face, Owen clamped his mouth shut and just shrugged but he observed how somber Jack was as he gestured towards Ianto to come closer. 

"Need to put an escape route into the thing," Jack explained and Owen smirked when their Teaboy pinked and extended his arm out for Jack to hold. How sweet. 

Owen wanted to gag.

Tosh peered around Owen to watch. "Teleport?"

"Among other things," Ianto muttered. "It's not fun, though."

"Maybe we can find the TARDIS and use that to get off this ship?" Gwen suggested.

"I’d rather find this Saxon bastard and thrash him first," Owen grumbled.

"No argument from me," Martha agreed, her face grim. 

"And who is this Saxon person and why is he doing all this?" Gwen demanded. 

Ianto fidgeted. He looked over to Jack with a worried expression, but Jack acted really interested in fiddling with that wrist strap. "Gwen—" he began.

"It's like he has a personal vendetta against us, against Jack—"

"Time Lord," the Doctor said all of the sudden, serious and a little angry.

Gwen and Tosh started. Owen gave the alien a look.

"So much for being the last of your kind," Owen bit out.

"Owen," Jack warned.

"What? Should we be happy for him then?" Owen snapped at Jack. "We have a fucking psychopath screwing around in our century! What do you want to do?"

Jack and Martha glanced back at the Doctor. Owen gritted his teeth. He felt Tosh's hand on his shoulder. He sucked in his breath.

"Doctor?" Martha asked tentatively.

The Doctor looked over to Ianto.

Ianto checked his stopwatch. "Ten minutes."

"We've got to get to the Master," Martha declared, her mouth set. "He has my family."

"But how do we stop him?" Gwen pointed out.

The Doctor fiddled with the homemade necklace gathered in his hand. "Oh," the Doctor muttered, "I’ve got a way."

Everyone stared.

The Doctor looked up. He blinked.

"Sorry, didn't I mention it?"

 

Gwen was back to tapping her foot again. It was bad enough waiting in the cell, watching Owen and Tosh bicker, but lurking in the far corner when Saxon was only down the corridor was unbearable. 

She peered around the corner at the black assault garb of a UNIT soldier pacing in front of the entrance to the bridge. 

"I don't understand why we can't go in there with them," Gwen fretted as they watched the Doctor, Ianto, Jack and Martha slip into the bridge. Now that they were aware of them, it was strange to see them slip between the guards and into the door.

"…ambassador for humanity…" 

Winters' voice filtered out when the door opened, then shut. 

"Perception filters," Tosh whispered as she peeked as well before yanking her head back. "There's only four of them, seven of us."

"Well, one of _them_ could have stayed behind," Owen griped.

Gwen silently agreed with Owen. At least Ianto and Martha should remain out of harm's way. Her mouth crinkled downwards. Ianto was a sight. Poor love. And she hadn't seen him this upset since Lisa. Gwen wondered what must have happened.

"We don't know what will happen in there. At least Jack can't…well, you know, but Ianto and Martha are vulnerable," Gwen murmured. Torchwood at least gave them some field experience. The shadowy alcove they crouched in, waiting for their signal was far enough away to talk. "Jack should have told Ianto to stay behind."

"I have a funny feeling our captain tried," Owen grunted.

Gwen nodded to herself, remembering how Jack and Ianto were talking in the cells, sharing glares until the Doctor said something. She remembered what Ianto said during her vigil after Abbadon and Gwen smiled sadly to herself.

Gwen thought of Rhys, probably still in their flat, wondering where his bloody girlfriend was. Had he tried to call her? Her parents? She touched the cellphone she found among their confiscated things when they escaped their cell. She wanted to call Rhys, just to hear his voice, but at least he was safe down on Earth.

"So," Gwen sighed. "We wait then."

Gwen hated to wait.

 

"…for as long as man has looked to the stars…"

There he is.

Ianto resisted the urge to charge, held back by Jack's restraining grip of his sleeve. The key hanging around his neck weighed heavy against him. It was still hard to believe that no one could see them as they circled the table to draw closer.

Saxon sat with his wife in front of the swarm of journalists who were listening enthralled to President-elect Winters. Harold and Lucy Saxon, however, looked bored. 

Lucy smiled at her husband as he shook a sack of jelly babies towards her. She dipped her fingers in the bag and took a nut as daintily as if it was a truffle. The sneer Saxon bestowed her made Ianto ill.

Jack stared at Saxon with little emotion, his face revealing nothing, but his eyes never strayed from the pair as they circumvented the table of the elite press and crowds of Secret Service agents and UNIT members. 

A tiny tug at Jack's sleeve drew his attention away and Ianto gave him a questioning eyebrow. Jack smiled wanly, but Ianto could see the lines of pain at the corners of his mouth.

Ianto curled a hand around Jack's wrist. Jack nodded and mouthed he was okay but he didn't protest when Ianto didn't let go.

"This plan," Jack said as low as he could manage to the Doctor, "are you going to tell us?"

"If I can get this around the Master's neck, cancel out his perception field, they'll see him for real." The Doctor pulled at the shoelace to show the crystal. The time traveler grimaced as he took in the room. "It's just hard to go unnoticed when everyone is on red alert." The Doctor looked at them all very seriously.

"If they stop me, you've got a key."

Jack nodded.

"Yes, sir," Ianto said.

"I'll get him," Martha vowed.

"…give you the Toclafane."

Even though the Doctor had warned them that the Toclafane were not real, Ianto couldn't help looking over to the front of the bridge, to the top of the stairs leading up to the flight deck where Winters stood.

Without a sound, only a twinkle of light to announce their arrival, dark, glittering globes larger than Winters' head winked into presence. They hovered, unperturbed at the flashing cameras and the excited murmuring. Perfectly round, lights spinning around their gun-metal chrome surface, they looked like black pearls.

Black pearls.

"Oh my God," Ianto murmured.

Alex Hopkins' predictions were coming true.

 

 **Valiant**  
 **Somewhere above London**   
**Present day…**

There was no signal. At least not the one they'd originally planned.

It was suppose to be Jack's wolf whistle.

Instead, it was a woman screaming.

"Come on," Owen shouted. The UNIT guard had ducked inside. It was their cue.

No one questioned. No one argued they should wait.

Owen could sense Gwen and Tosh right behind him as they pushed through the doors, striking the door on the guards from behind, taking their guns as they fell. People were screaming. Some were cowering against the walls. Owen heard Gwen shouting for people to get down. Where was President Winters?

"Well, well, our heroes have arrived."

As one, they all aimed their captured guns towards Saxon, who stood center of the melee, atop some stairs like a vicar on a pulpit, his arms braced on either side of the wooden rails. His wife, whom Owen thought of as loopy Lucy, trotted past people trying to make themselves small targets and joined Saxon on his elevated station. She was biting her lower lip, her heels tapping nervously on the steps.

Saxon smiled at them, unflinching at their weapons. In fact, he looked delighted.

"How fast do you think you can fire, Torchwood, before they," Saxon gestured towards the armed black-suited men scattered around the room, "fire on everyone else?"

Owen clenched his teeth as he studied the eight guards distributed around the room. Even some of the UNIT guards were being forced to keep their hands up, their faces too white with shock over whatever they had seen to be of much use.

Saxon pursed his lips. He clasped his hands together.

"Oh, how I hate these tense and indecisive moments. What to do? What to do? Never a rousing soundtrack to really up the angst here. Would have made things much more interesting." Saxon reached behind him and snagged his wife closer. She wrapped an arm around his middle, a golden lady against Saxon's black.

"Darling," Saxon drawled as he smiled at them in the back. "We're at a standoff." Saxon looked towards the cameras still filming. "How dramatic." He pulled Lucy tight to his side. Saxon dipped his eyes towards her. "Any suggestions, my dear?"

Lucy's eyes were surprisingly clear compared to the last time they had seen her. She tapped a finger to her red lips before waving her finger in the air like some stupid wand.

"Um, kill that one," Lucy pointed to a blonde cowering by a table leg.

Saxon snapped his fingers. "Guard."

The woman sobbed as she was yanked to her feet by the hair. She tried to drag her feet so they couldn't get her standing upright. She was begging and pleading as the guard pressed a gun to the back of her head.

"All right!" Gwen shouted. She raised the hand not holding the gun.

"Gwen!" Owen snapped.

"Lower your weapons," Gwen hissed. Her eyes darted towards Saxon, then slid around the room.

Owen gave the room a quick glance as well. 

"Owen," Gwen repeated as she and Tosh stooped down slowly to set their guns on the floor.

"Fine," Owen spat out. He did the same. He straightened and put his hands up.

"Alright," Gwen said calmly. "We've lowered our weapons. Tell the guard, don't shoot."

Saxon tilted his head as if thinking it over before he said to the guard "Shoot."

" _No_!" they all screamed and it was almost loud enough to cover the loud gunshot. It was certainly loud enough to cover the sound of the girl's body dropping to the ground.

Someone in the back retched.

"You son of a bitch!" Owen exploded even as he searched the room. Where the hell were they? "We dropped our weapons!"

"You didn't have to shoot!" Tosh shouted, horrified.

Gwen, speechless, only stared at the girl's corpse. 

Saxon placed his hand to his throat, his eyes wide.

"Oooh, you said _don't_ shoot!" Saxon tsked and stuck a finger in his ear. "My hearing must be going. My bad!"

"You piece of—"

"Captain, stop him."

Owen stopped short, unsure why Saxon abruptly waved a hand in front of him. 

Out of nowhere, the Doctor reappeared, the crystal yanked from his grasp and—What the fuck?

"Jack, what are you doing?" Gwen cried.

Jack stood there, his stiff back towards them, his hands pulling the Doctor's arms behind him and forcing him to his knees.

"Ah, Doctor," Saxon practically purred. "And my Captain. Reunited at last." Saxon laughed and clapped his hands. Saxon grinned towards the cameras.

"And we didn't have to wait twenty five years on the telly!"

"Stop this! Stop this now!" the Doctor roared, struggling to break free of Jack's grip but Jack never even stirred.

"As if a perception filter is gonna work on me," Saxon scoffed. He glanced towards his left.

"You can be as still as mice, but I know you're there. Show yourselves to the rest of the kiddies."

"Jack!" Ianto cried out as he pulled his key over his head. Everyone whipped their heads around, startled to see a man materialize in front of them. The idiot would have charged Saxon but Martha reappeared and grabbed his left arm with both of hers.

The guards, stunned at first, recovered fast enough to surround Ianto and Martha.

Saxon patted Lucy's hand on his hip. 

"You know," Saxon mused. He sneered at Martha. "Even now I still can't decide if you're the girlie or the freak."

"What have you done to Jack?" Ianto shouted. He grunted as a guard shoved him down to his knees.

Owen realized Jack never turned around, never acknowledged Ianto and Gwen's calls. He stood there, perfect posture and all, a statue holding onto the Doctor.

"What have I done to him?" Saxon's eyes bulged and he tilted his head back and roared uncontrollably with a glee that raised the hairs on the back of Owen's neck. "How cliché is that? You childish ape! What have I done to him? What have I _not_ done to him?"

"Master, just calm down." The bloody Doctor was still trying to talk to him. "Just look at what you're doing, just stop." The Doctor writhed to break free from Jack but Jack was like rock. He never moved. "If you could see yourself!"

Saxon pulled out what looked like the same kind of sonic screwdriver. 

"I can see myself," Saxon murmured. His face twisted. "Sometimes all I see is myself." He turned towards the cameras again. 

"Excuse me. I have to interrupt your program. A little personal business. Back in a minute." Saxon bared his teeth. "Don't touch that dial now, you hear?"

Lucy laughed.

Saxon considered Jack.

"You can let him go, Captain."

No response, but the unexpected release dropped the Doctor into an ungainly pile to the floor.

"Jack!" Gwen shouted. She gasped as a guard tapped her shoulder with the butt of her gun.

Ianto just stared, aghast. His face was a pasty white as he tracked Jack joining Saxon to stand over the Doctor. Jack never looked towards their direction or Ianto's.

"The Arcateen crystal," the Doctor hissed. He tilted his head up at them standing over him like a panel of judges. "You did this to him."

"No, no, no," Saxon waved a hand in front of him. "You're not following the script. Do you need a teleprompter?" Saxon stooped down a little. He tapped his tool on the Doctor's nose.

"You're supposed to say 'it's that sound, the sound in my head. What if I can help?'"

Owen could see the alien freezing in shock.

"W-what if I can?" the Doctor recovered.

Saxon scoffed. 

"But you can't! You won't. You'll try, but there's two to help now!" Saxon patted Jack on his right cheek. 

"He doesn't hear it." The Doctor sounded stunned. "That was your doing. Your making. Master, I can help—"

"Oh, how to shut him up?"

Owen spied Gwen gesturing with her fingers, unseen by the guards, with the number five. Owen checked their guards. They were riveted by whatever Saxon was babbling about Lazarus and whatnot. Owen gave a small nod and saw Tosh do the same.

Gwen's fingers closed, then opened to five.

"…the Doctor's biological code…"

Owen saw Tosh's left foot shift weight. Owen looked over and found Ianto was staring at him. Ianto nodded. 

Gwen's hand fisted then opened to four. 

Saxon pranced over to the metal case, which he unlatched with a flourish. The case screeched open like a clamshell, revealing Jack's odd stasis jar and that bloody, detached hand.

"Another hundred years?" Saxon shook his tool in the air. "Oh, why stop there? Let's go all the way. Nine hundred!"

Saxon lashed out his arm with the screwdriver and a strange sound like the backfire of a car exploded out of his tool. There was no light. No beam, but the Doctor was uplifted into the air and he contorted, blurred, writhed, screamed. Tosh gasped. Gwen's hand went slack in shock, her countdown forgotten. One of the hostages cried out in terror, unsure what was happening, how things went so wrong. The dark orbs danced around them all in delight.

Oh God.

 

_…thrum-thrum…_

The headache had returned full force the minute they entered the bridge. It hurt. It overwhelmed. He could hear his name from afar. Calling, like an echo.

His head hurt. It hurt a lot.

Whispers filled the spaces in-between the pulsating pounding, whispers that told him to move, whispers that commanded him, moved him…

He…what was he doing?

_…thrum-thrum…_

Leave me alone, Jack thought he could hear himself plead. It felt like he was staring down at himself from afar.

_…thrum…_

There was someone screaming. Pain. It was the sound of pain. His name was called out again, this time anguished.

Jack's eyes cleared and he saw Ianto on his knees, Martha by him, but they weren't looking at him. They were looking at—

_…thr—_

His arm snaked around the Master's throat, his right hand thrusting out to grab the screwdriver he recognized and shoved until it pointed towards the ceiling. Something screeched. The Doctor stopped screaming. Metal splintered. Floating balls winked out around them.

"You dare defy your Doctor?" the Master snarled. He twisted in Jack's grasp.

"You're not him!" Jack shot back even though something in his head wailed at him to stop. 

One twist, one snap to his neck and it would be over…

A woman shrieked, more in anger than fear and Jack felt something hard and stiff and molten hot _shoved_ into his back. His arm slackened. Saxon wrenched free, his eyes almost black with rage. 

"Loathsome creature."

Jack saw golden hair, a flash of a pale face splattered with blood before he staggered back. Rose? 

When he numbly looked down, he saw a bloody dagger tip was sticking out of his right shoulder.

"Jack!" It wasn't clear who screamed.

Jack felt the fire cutting into him slide out from behind. The knife tip vanished, scorching as it departed in one scalding stroke.

His knees buckled.

Ianto was by Jack, catching him as he fell. They landed heavily on the steps.

Jack could feel Ianto's hands trying to stem the blood bubbling out of his shoulder, his back. He could feel something hot and sticky spreading all over him. But all Jack could do was stare at the crumpled form on the floor.

What had he done?

"Doctor!" Martha stumbled to the body. 

An old man, over a hundred, weakly raised his head. He couldn't do anything more.

"I've got you," Martha said tearfully as she clung to the Doctor's arm.

Harold Saxon stood over Ianto and Jack, his eyes hard.

"Well…" Saxon seethed. "Déjà vu." Saxon checked over his shoulder at the Doctor. "One hundred years it is, then."

Ianto glared up at him. 

Saxon pulled his mouth back into a smirk.

"Young Ianto Jones. You surprise me with your tenacity." Saxon considered him. "I underestimated your role in his timeline."

"Where's my family?" Martha demanded from behind. She stared up at Saxon, unafraid.

"I hoped you would ask that," Saxon exclaimed, spinning around. He whipped his arm towards the back. 

"Flown straight from prison…"

The doors burst opened and Martha gasped as she stood. A small trio of prisoners were shoved inside to join Gwen and the others.

"Mum," Martha breathed.

"I'm sorry," Martha's mother sobbed as she stood there.

Jack leaned heavily on Ianto. 

"When there's a chance," Jack whispered into Ianto's ear. He slipped his key and the crystal he must have taken from the Doctor into Ianto's pocket. "Get the others and teleport."

Ianto jerked and stared at Jack with horror.

"We can't stop him," Jack whispered. "Not like this. Not with the Doctor…" Jack swallowed. "Ianto, I didn't realize what I was doing, I—"

Ianto shook his head. "You fought it in the end."

Jack stared at the feeble Doctor staring with defiance at Saxon. The Doctor could barely sit up. This Doctor wouldn't burst into running anytime soon.

"The Toclafane," the aged Doctor wheezed. He drew Saxon's attention away from Martha. "What are they?"

Saxon's expression softened as he looked at the Doctor with an odd fondness that gave Jack a sick feeling in his stomach. Saxon stooped down and patted the Doctor's chest.

"Ah, you've always asked this, Doctor and if I tell you the truth," Saxon sighed. He looked sincerely sorry. "It would break your hearts."

Two orbs blinked into the air above them.

_"Is it time?"_

_"Is it really time?"_

_"Is the machine singing?"_

Saxon checked his watch. He smiled darkly and bound up the stairs.

"So! Earthlings," Saxon sneered towards the cameras still diligently filming. He gestured for Lucy to join him. She ascended the stairs in her bloody cream suit, licking her crimson tipped fingers. Saxon brushed a strand of hair away from her eyes before returning his attentions back to the camera crew. 

"Basically, um…" Saxon threw up his hands and shrugged. "End of the world again."

Saxon raised his arm high with his screwdriver.

"Here come the drums!" Saxon roared.

The ship around them shook and Jack heard a wail in his head that he knew the Doctor could hear as well as the TARDIS screamed defiantly but bit by bit, her defenses collapsed and yielded to the monstrosity that caged it.

Pop music—the Master's sick sense of humor—blared as the sky visible from the large portholes grew violet and crimson dark.

"Down you go kids!" Saxon cheered into the microphone by the controls. He gestured wildly at the window as streams of black globes zipped down from the sky. He grabbed his wife by the waist and spun her around. Saxon slapped a dial and a mix of screams and frantic radio calls filled the room.

"Destroy one-tenth of the pop—"

" _Now_!" Gwen hollered.

There was scuffling, shoving, shouting from everyone. Saxon spun away from the window. Ianto grabbed Jack by the arm, pulling him up. Owen hauled Martha up from the Doctor.

"Here!" Ianto shouted as he pushed back his sleeve and flipped open the wrist strap.

"Stop them!" Saxon roared.

The _Valiant_ shook as millions of Toclafane still came pouring from the torn sky. Jack could see the Doctor shoving Martha away to go, just as a guard grabbed Tosh when she darted by. She shouted.

"Doctor!" Martha pleaded as Gwen held on to her.

"Tosh!" Owen made to get her.

Jack slapped a hand on Ianto's strap to activate it and something beeped as Jack staggered away to grab Tosh.

"Not this time, Ms. Jones!"

Jack had just sailed a fist across the guard's chin, yanking Tosh close to him. He turned, just in time to see Saxon aim his screwdriver towards Martha. The Doctor shouted shakily in real fear. Jack didn't think. He acted.

Even as he could feel blood pumping out of his body, Jack lunged towards Saxon on the stairs.

Things happened all at once.

"Jack!" Ianto started to surge forward.

"Ianto! Don't!" Gwen shouted and she grabbed him by the arm and dragged him back.

The screwdriver fired.

The wrist strap beeped for a second time. 

A small rift began to form sluggishly around the four.

Jack felt himself slammed back onto a wall by guards just as an amber beam shot across, hitting Ianto square in the chest. 

" ** _Ianto_**!"

Ianto fell back heavily against Gwen and Owen, his face frozen in shock. As soon as the others caught him, they blinked out.

"Ianto!" Tosh sobbed out.

Jack _screamed_. He twisted to get away from the guards. He lashed out, breaking one's nose hard enough that he could feel the bone piercing up into the brain. The guard dropped. Another howled when Jack's fist slammed hard on his spine and he heard it crack.

More and more came to pin him down. They tackled him to the floor. Tosh was cursing at them. Jack felt his right shoulder pop. Someone slammed his chin hard to the ground and Jack found himself unable to move, staring at a single droplet on the ground. 

"Well," Saxon said, amused. He stepped in front of Jack. His well-polished shoes tapped in front of him.

Saxon grunted. "How quickly you forget who came back for you."

Saxon's shoes blurred as blood loss and something else—oh God, Ianto, not Ianto—turned his body slowly into lead.

"So quick to help Gramps here." Saxon gestured them to lift Jack's head.

Jack said nothing, his eyes on Saxon.

"Let me tell you a secret, my Captain," Saxon whispered.

Everything was fading. Jack couldn't move his head away as Saxon brushed his mouth across Jack's ear. 

"The Doctor was never going to come back for you."

Something turned to ice, sharpened around his chest and choked him.

Saxon felt his knife wound on his back and dug his thumb into it. Jack jerked as the bleeding renewed, emptying quickly to the ground. Jack gasped, his chest tightening.

"It will be fine, my Captain," Saxon murmured. He petted Jack's hair. "It will all be good."

Jack's eyes fluttered shut, everything darkening, narrowing to the blood spot on the floor until even that was gone when darkness came.

Ianto…


	39. "The Year That Never Was"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning For This Chapter:** strong language, angsty, VIOLENCE
> 
>  **Notes For This Chapter:** This is all hypothetical at this point as we delve into "The Year That Never Was". There is no proof or canon hints on what may have happened. I may be right, I may be wrong.

**Act I**   
**Somewhere**   
**Present day, Version 1…**

Like before, there was a sense of being there yet not, his breath paused in status quo, his awareness of time suspended. 

Then, with a _snap_ , time clicked. He landed too hard on something cold and wet. It hurt. He stumbled.

"Is everyone all right?" Ianto gasped. "Martha? Gwen? Owen?" He staggered to a somewhat straight position; his fingers tugged his jacket around him tighter. 

"I'm fine," Martha chattered. 

Gwen looked shaken. She'd fallen on her knees and was still down on the dirt, gawping at the snow around her. "Where are we?" Gwen demanded. 

"How the hell should I know? Jack set the coordinates," Owen grated out. Owen still had his fists up. He lowered them after a few squints at the flurries surrounding them.

"We can't stay out here. It's a flipping blizzard!"

"Fine idea," Gwen snapped. "But where exactly is _here_?"

Ianto staggered away from them and blinked at the ice-crusted precipice that loomed over him like a…well…like a mountain. 

Ianto stared at his hands that, only moments before, were warm from Jack's as he supported him. There was a shout; Tosh wasn't with them, Jack's determined face, and his hand slipped out of Ianto's before anyone could react. Jack. Oh God, Jack. They'd left him behind. Ianto had let go of his hand as Jack went for Tosh and everything fell apart. 

Jack's name was still stuck in his throat, a shout left uncompleted. His hand with Jack's blood on it flexed and opened; still trying to grab for something that was no longer there.

"Christ, I thought for sure Saxon skewered us with that flipping screwdriver of his."

"Jack's manipulator kicked in just in time," Martha gasped buttoning her jacket as high as it would go. "Otherwise…"

"We have to go back," Ianto said, fumbling as he flipped open the wrist strap. Jack's horrified face flashed behind his eyes. "Jack…" Ianto found his mouth stumbling for words, his fingers not working as well as they should. The numbness of the transport lingering longer than it should have. "He's still up there!"

"We left Tosh up there too," Gwen said tearfully. "God, we left them all on that ship."

His head spun. White flakes fell all around him. Ianto realized it was getting colder, yet not as cold as it should be, he thought idly. Parts of him felt too hot. He stared down at the device wrapped around his wrist. 

"Do you know how to make that thing work?" Owen demanded. Owen shoved his hands under his armpits and stared across the distant expanse stamping his feet against the ground. His breath came out frosted on the chill air.

"No," Ianto whispered. He could feel himself swaying on his feet, his chest tight with the thought of Jack up there with Saxon. "I…he never told me."

"This doesn't look like Cardiff," Gwen fretted. Snow picked up by the wind blew past them. Gwen's hair was freckled with white. "Did we travel back in time? Or are we on another planet?"

"I don't think so." His voice came out thin. It was becoming hard to catch his breath. Ianto made an effort to steady his voice.

"Oh my God."

Gwen's voice dropped to a stunned whisper as she stared upward. Ianto tilted his face up and something colder than the snow ran down his neck sending a ripple through his body.

The sky was scarred with a pulsating tear. Black orbs rained out, cascading and filling the heavens with swirling, glowing globes like ink spilt across the sky.

"My pocket." Ianto dug at where Jack had slipped the key and crystal. His fingers kept missing the opening of his pocket for some reason. Uncoordinated and going numb.

The moment Ianto pulled out the two makeshift pendants, Martha snatched them from his tangled grasp.

"Put these on," Martha ordered. She practically threw them towards Gwen and Owen. "These should keep those things from seeing us."

Ianto felt for his own around his neck inside his shirt, reassured to feel the chill of the tiny metal key against his skin. He didn't relax until he saw his friends put theirs on as well.

Gwen gaped at the mountains, the snow, and the Toclafane slowly filling every part of the sky like a dark stain. They all watched anxiously as it swarmed out like an umbrella cloud but did not immediately descend. 

Gwen gasped. "Oh God, Rhys! My parents!" She fumbled her mobile open. "It's not working! Does anyone have a signal? Come on, pick up!" 

"Can we use that thing to get back up there?" Owen demanded. He gripped Ianto by the arm, wrenching him around. "Oi!"

Ianto blinked, dizzy with the questions and possibly the thin air from the altitude. He shook his head. "I don't know how it works. And I…" Ianto took in the frightening range of misty blue mountains. "And I think…those are the Himalaya Mountains." Why had Jack sent them here?

" _What_?" Owen exclaimed. "Shit good that'll do us. Did Jack want us to find a lot of yetis to help?"

"I don't know!" Ianto snapped back, the black mass gathering high overhead. It was too cold for this and getting colder by the second. His hands were shaking with it. "Jack sent us here, maybe to get us away from those things!"

"Oh right, we're safe from those things but we'll fucking freeze to death!"

"We have to find some place and fast!" Martha cut in, her voice harsher than Ianto had ever heard it before. She pointed to the sky. "Look!"

The dark stroke of swarming and writhing Toclafane had split up, like river outlets; thin lines of death forking off into different directions. One line curled in the sky bending towards them.

Owen swore. "I thought you said these things would hide us."

"If we remained quiet, Owen," Ianto shot back. He scanned their surroundings, his eyes caught by the wall of rock that stood behind them and the opening hidden under its shadow. "There! That cave over there!"

"Probably be eaten by a bear," Owen grumbled but he followed as they all ran for it. 

"This way," Gwen urged, running towards the gloomy back of its interior. "I think this cave goes pretty dee—" Gwen suddenly screeched, arms flailing as if she was losing her balance.

Was there a drop? Ianto lunged for the closest arm he could reach, grabbed it, only to find he was being pulled instead.

"Ianto!" Martha shouted. She tried to grab him, but was too late. Ianto felt his foot slip, a dull throb became a sharp tearing pain in his shoulder as Gwen's weight pulled him forward and they fell—

Right through a wall.

The crash was jarring, but not as jarring as the realization that they hadn't fallen down a drop, but rather had fallen through a wall that wasn't really there. The warm air that greeted them struck them like a physical force.

"Shit." Owen must have plowed right through because he kept running until he skidded to a halt a meter away after bursting through with Martha.

"W-was that a hologram?" Martha gasped. She clutched the front of her jacket as she gulped for air.

Ianto got up shakily with Martha's help. He gaped around at the surprisingly warm cavern they found themselves in. It was small and cramped, but clearly man-made as the space lit up upon their entry.

_"Hello."_

Ianto breathed "Jack." When he spun around, however, his smile faded.

A blue tinged Jack flickered in front of them, on the false wall they went through.

Jack stood slightly above ground, wearing his greatcoat, his light blue shirt, grinning broadly at a spot beyond them. His eyes looked over their heads, possibly at a camera. 

_"If you're seeing this, that means the DNA reader has scanned you all and found I wasn't with you. Otherwise,"_ Jack shrugged and winked, _"I would tell you all this in person and trust me when I tell you, you're missing out."_ Jack posed and gave a flip salute above his brow.

Ianto smiled tightly. His hand rose to touch Jack, but when it went through Jack's chest, Gwen made a choking sound.

_"What you're standing in is what remains of Torchwood Four."_

Eyes widening, Ianto stared at Jack. He could hear the others spinning around for a second look. Martha held Ianto's right arm with both hands now. Her grip hurt.

 _"Torchwood Four went MIA during Alex Hopkins' command. It was believed to have been swallowed up in a rift quake and…"_ Even in the blue projection light, Ianto could see regret dull Jack's eyes.

 _"It rematerialized inside this mountain around the time when I joined your team. The six members of Torchwood Four…"_ Jack sighed and the lack of sound or the sensation of breath made Ianto's chest ache in sharp pains. 

_"I regret to say they didn't make it."_

Gwen abruptly screamed and everyone turned around to see her pressing her face into Owen's shoulder. Owen gaped wide-eyed, white-lipped at the wall of icy granite, part of it scraped clean of frost by Gwen's hand. Silhouettes of trapped faces stared back at them like from a warped funhouse mirror. Outstretched seeking fingers pushed through rock but never broke the surface.

"Oh my God," Martha's voice trembled. 

Ianto gulped, his head cottony and slow, as he turned back towards Jack, who never paused.

_"…letter, Hopkins said he saw Torchwood in the Himalayas. Rather than dismantle Torchwood Four, I arranged to have this base supplied, wired it with a short term power source and set it in hibernation mode, to reactivate when it detected one of your DNA imprints."_

Jack's mouth crinkled and he looked sad.

"Jack," Ianto pleaded even as the fatigue pulled at him. 

_"I don't know why you're here and why I'm not, but I'm sorry. I pray this base will see you through whatever has happened to Earth. Good luck…you may be our only hope."_

And just as abrupt as his arrival, Jack's image flickered silently out of focus.

Ianto took a few haltering steps forward until he stood at the spot where Jack's image had been.

"At least he didn't ask for Obi-Wan Kenobi," Ianto muttered, but he couldn't find the humor in it to smile. His eyes filled as he opened his hands unconsciously trying to feel any essence of Jack left behind in the air. There was nothing.

"Did you know about this?" Owen rasped, his voice wavering like he'd forgotten how to speak. Gwen was now by the wall, her fingers lingering on the faces, her face contorted with grief. 

"Christ, Jack should have told us. We might have been able to do something for them—"

"Take a look around you, Owen," Martha pointed out, her voice just as unsteady. "Everything looks like it grew out of rock. The computers, the chairs…They…" Martha swallowed, "they must have materialized inside the mountain."

"They never had a chance," Ianto whispered. His heart pounded. "They never saw it coming…Jack had this place repaired so if we got separated, Torchwood would still be available to us." Ianto pressed a hand to his chest. There was a roaring in his ears he couldn't ignore any longer. Jack, Tosh, Martha's family, the Doctor…they were up there with a mad man. "Jack got us out so we could have a chance while he…he…" Ianto gritted his teeth. It hurt so much. A sharp pain abruptly cut through his upper right shoulder, so sudden, so acute, Ianto groaned. 

"Ianto?" Owen was suddenly by his left ear. 

Ianto turned his increasingly heavy head towards him. 

Owen narrowed his eyes on him. His gaze lowered. Owen abruptly pushed open Ianto's jacket and Ianto shivered. It was cold and yet he could feel the damp sweat trickling down his arm.

Owen swore. "Sit down." His arm went around Ianto's shoulders. 

"Why?" Ianto wheezed stupidly. The mountain air was making him so tired. Martha was suddenly running past them, deeper into the morbid space, Gwen behind her as they opened doors and boxes in a frenzy.

"What do you mean _why_ , you prat?" Owen looked scared for some reason. Or was he angry? It was hard to tell with Owen sometimes. "You should have said something!"

"About what?" Ianto blinked when he realized he was slurring. Ianto pulled his hand away and stared blankly at the slick red palm.

"Oh," Ianto mumbled. 

His knees folded.

"Don't you dare," Owen hissed as he dropped, catching Ianto to him. "Don't you dare do this right now."

Ianto coughed and thought he tasted something coppery in his mouth. He groaned in pain when Owen's hands pressed down on a spot around his right shoulder.

"I always said you were one lucky sod. No way that teleport didn't catch you in time. You hear me, Ianto Jones? No dying today. I ain't having none of that"

Ianto gasped when Owen tore open his undershirt and piled folds of gauze over his shoulder.

"Shut up," Owen said, but his hands bellied the harshness in his voice. He cupped a hand under Ianto's chin and tilted his head up. Owen was talking to someone past his head.

"It's all right." Ianto wheezed, but the only reply he received was a light kiss to his brow as Gwen's hair brushed his forehead. 

"Quiet, Jonesy," Owen grumbled. "Always have to have the last word."

"J-ones," Ianto ground out as Owen reached a hand under his shoulder and felt for the laser's exit wound. Ianto's legs kicked out before he could stop himself. It burned! Yes, the laser on the device! It had knocked him back, back into the beam of the transport. He—God, and…the blue eyes had widened as the blur took him…Jack _saw_ him. Jack!

"We…we have to get Jack out of there," Ianto wheezed. "W-we…we have to…no time!" Ianto clawed Owen's arm. 

"Aye, save your breath," Owen murmured. He pried Ianto's hand off his sleeve carefully and set it on his belly. 

Martha was tugging off his jacket, Gwen was holding his hand, and heedless of the bloody handprint left on her shirt, and Owen, well, Ianto was afraid to watch what he was doing.

"You'll be fine, sweetheart," Gwen soothed. Her eyes were red and she looked a mess but she patted his hand like it was a soft puppy. "Owen's an ass but he's a good doctor."

"I'll agree…with the first…part," Ianto coughed and it hitched and wouldn't stop. Martha tucked his rolled up jacket under his head. 

"Oi, that's enough cheek from you." Owen patted his shoulder when he bent back over him. His eyes didn't match the smile on his face. "Don't go dyin' on us now, Jonesy."

Ianto found he didn't have the strength to correct him again. He watched as Owen rummaged through a medical kit that looked far too old and outdated to be of any use.

Jack should have let him handle the requisitioning of the supplies, Ianto thought fuzzily. Jack should have told him. Jack should have stayed with them.

Ianto stared up at Martha as he tried not to think about how sharp the light had been that had stabbed through him or how much sharper the scalpel looked in Owen's grasp.

Panic seized in his chest. Ianto tilted his head back.

"Martha," Ianto gasped. 

Martha smiled tightly down at him and nodded. She leaned down and whispered tightly against his ear. "We're coming back for them. I swear it."

Something released in his chest. Ianto nodded and hoped the gratitude was clear in his eyes. She above all the others understood. 

Gwen was saying something, something that sounded like a prayer. Ianto thought he could hear the chirps and buzzing of Toclafane heading towards their shelter.

Everyone's voices were sounding farther and farther away. Someone was shouting his name. Owen sounded angrier and angrier and Ianto didn't know why. He was too tired to care. His shoulder screamed in agony after being numb for so long and he had a final thought as he felt himself being smothered by darkness.

I never should have let go of his hand.

 

**Act II**   
**Valiant**   
**Month One Ver.1**

The _Valiant_ , when the Master was too uninterested for any mischief, was eerily empty and desolate in its inactivity. 

Saxon's guards, all dressed in the same sterile black business suits like uniforms, stood bored by doorways. They were like silent pallbearers, not even acknowledging Toshiko Sato as she went by.

That suited her just fine. This was the one time Toshiko really did want to be invisible among a crowd.

Most of the rooms were sealed shut, the bodies of the press—those who weren't thrown overboard, that is—were stuffed in some of the rooms like forgotten Christmas presents. The UNIT guards who pledged their allegiance to Saxon got rid of the ones who wouldn't. How they did, no one knew, but there were rumors—horrible, terrible rumors that kept Toshiko awake at night.

Not that she would have been able to sleep anyway. The metal pallet in the engine room next to the Jones’s cell was warm enough, but the pipes around her rattled and moaned like they were being tortured.

At the thought, Toshiko sniffed. Come on, Sato. Chin up. Work to do. 

Holding the tray of now ice-cold tea and stale biscuits, dressed in that horrible maid's outfit, Toshiko walked as slow as possible—she witnessed Saxon kill one maid because he thought she ran too crudely—and tried to look like she belonged here wandering about Level four. 

No one had been allowed to speak with the Doctor. Saxon would rouse him out of the ratty teepee the Doctor slept in with the humiliating _ding_ of a triangle chime. Everyone was told not to talk to him, not to answer if he spoke. When Martha's sister Tish tried, Lucy Saxon had slapped her hard enough to knock her against the table then made her mother stay in the bridge all night doing both their duties. Toshiko hummed a song her mother used to sing her through the fencing until Tish succumbed to her tears and finally went to sleep. 

The Doctor never tried to speak to any of them again. Toshiko was never allowed on the bridge to see the Doctor either. She'd been banished to the lower levels to clean the computer and processor rooms like a shadow or to help out Clive Jones in the engine room. The only way she received word about anything was through the Jones family at night when they were locked in their cells.

Toshiko's eyes burned. The Jones family was at least together…sort of. She didn't know where her family was. Her little brother had hinted he might visit Cardiff and Toshiko had Jack's assurances it wouldn't be a problem to take a week off. Her little brother. He'd just turned nineteen. He passed his exams and was thinking of marine studies. Where was he when the world ended? Did he try to call her? Did he wonder why she never picked up her mobile? Who was with mother? Or grandfather?

Focus, Sato, focus. Toshiko quietly sniffed. She paused under the shadow of a corner to balance the tray with one arm, and wiped her eyes with a corner of her apron. Toshiko took a deep breath. She set her jaw and kept walking, blinking rapidly until her eyes cleared so she could continue counting every door she strode by.

She was given a job to do.

A week after the Toclafane had plundered their planet and Saxon began his version of a 'fox-hunt' as he cryptically called it, Francine Jones had received an odd sort of message from the elderly Doctor while she was cleaning his pitiful quarters on the floor of the bridge.

He winked.

Francine had lamented in the beginning that the old Doctor had lost his marbles. It happened enough times though that Francine began to realize the winks came in sets. One eye. Or the other. Sometimes both. And every night she recited them back to Toshiko despite her body aching and screaming for sleep.

It was code. A rudimentary Morse code that Toshiko barely remembered from her old university studies of cryptography. Its first message was simple.

 _Find Jack_.

No one had seen him since that day.

Walking past door after monochromatic door, Toshiko studied them, memorizing their location so that at night, she could whisper the schematics to Clive Jones in the next cell. He would update the map with a piece of a broken screw he had slipped into his shoe from the boiler section. He etched the map on the concrete floor, close enough to the fence between them so Toshiko could see what areas there were left to explore. In the morning, before they were fetched, Clive would push the rack bed back over to cover the map.

Toshiko's footsteps faltered and her tea tray rattled. She refused to believe Jack wasn't on the ship. It was a terrible thing to hope that Jack was here. Yet the way Saxon's eyes had gleamed when he leaned over to whisper in Jack's ear, told Toshiko it wouldn't be that horrible if her captain wasn't, either.

She was exhausted. Tish took over her tasks cleaning the technical rooms—a joke in Saxon's eyes—so Toshiko could investigate the ship while Saxon chased after whomever he was chasing after.

Toshiko only hoped it meant Owen, Gwen, and Martha were still alive. Ianto on the other hand…

Unbidden, her eyes filled. Jack's scream had rung in her ears for days afterwards. It sounded like it had been ripped out of his throat and Jack's eyes, God, his eyes…

The tray rattled again, enough that one of the guards down the passageway took notice. Toshiko inhaled and exhaled slowly and steadied her hands. The metallic titters stopped and the guard looked away with a smirk.

She was tempted to walk by him and swing the tray at his face.

Instead, Toshiko lowered her eyes and walked past him. She rounded the corner. She stopped when she realized this hallway was void of any guards. 

Toshiko set the tray down on the floor and checked behind her shoulder. When it didn't sound like anyone was walking towards this direction, Toshiko studied the three doors on her left and the two on her right as her teeth worried her lower lip. A moment's decision was all it took before she took the fork from the tray and worked on the panel in the door in the middle on her left.

Prying off the panel was easy enough. Whoever constructed the ship followed the highly advanced plans but skimped on material. A screw less here, less caulking there, and things were now easy to pry loose thanks to unscrupulous contractors.

Let's hear it for human greed, Toshiko thought wryly as she palmed the loosened panel before it could clatter to the floor. She smirked at the alphanumeric keypad and LED screen.

"You could at least try to make it harder, boys," Toshiko murmured as she flipped the fork around and used its tines to yank the wires loose.

It was slow work, but Toshiko savored the feel of machinery yielding to her will, numbers releasing their secrets to her with the right twist of switched wiring. There was something satisfying about watching the digits flip to the correct one a space at a time. Nine spaces. Easy enough. Already five were deciphered, the other four sure to follow.

It was easy work, but one she missed in a ridiculous fashion. She must admit though, the schematics of the place were far more complex than twenty first century technology can presently boast. It would still be a minute before she can—

One of the guards could be heard straightening. "Lady Saxon." 

Toshiko froze. She could hear the slow, lazy clip of heels on polished stone. It stopped short in the corridor Toshiko previously walked by.

"Has my husband been this way?"

The fork nearly dropped as Toshiko doubled her efforts. Two more numbers. Now it felt like it was too slow. 

"Not yet, ma'am." The smugness that was on the guard's face before was absent in his voice in the presence of Lucy Saxon.

"Of course." Saxon's wife made a funny sort of laugh. "Not yet. No matter. It makes no difference."

"Do you require an escort?"

"I do not wish to be disturbed," Saxon's wife informed the man in a cool voice.

"But—"

Lucy Saxon sniffed. "He can't do anything to me."

Toshiko paused from her frantic pace. She glanced over her shoulder at the other doors. When she heard the heels clicking again, Toshiko hurried. Damn it, just one more.

The heels were coming closer to the corner.

The door in front of Toshiko slid open.

Toshiko hastily snapped the panel back over the gutted keypad. Hopefully, it could pass a glancing inspection despite the missing screws. Toshiko ducked inside the empty room. The door slowly glided back the other way.

The heels were now starting to turn the corner.

The tray!

Toshiko dropped to her knees, reached for the tray on the floor and snatched it towards her just as she could see Lucy Saxon's shadow stretching down to Toshiko's door. The plate of biscuits rattled just as the door shut completely, save a tiny slot where Toshiko stuck the fork in. 

The heels stopped. 

Toshiko cupped her mouth with her left hand. She held her breath as she watched satin black heels stop in front of her door, but facing away. 

The slit the fork made was barely enough to reveal the dark suit Lucy Saxon wore or the heels turning as Lucy Saxon looked about her.

Toshiko's right hand, curled tight around the fork was starting to cramp. Her arm shook. God, be still, Sato, be still. 

The heels turned counterclockwise towards Toshiko's door…

Another clang, this time above the woman's head as a pipe groaned.

Lucy scoffed.

The heels pivot back around towards the wall and vanished.

Toshiko twisted her fork, initiating the door to open again and she stared at the passageway in front of her. She swiveled her head left to one end, then right. No, Lucy Saxon definitely walked directly away from her to the wall. The Master's wife made no detours. 

Squinting, Toshiko stared at the wall. She looked at the two doors, leaned out further and glanced at the door on either side on her wall. Toshiko turned back in front of her. She narrowed her eyes and thought she could faintly make out very familiar looking crystals embedded like jewels on top. All they were missing were shoelaces.

A smile slowly curved across her mouth.

"Gotcha," she murmured.

 

**New Delhi, India**

The weather had changed since Saxon's reign. It was far colder than any of them expected for this part of the country. Owen grimaced as he huddled into his leather jacket and the various layers they salvaged off Torchwood Four. Owen told himself it didn't matter—those poor bastards didn't need them anymore—but Owen was relieved nevertheless that the warm jumpers they found were shrink-wrapped and looked new.

The broken-down one level brick building looked like it had been abandoned long before the world went to shit. The roof was gone over one corner, all the windows were broken and the doors only shut with crates shoved up against them. There were wrappers from food rations, empty tins and dried up grey firewood all over the ground that told him they weren't the only ones who used this wreck as a hotel. 

Owen balanced the dented thermos of coffee in his hands. He was reluctant to take a sip—who knew when they could get more—but knew realistically that the hot liquid would keep him warm. Hypothermia was an enemy here.

With a scowl, Owen fought the urge to toss his thermos away.

There had been far too many enemies.

A pebble skipped. A footfall.

"It's not your turn yet," Owen whispered, not looking, but his left hand drifted to the handgun on his lap.

"As if you follow the rota, you twit," Gwen scoffed. She looked odd with that furry hat on her head—looked like a beast had crawled onto her head and died—but it was warm. There was no luxury to be picky. She sat down cross-legged next to him by the broken window. Huddled in that ridiculous hat and the furred wrap she traded for at the base of the mountains, Gwen looked oddly in place in the rundown structure and dusty ground.

"Anything?"

Owen shook his head. It felt like it had been so long since they spoke in normal volume. He checked for the key around his neck. He still wasn't sure how it worked. It wasn't perfect though. They had to stay in shadows, talk low, avoid the crowds of people waiting for food, and keep their movements to a minimum. 

It also meant no campfires.

Gwen peered cautiously over the windowsill and stared at the shadows of people walking aimlessly around the once lively city. She was sitting closer to him now, her closeness more for warmth than anything else. There was simply no room or time for anything else.

Every time it seemed like one of those hovering metal balls were patrolling, Gwen ducked her head back under.

Owen glanced back at the lump curled on the ground by Gwen's bedroll.

"There's still another hour before your shift," Owen checked his watch. It was a miracle it survived the tumble. Of course, it was a miracle _any_ of them survived those bloody mountains. Couldn't Jack have sent them someplace more level?

At the thought of Jack, Owen glanced up at the night sky through the shards of dirty glass still stubbornly hanging on like jagged teeth. He zeroed in on one point, the brightest point of light just under Cassiopeia. 

"That where they are?" Gwen interrupted his reverie. Owen looked over. Gwen was squinting, trying to locate the spot herself. 

Owen scoffed and looked away. He shrugged. "Apparently. I was checking for patrols."

"Um hm."

Gwen's knowing smile made him fidget and he nearly snapped at her. 

"Go back and get some winks," Owen said gruffly. "You girls need your beauty sleep."

Gwen lightly punched his arm but she didn't get up. Gwen acted as if she loathed escaping the temporary warmth their close proximity created. She checked behind her and turned back, looking even wearier.

"Coffee?" Owen offered. He raised the thermos he'd been using to warm his hands.

Looking sorely tempted, Gwen reached for it then shook her head. 

"What do you think?" Gwen whispered instead. "About Martha's plan?"

Owen scoffed. He would have laughed but he heard a barely suppressed cough and a sniffle behind him and he sobered. Owen shrugged.

"Going around the world after some ruddy weapon?" Owen rolled his eyes. "I think the Doctor was bonkers with senility when he told her."

"I don't know." Gwen chewed her thumbnail. She looked thoughtful. "I'm thinking there was something more."

Owen gave her a frown. "What?"

"I don't know. Just…it feels like Martha wasn't telling us everything."

"Sounds like someone else we know," Owen grumbled. He scratched at the crack below the sill and watched an ant scurry out in a panic, dashing for the outside. Not much better, mate, Owen thought. "Chasing fairy tales, I think. So positive that Doctor bloke is right. Man was probably not even in his right mind when he told her that shit full of—"

"Owen!" Gwen hissed. She tensed.

They both checked behind them. When the lump huddled under the coats didn't stir, they turned back. Gwen slapped his arm in silent admonishment. 

"Do you have to be an ass all the time?" Gwen said low.

Owen lifted his shoulders once. Gwen sighed. She shook her head and stared out the window. After a moment, Owen could hear her squirming and he steeled himself for the inevitable.

"Jack has been waiting for this Doctor for a very long time." Gwen drew up her knees and rested her chin on top. "He never intended to stay with us, did he? That jar of his with that…hand."

Owen simply pursed his lips. He learned giving Gwen a reply was pointless. She just seemed to want to have someone hear her think out loud. She had already come to her own conclusions. Gwen always did.

"Do you think he's all right?" Gwen sounded small.

Owen exhaled. He wished they hadn't descended the mountain so early. They were all too tired, too unnerved, to keep their thoughts their own any more. Things were spilling out into the quiet night that normally wouldn't. The change bothered him more than the need to track the _Valiant_ in the sky every night.

"'Course he is. Jack can't die, Cooper." Owen smoothed his hand over his pistol. He used to have a shoulder holster; now it felt better tucked in the back of his jeans. "You saw how hard it was to get rid of him." Owen twisted his mouth to what he hoped was a smirk. It felt strange on his face.

Owen could see one of those flipping Toclafane spinning, floating by in the distance. Someone cried, pleaded. Stray dogs howled. There were sounds of running, then nothing. Even the dogs quieted. And then, somewhere, a baby began to cry.

Owen's hands clenched to fists on his lap.

"You're right. He can't die." Gwen sounded relieved at the reminder. She nodded to herself and chuckled half-heartedly when her huge monstrosity of a hat tipped forward. Gwen braced the hat back and smiled. "And he'll watch out for Toshiko. It'll be fine."

Owen wondering whom was she trying to reassure. He checked over his shoulder again at the silent shadow. He turned back and stared out sullenly into the dark. He could see the lights of the Toclafane winking from afar like tiny stars.

"Get some sleep, Cooper. Both of you," Owen grunted.

"Wake me when it's my turn." Gwen got up reluctantly and shuffled back to her bedroll. She rolled closer to the other for warmth.

"Yeah, sure," Owen mumbled. He sat there by the window until dawn, though. It was the only time he felt peace these days when no one was around asking him questions he pretended to know answers to.

 

**Valiant**

Toshiko waited in the empty, dark room. She waited until her knees cramped. She waited until her elbows were sore and bruised from their positions propped up against the door. The fork was starting to warp from being a makeshift doorstop. 

The room she was in looked like an abandoned lab. There were tables shoved up against the wall, chairs stacked up in one corner and metal boxes the size of coffins huddled against everything. They stood four boxes tall. Toshiko didn't look to see what was inside. She was afraid she already knew.

It wasn't clear how long she sat there. She tried not to stare at that elongated crates that stood like granite in the dark, tried not to think about how much her right hand was cramping, tried not to worry about the gutted and unscrewed panel outside merely hanging by static electricity for all she knew. She tried, but when she felt the fork wobble, metal finally yielding, Toshiko panicked.

And that was when she heard heels clicking.

Toshiko turned around and pressed her face to the door slit. She watched as Lucy Saxon walked out of a door Toshiko could barely discern. Lucy stood there, staring into the doorway for a very long time before she turned sharply on her heels and walked away calmly towards the end of the passageway.

When even the echoes were gone, Toshiko pried the door open again and retrieved her tray with the fork, now mangled into a 'V'. She replaced the screws on the panel. She kept missing though because her hands shook too much. Done, she spun around. 

Toshiko studied the wall across from her. She fought to remember where exactly Lucy Saxon exited. It seemed like everything blurred back into place.

Frustrated, Toshiko dropped her head. Damn it. She should have been more observant. 

When she started to raise her head, Toshiko nearly missed it. 

A drop of blood. Very small, barely the size of her pinky nail. 

Going up, Toshiko noted another droplet, drip by drip until the wall cut it off. 

Slowly, Toshiko stared up and saw the crystals lined on the top edge of the wall. They blurred as if they were an illusion.

Toshiko set down the tray, checked the corridor again, and aligned herself under the crystals. Then she stared at the wall below it. Hard.

Sure enough, like double vision, there was an outline of a door wavering into view. If she didn't blink, it solidified but when her eyes winked at a mote of dust, the door was gone.

Her eyes burned as Toshiko fought not to blink, to keep her eyes wide open as she approached the space. When she reached out her arm, the moment she touched the surface, the door stood still as if it had always been there. 

It was a strong filter, Toshiko calculated. She grimaced as she felt for the panel. She was getting a headache now. But that mattered little the moment she found a perfect replica of the previous panel by the door.

Toshiko made quick work of the panel; making sure to memorize the deciphered code, reinsert the screws over the panel before she entered the brightly lit room. Not forgetting her tray, of course.

Whereas the other room held a feeling of neglect, this room was clearly built with a purpose. The light was bright enough to bring tears of pain to her eyes. The walls were lined with strange cylinders the size of oil drums, tubes running into them. None of them were activated though. There were also switched off monitors. Chairs. Desks.

A bed.

"Jack?"

Toshiko set down her tray and hurried over to the bed, already talking, already filled with so much she wanted to say, that she didn't notice. She didn't realize.

"Thank God. I thought I wouldn't be able to find you. There were only a few more levels I could access and this was really a clever way to hide your cell in plain sight although it was the Doctor's idea to use the crystals like perception filters so Saxon stole the idea—Oh, Jack, I…"

Reaching the bed, Toshiko realized three things.

One, Jack was cuffed to the bed, bound wrist and ankle by thick metal cuffs with chains snaking out to the back of the bed, so tight his ankles and wrists looked swollen. Two, his eyes were just staring towards the ceiling. And three…

Jack wasn't breathing.

Toshiko sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, her hands clamped over her mouth. His body felt warm against her hip. 

Stay calm, Toshiko told herself. You've seen this before, Sato. You saw him shot and he walked in perfectly all right.

There was a lot of blood on the bed around his head, a morbid halo, but no visible mark of what caused the gory stain. She reached over with a trembling hand towards his face, towards his jaw.

With a gasp, Jack jerked. His body arched, as far as his binds would let him. He cried out a name, but it was too garbled to comprehend as he fought for breath.

"Crazy 'itch," Jack snarled. He twisted when he felt Toshiko's hand on his face. "Get the 'uck away from me!"

Caught off guard and frankly, scared shitless, Toshiko squeaked, lost her balance and fell right on top of him.

Jack stopped. He lay there, his chest heaving as he struggled for breath.

"Jack?" Toshiko said timidly, still on his chest, her hands curled lightly on his shirt.

"Toshiko?" Jack gasped out.

Toshiko pushed up on her hands. "Are you all—"

"Before you try to say anything," Jack interrupted her, his eyes still towards the ceiling, "check the back of my head."

Toshiko clamped her mouth shut. She frowned but did as instructed. She slipped a hand behind his head, pausing when Jack hissed. Her eyes widened when she felt a painful welt on the base of his skull and the crystal embedded deep into his skin. She snatched her hand back and stared at Jack and realized he still wasn't looking at her.

Jack's mouth quirked, his eyes blank but still suspiciously bright. "In any case," Jack murmured, "it's good to see you, Toshiko…sort of."

Her eyes filled. Toshiko stared at Jack, pale and bound on top of bloody sheets, his gaze past her face. There were lines at the corners of his mouth. He laid there, his skin cool, his clothing crooked and rumpled. 

Unable to push back what had been building in those long weeks, Toshiko dropped her head on Jack's chest. First it was just a sniffle. Then, Toshiko simply wept. She cried for her little brother. She cried for her mother. For her friends. For Ianto, oh, Ianto. And she cried for Jack.

Toshiko curled her body up on the bed, knees tucked in, her head on Jack's chest and she sobbed. She rammed a fist in her mouth because she didn't dare be too loud, didn't dare risk succumbing to something so completely that she wouldn't be able to get up again. Toshiko thought about her handsome brother and the last text he wrote her; a jubilant message about how he had passed his entrance exams. She didn't know where her mobile was. Even that message was lost to her.

Toshiko felt her tears unable to stop as she thought about the tiny Polaroid Ianto took of Owen falling off his chair on the day after he forgot he was supposed to pick her up in the morning. Ianto left the snapshot of Owen, his ass up in the air, Gwen bent over laughing by his bewildered face, on her keyboard along with two tiny joint screws taped to the back of the photo. 

The tears eventually dried and Toshiko pulled her fist out of her mouth. She blinked gritty eyes at the teeth marks over her own knuckles. Toshiko sat up and wiped her eyes.

"I wish I could say something," Jack said abruptly, never acting like he was just drowned in tears. But his eyes were red-rimmed. His voice was raspy from disuse. 

"But it might come out cliché," Jack went on. He smiled but it looked odd as he stared at nothing.

"And I wouldn't be able to hear it to tell."

Toshiko hiccupped a giggle that sprang forth more tears. 

"Hang in there, Tosh," Jack murmured. "We can't…" He swallowed. "Otherwise all those…deaths…" Jack closed his eyes. 

"Ah, Tosh," Jack said sadly. "I wish I can hear you."

"Wish you could hear me, too," Toshiko murmured. "There's so much…" Toshiko cocked her head. She raised her hand up and wiggled her fingers in front of her face. She hesitated.

"What?" Jack knitted his brow. 

Carefully, Toshiko grazed a fingernail on his jaw and drew an 'H' and an 'I'.

A smile spread across Jack's face.

"That's my girl," Jack breathed. His eyes crinkled. "It's a good thing you taught me how to IM," Jack rasped. "Although Ianto thought it…" Jack stopped. His right brow twitched, his face contorted before he pulled a neutral face with some effort. "This'll work," Jack croaked.

Toshiko sniffled. She patted Jack's cheek and wiped the blood that beaded out from his cracked lips. Toshiko chewed her lower lip as she glanced over her shoulder. She drew out a 'BRB' on his cheek before she levered off the bed to fetch the tray. The tea was certainly cold by now, but Toshiko doubted it would matter to him.

Jack closed his eyes while Toshiko pressed the teacup to Jack's mouth. She slipped a hand behind his head, mindful of the wound there and tilted the cup back.

Tears wanted to fall again as she watched Jack drain the cup. He took great care not to hurry, savoring the bitter, cold brew like it was ambrosia itself.

When she pressed a biscuit to his teeth, Jack shook his head.

"Better not," Jack said, his voice clearer now. "I might get sick."

Toshiko swallowed but pulled it away. She took a corner of her apron and wiped his mouth, then, with some hesitation, reached down to straighten up his clothes.

"It's…" Jack started. He shook his head. "Better leave it. It's all right." Jack seemed to sink deeper into the bed. 

Toshiko bit her lower lip. She set her jaw and hitched his trousers higher and did his flies. The button on top was gone though. 

"Toshiko…" Jack sighed but said nothing more as she smoothed out his trousers and let the cuffs cover his swollen, cuffed ankles. He took a deep breath. "How are you? Are you okay?"

The 'Y' lightly etched on his jaw made Jack relax. As did the other 'Y' when he asked about Martha's family. But when the inquiries turned to the Doctor, Toshiko flinched.

Jack's lips were white as he waited for her answer. He was still tense when Toshiko drew an affirmative.

"You don't really know, do you?"

Toshiko bowed her head. She was about to draw a 'N' when Jack spoke up again.

"I didn't think the Master would put you near him." Jack's mouth tugged to a tired smirk. "That'll be like asking for trouble putting two minds like that together." Jack chuckled weakly when Toshiko swatted his left arm.

Toshiko reached over and etched out a 'D'.

Jack's smile faded. He scrunched up his face. Moments later, Jack's face cleared.

"You found some way to talk to him anyway, didn't you?" Jack breathed. "What did he tell you?"

'Yes,' Toshiko replied, her fingernail light on his skin. 'Plan.' 

A new smile twisted Jack's mouth.

"Well," Jack said in a grim voice, the smile humorless but still a welcome sight to Toshiko, "it's about damn time." 

 

**Act III**   
**Valiant**   
**Month Two Ver.1**

_"I have decided," the declaration came with a lazy finger tracing his left pec, "that sex with a man isn't as repulsive as I thought."_

_Jack rolled his eyes and propped himself up on an elbow. It was testament to how comfortable Ianto was becoming that he didn't even blush at Jack's unabashed display of his cock lax against his inner thigh. Ianto sat, naked and sticky, by his calves, tempting Jack with his unkempt hair, glimpses of bare flesh cloaked under his afghan, and his shy smile._

_Ianto's finger glided down the hard lines of Jack's stomach. On contact, his abdomen flexed._

_"And I have decided," Jack declared as he stretched his foot towards Ianto and stroked the inside of his bare knee, "that you are compliment-deficit."_

_Ianto stared at the foot stroking his knee. He acted like he wasn't sure if he wanted to blush because of the foot or glower at the remark. He opted for both. Jack grinned at the pink ears._

_"I'm just saying," Ianto scoffed and tweaked Jack's big toe, "that I'm finding myself more and more intrigued with what we can do than be mortified at what we've done."_

_Jack's smile faltered. Like he said, compliment-deficit. "So you didn't like it before?"_

_Ianto's head shot up, his eyes wide. "What? No! I mean I'm getting used to it."_

_"Used to it?" It felt like a Weevil just brained him. Or gutted him. Maybe both._

_"No, no, no, no, no! I didn't mean it the way it sound—"_

_Jack swung his legs around the edge of the bunk. "Look, if you have to get used to something like this, then maybe—" An arm around his neck and he was pulled back down against Ianto's chest._

_"Oof!" Ianto grunted. "You're heavy."_

_Jack couldn't help but snicker to himself. He forgave Ianto the moment the young man grabbed him, wanting him to stay. "Great, so now you're calling me fat too?"_

_The panicked stammering was too cute. Jack twisted around, winked and kissed Ianto on the nose._

_Ianto glowered at him. "Do you know how close I came to thinking I needed to buy you flowers and chocolates?" Ianto demanded. "I don't know if you're joking when you say things like that!"_

_Jack rubbed up against Ianto, his warm, firm skin like silk against him. Jack kissed the corner of Ianto's mouth as he kneeled between Ianto's legs, the ladder cool against his back._

_"Get used to it," Jack murmured. He stopped short, but too late, he said it. His chest twisted at the thought. He didn't mean to imply anything with it—their lives were too short to indulge in longevity with him—but Ianto looked so pleased, so surprised. Jack didn't have the heart to take it back._

_Jack recovered quickly. "And for the record, I like roses." He cupped Ianto's balls and rolled them between his fingers and watched the flush on Ianto's ears go down his entire body._

_"Know what else I'm getting used to?" Ianto smirked. He wrapped his legs around Jack's middle and pulled Jack down on top of him. Ianto's eyes grew dark with invitation._

_"Getting dressed really fast," Ianto murmured. He dangled his stopwatch in front of Jack. "Tosh doesn't come in for another hour." His smile grew coy. "I only need ten to shower and change."_

_Jack raised a brow, his previous gloom fading. "Ten minutes, huh? That leaves us fifty minutes."_

_"Forty nine minutes and counting," Ianto corrected. His mouth twisted as he pulled Jack to his mouth. His engorged cock bumped Jack's hip. "So hurry up and fuck me."_

_A spiral of pleasure danced down his spine. "Mm," Jack hummed as he hovered over Ianto's kiss-swollen mouth. "Bossy. I could get use to that." There was that damn twinge of longing again._

_"Good," Ianto said just before he wrapped his legs tighter around Jack. He sealed his mouth over Jack's before Jack could chastise himself for fantasizing._

 

_…thrum-thrum…tap-tap…_

The kiss at the corner of his mouth broke him away from the memory. Only darkness and silence greeted him when he woke. Jack's heart sank when he realized it was a memory from before, just a brief memory of an all too short life with beautiful Ianto Jones. God, he had wasted so much time.

The sickening soup of rage, of the raw, burning sensation of being gutted over and over rivaled the darkness and drumming currently haunting him. It distracted him from the…other things that were happening; things that no longer had any consequence, no longer meant anything. The churning, jagged edged emotions anchored him away from the painful pounding filling his ears.

Jack lay there, as still and unresponsive as he could be. There was a dark coil of satisfaction knotting in his gut. He could feel the frustration in the clawed hands digging into his shoulders, the insistent presses to his shut mouth. 

The draining came quicker than usual and Jack thought bitterly that maybe the bastard was sick and tired of foreplay. Fine by him. Lucy Saxon believed only in foreplay; usually with a knife, climaxing to inevitable and usually painful death. These two were a matched set.

The feeling of growing heavier, more lethargic, was deceptive and Jack supposed it was better than the burning, tearing agony of the machine the Do—no, the _Master_ used to favor.

… _thrum-thrum…tap-tap…_

Shut the hell up, Jack snarled to his head. It had been nothing but this crap since the Master had sealed him into this pit of nothingness. It had been screaming non-stop in his ears and it took most of Jack's concentration to ignore it.

The pull in him increased. Once, Jack would have just lain there and let the bastard take everything he wanted in order to fix him. Jack now tensed in his mind. He felt the insistent tugging; the gnawing at the edges of his mind and Jack tried to imagine a wall, brick by brick, fortified against a madman's hunger.

After a while, Jack could feel the Master give up and he braced himself when the Master drew closer.

And kissed his brow.

Jack nearly jerked. What the hell?

A hand carded through his hair, carefully, so tentatively that Jack almost thought it was Ianto. But no, it wasn't him. It couldn't ever be him again. And the reminder made the gentle gesture on his hair all the more painful to endure.

The hand pulled away and Jack could feel the bed give as the Master left. 

Huh. That was new. Jack brushed it aside. There was no time to contemplate, no time to dwell, no time to remember. He pulled at his chains carefully. When no one tried to stop him, he pulled harder until he felt a burning in his shoulder.

_…thrum-thrum…tap-tap…_

Seriously, Jack asked it wearily. Couldn't you play anything else? How about some Glenn Miller?

The rhythmic beat muted.

Jack would have cheered, crowed at the darkness, but opted instead to keep tugging at his chains. His ankles complained, his thighs burned with the effort but Toshiko had told him the chains were merely bolted to the wall above his head and the floor. And bolted means screws and concrete and all the loose, flaked rock that can crack and grate and…

This time, something that wasn't his shoulder gave.

Jack allowed himself the luxury of a smirk. 

Time passed slowly in Jack's mind. He knew Tish was supposed to come in with his meal soon. He tried to remember what she looked like, having caught a glimpse of her scared face when Martha's family was dragged onto the bridge. But all he could see was _his_ face, his shock frozen and caught by the rift manipulator. Morbidly, Jack wondered if he had died with that same look or was it grief when he realized he had spent his life away on an immortal. 

His eyes pricked.

Not now, Jack hissed to himself. He blinked rapidly. He couldn't do this now. Later. After this was over and he had expended what was brewing in his gut in some dark hole somewhere, preferably with a couple bottles of good scotch. 

Jack wrapped his hands around the chains on his cuffs and yanked as hard as he could. He gritted his teeth and pulled. The chains in his grasp trembled. Abruptly, he stopped.

It was like the air changed, heavier on his skin. Jack couldn't explain it. 

Someone was here.

Great, maybe he's developed echolocation. No, that would mean he would have to hear. Crap, why was he thinking about this _now_?

Jack stilled but he could feel the person's approach like a growing breeze against his face. 

The feather brief ' _T_ ' made him relax a little. He felt the bed ease under him. Seconds later, Toshiko leaned in so her hair brushed against his face. 

"Toshiko," Jack greeted. The tension in his back eased completely. 

A teacup was pressed against his teeth and Jack drank gratefully the tepid water. Toshiko always brought it with her whenever she could get away.

"Thanks," Jack whispered. He didn't realize he was thirsty until the cool liquid passed through his throat. 

Toshiko rubbed his arms vigorously without him asking. Her delicate hands massaged away the chill that always seemed to linger after Saxon's visits. She dug her fingers gently into his calves through his trousers. She was careful around his ankles, coaxing circulation back into his limbs. Pins and needles always flared in his fingers and toes but quickly his own body's healing took over.

Jack flexed his hands and feet.

' _OK_ ' she stroked on his jaw.

Jack shrugged then aborted it when his shoulders protested. 

"Everything on your side ready?" Jack asked instead.

' _Y_ '

Jack took a deep breath. "When you do hear the alarms, Clive will hit the engines. When those sirens start, Tish has to get that thing to the Doctor. He knows how to use it. And you…" He clenched his fists. "Just be careful, Tosh. Okay?"

' _OK_ ' A pause and Tosh made an odd swirl on his cheek. Jack frowned to himself. When she made the symbol again, Jack realized it was a question mark. 

Another tug with his right arm and he felt something give. Tosh started and the bed bounced a little. 

Jack smirked towards her direction.

"I have a lot of free time on my hands," Jack told her. He felt Tosh swat his arm and knew she was grinning. He returned the smile, but it faltered as he realized there was still one more thing.

"You know what this means though?" Jack sobered.

There was a long pause before a trembling finger reached over and shaped a shaky ' _Y_ ' on his jaw.

Jack exhaled and felt Tosh lower her head on his chest. Her hands gripped his sides.

"If there was any other way or if I could do this myself…" Jack murmured.

Tosh shook her head on top of his chest, but her hands curled tighter on him. He could feel his shirt dampen with moisture.

"I am sorry, Toshiko," Jack murmured.

Toshiko nodded on top of him.

There was so much more Jack wanted to say, to Toshiko, to the Doctor, even to Ianto if it was possible. But the words died in his mouth and dried like ash. There were needs far beyond his own that Jack had to consider. Daleks, Cybermen, Abbadon and now the Master. A world was at stake before, now possibly a universe. What was next? Jack wanted to shout to the heavens. What else would cut in front of the line? When can he just lie down and let time go on without him?

The head was heavy on his chest and didn't move, but even blind, trapped in the dark, Jack could feel time ticking away around them. There was no time for luxuries like sorrow or fear or even anger. 

It was ironic that while he had all the time in the world, everyone else had only seconds, and seconds might be all that stands between Saxon's madness and the Doctor’s and the universe's survival. 

Jack didn't have the heart to remind Tosh though when he felt her fingers twist around his filthy shirt. He didn't need to because he could feel her draw in a shuddering breath after a moment. She sat up, her hands back on his arms to rub them again.

"Ready?" Jack asked quietly.

The finger was steadier when her hand lingered on his jaw before grazing out a ' _Y_ '.

 

Francine Jones wearily set her bucket down in the lavatories. There were times when she simply wanted to toss the bucket at Lucy Saxon or better yet, the Master. Especially after they wheeled the poor Doctor around in his wheelchair to show him the windows and the waves of Toclafane zipping by to devour the world. Like they were taking him to the zoo. 

At the doorway, Francine rested her head by the threshold. She wanted to weep but she couldn't summon the tears. It seemed easier when Clive, smelling like steamy engines and sweat, held her. It felt easier to cry on his chest when Tish and Toshiko Sato slept, and Clive held her. Crying now wondering about Martha, about Leo and his family, about the world seemed insurmountable without Clive. How strange when months ago—a lifetime ago—she had wanted nothing more than to throw a brick at him.

It was almost the time when Saxon's guards would retrieve them to escort them back to their cells. If their tasks weren't done, no one in their cell would get to eat. 

Francine pulled away from the door. Her shoulders ached as she dragged the bucket—it was too heavy to carry around these days—into the first stall. Her face screwed up with disgust at what she met inside. Filthy pigs, all of them.

There was a sniffle behind her.

Francine tensed. She made the mistake of walking in on Lucy Saxon once. The woman was applying makeup to a cut on her face, mascara running down and ruining her rouge. The sorrow in her posture beckoned Francine and she stepped into the lavatory before she could reconsider. Lucy Saxon spun around, her eyes a milky white. Francine started, stumbled out of the bathroom all the while Lucy Saxon screamed obscenities at her. It was the last time Francine saw her in the general baths and Tish was forced to work in the bunks that night. She wasn't returned back to their cell until two days later, her fingertips all rubbed raw from scrubbing. 

A faucet squeaked and water trickled out. Another sniffle made Francine peer out of the stall. The black uniform made her both relax and tense. 

"Tish?" Francine whispered. 

The sniffling stopped but the faucet still gurgled. The glimpse of the black uniform grew into the shape of a familiar person.

"Toshiko?" Francine's hesitation was gone when she saw Toshiko's bloodstained fingers under the running water.

"What happened?" Francine smiled gently as she took the young Japanese woman's hands into hers. Toshiko looked to be around Martha's age. Francine tsked at the sight of her hands and gave her soapy fingers, red from the steamy water, a brief squeeze.

Toshiko gave her a watery smile.

"Sorry," she offered shakily. "You were cleaning in here, weren't you?" Toshiko indicated the bloody smears on the sink and mirror. A porcelain shard lay at the bottom of the sink.

Francine gripped Toshiko's hands tightly and she led them to the water again, her thumbs wiping at the blood. To her relief, Toshiko's wrists were whole.

"I didn't try to kill myself." Toshiko sounded almost amused, mostly sad though. "I won't give them the satisfaction." Her smile was fragile, gone when she pulled her hands away to pick up the red tipped shard from the sink. 

"Teacup," Toshiko explained. "A fork wouldn't have been…sharp enough."

Francine stared at her, understanding blooming slowly into something darker and painful that made her wish Clive was here again. Without warning, she pulled Toshiko to her chest. The young woman started and tried to pull away.

"Ah child," Francine sighed. Toshiko stilled. "You did that all by yourself?"

"Who else can?" The muffled sniff by her throat reminded her so much of Martha. Francine hoped she had someone to hold her like this as well. 

"You shouldn't have done it yourself, Toshiko," Francine whispered and planted a light kiss on her hair.

Toshiko slowly drew up her arms as if she weren't sure before finally wrapping them around Francine's waist.

"It was better that it was me," Toshiko murmured, her voice growing stronger. "I rather it was me."

"I just wished we could have helped."

"You're all risking so much already. I needed to do my part." Toshiko sounded almost proud, like Martha when she announced her residency. "I'm almost finished."

There was a glimmer of something fluttering in her chest. It loosened the vise that gripped her heart. Hope, Francine thought. It was hope. She'd barely recognized it. 

"So," Francine murmured as Toshiko pulled away, "we're really going to do this then?"

Toshiko with her red-rimmed eyes, her blood soaked hands, stared back at her and gave Francine a curt but determined nod.

Francine felt a shiver in her bones. She wasn't sure if it was fear or excitement. "So…what now?"

"Now," Toshiko said in a calm voice, "we wait."

Francine stared back at the determined and grim smile. A smirk spread on her face.

"I can do that."

 

**Tambov, Russia**   
**One week later…**

There had been a point in time when Gwen had fancied taking a year to travel and see the world. Maybe with Rhys. Maybe alone. Just her, a rucksack, and maybe a camera.

This wasn't how she'd imagined it. 

Crouched low by the tarp-covered truck that smelled like ozone and citrus, Gwen slipped her fingers in and took one more orange from the bushels. She was careful to take only one from each otherwise if Saxon's men thought the people were stealing them like before…Gwen swallowed hard. 

From afar, Gwen knew all these people saw was a truck covered in dusty canvas, parked in front of what used to be a post office. The building looked like a colorful acropolis from Greece. It looked just as wrecked and abandoned and now served as headquarters for the hybrid army of Saxon's people, UNIT troopers and Toclafane. 

With the key close to her heart, Gwen was invisible to bystanders' dispirited eyes even in the bright daylight. No one had his or her head up long enough to care to see her arm go deep into the supply truck. No one dared to approach the truck. No one dared to try to grab food from the rations before it was time. Duty first these people were told. Duty first working on the skeletal frames of the rockets that towered over the distant horizon before they were paid in bowls of protein slop and orange segments. 

Her rucksack felt full, filled with citrus and protein siphoned from the trucks. There was even some bread that Gwen had snipped off a loaf from a corrupt overseer, brazen enough to embezzle food under the Toclaflanes' guard. 

But instead of triumph for her successful incursion, all Gwen could feel was shame. How many were for the children squatting in the dirt? They were too afraid to play with the stray dog with its chewed left ear and bushy stumpy tail barking in the street. The children only waited for their parents to come home. They shrank from the floating, gleaming orbs, hoping the Toclafane wouldn't deem them old enough to crawl into mines. No one ever returned from there.

There were still shopkeepers and policemen—Saxon's sheriffs now—that filled the city. It was a cruel reminder of a once vibrant city now reduced to a village. Used clothing and possessions of the dead were the only offerings now, bartered for some extra food or for immunity from work. Now, the only traffic was the trucks of people who worked and the trucks of the dead who no longer could.

"You shouldn't stay in one place for too long."

Gwen started. She glared over her shoulder at Owen, who smirked. Somewhere, he'd found a ratty looking green and red striped knit cap to jam over his ears. Just as well. He nearly lost part of a lobe to frostbite a few weeks ago.

"How long have you been standing there?" Gwen shouldered her rucksack before she could hit Owen with it. Gwen frowned when she realized Owen was alone.

"Long enough to see you thinking about stealing that guard's smokes," Owen quipped. He grabbed her by the elbow and steered her to an alley across from the truck. Barely an alley; they needed to stand side by side to fit.

"Shame on you, Cooper," Owen drawled as he searched through her sack, nodding at her wares. He beamed as he counted the oranges. "Smoking kills or haven't you heard?"

"Sod off," Gwen whispered. She glanced up and down at Owen. "Took you long enough."

"We went to check on that site." Owen nodded towards the horizon. The rockets stood like pikes in the sky. "They're not missiles from what we could tell, but the plans for whatever they are, are up there." Owen pointed skyward.

"Great," Gwen grumbled. She paused and considered Owen, unsure of his reaction. "She's getting famous, you know? People are saying things."

Owen grunted, unimpressed. "What wonderful things are they saying now?"

"That she's traveling the world on foot. That she's here to fight Saxon." At Owen's scoff, Gwen shrugged.

"She gives them hope, Owen."

"Hope," Owen repeated. His face screwed up as if he had smelled something foul.

Gwen didn't have to turn around to see him roll his eyes. She nodded and looked across the street. The dog was now sniffing around the feet of a little girl. A boy, her brother perhaps, shoved at its muzzle. The dog whined.

"Sometimes it's all we can do. Give them hope." She frowned again and twisted around. "Where's…?"

"Heard there's an airstrip near here. Used to be military." Owen stared warily at the Toclafane that drifting by, bobbing in the air like barrel-less apples. "Went to recon and see if there’re any planes going up to the _Valiant_."

The hair in the back on her neck rose. "Recon? _Alone_?"

Owen shrugged, but his face was dark.

"Owen—"

"No common sense whatsoever," Owen growled. "We're pissing around the world and all I hear is we have to go back, the Doctor said this, the Doctor said that—"

"If the Doctor did come up with a plan—"

" _Fuck the Doctor_!" Owen snarled.

"Owen!" Gwen pushed his head down and they squatted in the cramped space.

Gwen stared at the Toclafane that stopped in mid-air in front of them, so close that Gwen could see the openings for its spikes. 

The lights winked as the metallic orb hummed. Gwen clutched Owen's knee and she felt Owen pull out his gun, his eyes narrowed, his fist steady around the gun. 

The Toclafane beeped and gave a little bounce mid-air.

Gwen thought about her mobile sitting in her pocket. She recharged it every chance she could despite the pitying looks and Owen's scoffs. It stayed silent up on the mountains, down to India, across Russia. As Gwen stared up at the Toclafane, too afraid to breathe, all she could think of was the mobile in her pocket.

Lights danced rapidly across its face and the ball rotated slowly.

Owen nudged Gwen to go, his pistol aimed at it, his mouth a hard and unhappy slit across his face. Gwen pressed her mouth together and tucked her hand in her jacket for her gun, the other hand still clawed over Owen's knee.

The stray dog suddenly came up barking at the Toclafane with spittle in its mouth. The dog shook, fur trembling as it snarled. The sphere spun around it, giggling madly, and the dog whined. There was a little zap at the canine's rump. The dog yelped and made a little leap in the air. It took off and suddenly there were half a dozen Toclafane zipping past to give chase.

They stared out of the alley across at the children cringing by the buildings. The children didn't look up when the dog began to howl or when the childlike giggling turned to high pitched screeching. 

The barking suddenly stopped.

That same little girl buried her face into her drawn knees and began to cry.

Gwen lowered her eyes and stared hard at the ground.

"Sorry," Owen said, his voice was lower again. His hand shook as he tucked in his gun. "Sorry."

"Come on," Gwen rasped. Her vision blurred until an angry swipe across her eyes with the back of her arm. She got to her feet and turned roughly away from the children. "Let's see if there is a flight up there."

Owen simply nodded. He looked out of the alley again, stood there for a long time, before he followed without comment.

 

**Act IV**   
**Valiant**   
**Two weeks later…**

Lucy was sitting in her chair on the bridge when Harry returned, once more looking very frustrated and oddly subdued. He smiled briefly at her, gave the bridge a cursory glance before he stared out the window, his hands clasped behind his back. Lucy studied his back, her lips pursed.

It was different from the erratic swings of murderous madness to almost frightening glee which occurred before every time he returned from _him_.

She wasn't sure she liked the change. 

"Come on, Gramps, how about some checkers, hm?"

Harry, bored with staring out the window at what remained of Russia, at the multiple rockets that stood like porcupine hairs on the surface, diverted his attentions to the Doctor sitting inside his tent on the lower floor. Harry was on his knees, peering into the tent. He slapped his palms in that odd tempo he often favored on the floor, whistling as if beckoning a dog.

"No? Pity, I was going to tell you another daily adventure of the Master and his _Companion_."

Lucy lowered her head. As she watched her husband—no, Harry wanted her to call him _Master_ now—prattle on to the defeated Doctor through the tent opening, Lucy bunched her hands into fists on her lap.

"…endless power, this time vortex. To think you left it untapped. You even ran _away_ from it!" Harry rocked back on his heels and threw his head back in laughter. "I, from the last great war with the Daleks and you, from your very own Companion! I wonder if this was part of our curriculum in the Academy I'd forgotten. _'Instruction on Running Away, Level one'_?"

"How do you know about that?"

Lucy smirked to herself when the Doctor broke his self-imposed silence. It was a reed-thin voice that escaped out of the tent. Harry looked so pleased, Lucy didn't chastise the two Jones females when they stopped what they were doing to stare.

Harry winked at her, rose to his feet and dropped into a chair backwards.

"Why, our Captain told me." Harry's hand went up like a puppet and made it mouth his words. "Quite a chatterbox, really. Yap, yap, yap. Couldn’t shut him up the normal way." 

Lucy looked away at Harry's smug sneer and swallowed.

"You're lying." The Doctor sounded stunned, his voice unsteady, but it strengthened in the next breath. "He didn't know about that. He wouldn't have told you."

"Oh, sure, _now_ he doesn't know about it." Harry chuckled darkly. "Shame on you, keeping secrets from your companions. _I'll_ have to tell him."

"Leave him alone."

Even weakened with age forced upon him, the Doctor's voice carried a tone that ordered he was not to be ignored. Even Harry paused for a moment, but he recovered with a fury in his eyes that made Lucy cringe even from afar.

" _I_ leave him alone? Like you did?" Harry hissed. "I came back for him when no one else would."

Lucy stared out of the porthole she sat under. She missed the violet tear in the sky and its waterfall of their children falling out of darkness and into the light Harry created for them. The endless unblemished blue sky grated her, like fingernails scratching her skin constantly. 

"Why him?"

Yes, Lucy thought as she settled her hand on the porthole glass. It was a very good question.

"He absorbed the time vortex, one of your companions, and contributed to my downfall in your name." Harry stood from his chair. Abruptly, he gave the chair a kick and it loudly collided with the young Jones girl, Pish or something like that. She started, giving a pitiful cry when it struck her in the back of her knees. She buried her face in her mother's shoulder.

"I am here to return the favor,' Harry breathed. His hands smoothed down his suit. "Your downfall, in my name now. A tool in my plan, nothing more."

"Liar."

The word was low as an exhale but sharp as a dagger. Lucy flinched. Everyone around Harry did.

Harry seemed to ignite with a fury Lucy hadn't seen in a long time. She reveled in it, yet feared it at the same time.

" _What_?" Harry hissed.

"It might have been your original plan, but something's changed, hasn't it? Something even you can't understand."

The Doctor's tone was calm, knowing. It spoke with a certainty that infuriated Harry.

"You _need_ him to hear the drumming."

Lucy's breath froze in her chest.

"I. Do. Not. Need. Him," the Master snarled. Lucy shrank back in her seat.

"It must have been hard for you, to realize you were the only one who could hear it, the only one who knew what the drumming meant. Here you are, trying to get him to hear it like you can and he can't."

"Oh, he heard it all right," the Master breathed. Lucy watched as he approached the tent. From her perch, she couldn't see the Doctor but the Pish girl cringed, her eyes riveted to them.

"He heard me and stopped you."

Lucy smirked.

"But that was all."

Lucy's smile faded the same time Harry's did. 

"And now he's fighting you, isn't he? He's denying you the vortex in him."

"There are other ways to get it," Harry snapped. He looked up, seeking Lucy. His smile, however, was a pale copy of before. 

"But you're not using them, are you?"

"Harry?" Lucy called out in a hushed voice. She felt numb all over.

Her Harry said nothing. When he looked away from her, it felt like she was staring into the darkness of Utopia again.

"Let me help you," the Doctor whispered. "What you're doing, what you're feeding on, it's driving you to madness. The drumming won't go away. Not like this. None of this will help. Only if you stop."

Harry stared hard down at the tent. He looked away, his eyes unreadable.

"You're wrong," Harry seethed. He narrowed his eyes, turned back and sneered. "Wasn't that what you told him?"

"I never did," the Doctor protested weakly out of the tent.

Harry stared at the Doctor with what looked like pity. "Ah, but you did. You just don't know it yet."

The Doctor fell silent.

"Nothing more to say?" Harry sniffed. He gestured with two fingers in the air. The older Jones woman brought back the chair for Harry to sit down on. He clasped his hands together and touched his pursed lips.

"Well then, you're a boring conversationalist. Whatever happened to that endless prattle? Shame. I'm always the one to carry the party." Harry threw up his arms. "Ah, well, where were we last time? Ah yes, Malcassairo! Meeting the Malmooth. Very tragic. Such painful memories there. I cut my hand when we were visiting—Ooh, did I mention their race died out because of a genetic mutation? Very sad. Very sad." Harry tapped his chin, deep in thought.

"Where was I? Oh yes. My _Captain_ ," Harry chuckled low. 

Lucy couldn't hear any more. She got up from her seat, trembling, but took great care to go down the stairs as steadily as possible.

"I'll be in our chambers," Lucy announced, grateful her voice was steady even as her very skin vibrated. 

Harry never looked up. He just nodded, his eyes fixed on the dark opening through the ratty tent flap. Lucy could see worn trainers out of the shadows. She could see a quiet gaze, too alert and too knowing for his physical age. Lucy turned away. She stared straight ahead, ignored the maids around her and aimed for the door.

"…he was just sleeping there, couldn't…"

It was fortunate the guards with their blank obedient faces opened the doors otherwise she surely would have flung them open herself. As they shut behind her with a subdued thud, fury bubbled up her throat, her skin shrank around her and it took everything in her power not to run.

 

_"Vanilla."_

_Jack snorted and pointed at Ianto with his fork from his seat on the sofa. "You? Yeah, right. More like that mocha fudge chocolate chip ripple thing you like."_

_Ianto sat on Owen's chair with the magazine on his lap. "That's not one of the choices," he chided. Ianto propped his feet up on another chair and took great care to iron out the wrinkles on his trousers and the unbuttoned shirt he wore with his hands._

_Jack smiled at Ianto. "Only you can look that good in your bare feet."_

_"Thank you," Ianto murmured, his cheeks pink as he cast an amused look his way. "And only you can look that comfortable having cake, sitting on the couch." Ianto's brow arched high. "Naked," Ianto drawled. He folded his arms in front of his chest._

_"What is it with you? I'm dressed!" Jack spread his arms wide and there it was, a full-blown blush from Mr. Ianto Jones._

_"In your coat!"_

_"You said it was cold and that I should wear my coat!" Jack stared pointedly down at himself._

_"I meant along with your clothes, not just!" Not really angry, but his face flushed as if he were, Ianto dropped his gaze to his reading material again._

_Jack licked his fork clean of the butter pecan frosting and he stared at Ianto, shirtless, balanced between two seats, and blinking blearily at the magazine on his lap._

_"You know," Jack murmured, "You don't have to stay up with me. I told you. I don't sleep much."_

_"Not if you keep eating cake at three ten in the morning," Ianto scoffed. He yawned behind a fist._

_Jack chuckled and thought about how Ianto's hair was still stuck up on the right due to sleeping spooned behind Jack with all the warmth of a blanket._

_"You should go back to sleep," Jack told him. He smiled at Ianto. Watching Ianto squinting sleepily at the magazine, it struck Jack how young Ianto really was. How he should be somewhere else. Yet Jack couldn't imagine Ianto anywhere else. God, he was a selfish bastard._

_Ianto looked up at Jack. "Are you coming?" He cocked his head to the side and studied Jack. Ianto shook his head. "Then, no, thank you." He made a big show of turning the page. "Just answer the question please. Vanilla or chocolate?"_

_"Ianto—"_

_"Vanilla or chocolate?" Ianto insisted._

_Jack sighed, giving up because they had had this conversation—not the vanilla/chocolate one—far too many times and he still had yet to catch Ianto napping by his desk._

_"Vanilla," Jack decided quickly. "I guess I am a vanilla then."_

_"Really? That doesn't seem like you."_

_"Okay, chocolate!"_

_Ianto pursed his lips. "Nope. At least not just that. Maybe both."_

_Jack waved his fork at him. "Now who's cheating? That's not a choice there. You can't choose both."_

_"Why not?" Ianto looked cross._

_Jack stared. "Because the quiz says to pick the most appropriate."_

_"Which were both." Ianto closed the magazine and stared at Jack, his fatigue suddenly gone. "You shouldn't feel like you can only choose one, Jack."_

_It was strange to be watched with such intensity yet so devoid of disgust. Jack stared at his cake and pushed his fork down on the dessert._

_"Those are not the rules, Ianto," Jack muttered. He set the plate aside, his appetite lost._

_"Sod the rules."_

_"Easier said than done," Jack sighed. "You can't have both."_

_"Well apparently you can have your cake," Ianto gestured towards Jack with the magazine rolled up, "and eat it too." He bared his teeth at Jack. "I see nothing wrong with that."_

_Jack stared at the cheeky grin. He laughed but a part of him couldn't. "You are a fool."_

_"Who's the bigger fool? The fool, or the fool who follows him?" Ianto quipped._

_Jack laughed harder. He reveled in the sensation warm in his chest. "What are you? A fortune cookie?"_

_Ianto chuckled and he shook his head, smiling. "Never mind. Are you coming back to bed or not?"_

_"Do I have a choice?"_

_Ianto suddenly looked very serious. "Always. You always have a choice." Suddenly he smiled, his eyes warm and brighter than any star he knew. "One is your cake, the other is me in your bed."_

_Jack stuck the fork in his mouth and gave it some thought. He grinned, his brow waggling._

_"How about cake, on you, in my bed?"_

_Ianto never said anything but the red flush on his skin didn't look to be from modesty. He sat there, tracking Jack as Jack drew closer. Ianto took the plate from Jack's hand, took an inch of sleeve and steered for his office and the hatchway._

_"By the way…why the hell did Owen have a Cosmopolitan magazine in his desk?"_

_"I haven't the faintest."_

 

Jack could still taste the sweet and salty tang of butter pecan and Ianto's skin in his mouth when the first cut jerked him out from memory, dream, or whatever it was that could feel so good to be in it, bitter and raw out of it. Jack kept his eyes closed. Somehow, it doesn't hurt as much this way.

Another slice. This time, near the bony ridge of his hip. Fire crawled up his skin.

Aw crap, the Master's Lucy. Great, back for her next session. First the Master comes in here, sitting and talking most of the time after trying to pare off whatever was renewing inside him and now his wife playing sushi chef. What was he, their marriage counselor? 

Jack could feel her knees on either side of him. Lucy Saxon straddled him, had yanked his clothes up under his arms, her claws digging into his chest. Her body felt like it was shaking with an odd mix of grief, rage and fear.

It was hard to try to not struggle under Lucy, her hair unraveling and cascading over her face and brushing up against his face like cobwebs. 

Jack clenched his teeth at the next cut. He could feel the chains on his wrists grow taut as he pulled, but Lucy Saxon never took notice. She was apparently too determined to carve him out of his skin to perceive anything else.

One cut, closer to a stab, but only deep enough to scorch his nerves but not numb his body, made his eyes fly open. Jack couldn't stop himself from groaning. White light flared when his eyes opened. What greeted him was insanity.

Lucy's normally pale skin was flushed. She looked strangely seductive in the black silk dress she wore, practically glowing under the blinding light, her exposed arms waving wildly as she clutched a six inch dagger with both hands high in the air. She acted like she wasn't sure if she wanted to cut him or herself. Her eyes were wide, brighter in their starkness and unseeing as she thrashed on top of him like in some kind of fit.

Madness, Jack thought as he fought not to react to her shrill screaming, actually suited her.

"…searched forever. I gave up my face, my _life_ for him. _Me._ And all he could think about is his _Companion_."

Ouch, Jack thought as he flexed his arms and kept yanking at the chains. He could feel one bolt pop in his right chain. Almost. Damn it, just a little more. He didn't want to get skewered before he finished.

"…was changing the universe, said we would reshape the darkness from returning. But he no longer wants my help, he's hungered for the vortex, he _will_ becomethe vortex, and he only now wants what I can't give."

His left chain quivered before it became completely slack.

"I fed off the vortex. I saw all of creation, saw what he saw, but I didn't hear the drumming. I couldn't. _It wasn't good enough_!"

Lucy was still screaming. Jack had a feeling she was like this every time she had been here before. 

His right chain shook after he pulled with his shoulder. The chain jerked then loosened as well.

"He says you can hear the drumming," Lucy whispered, her body stilling. Jack didn't like the fact she stopped shaking. She raised her dagger high above her head. "I wonder if you can still hear it if I cut your heart out."

Jack bunched his hands into fists and looked right at her.

"Probably not," Jack quipped.

Lucy's eyes widened when she realized Jack's eyes were focused on her with clarity. She hissed, her face contorted with rage. With a shriek, her dagger sailed downwards towards him.

Jack yanked his arms forward. Bolts exploded out of the wall behind him just as his hands caught the dagger right at the hilt, his metal manacles catching the tip a hair's breath from his chest.

"Guards! Gu—"

A short cuff snapped her head back. Lucy dropped over his body without another word. 

Jack's chest heaved. He winced as Lucy rolled off him, landing prone on the other side of the bed.

Jack felt behind him and the crystal Tosh had pried out weeks before fell easily into his hand. Jack pulled it around to stare at it. The thin wire Tosh said it was connected to was gone, but the crystal no longer sparkled due to the blood caked around it. He made a face and crushed the square glass between two fingers. He clapped his hands together to wipe the disgusting debris off. He looked at Lucy, slumped senseless on the bed. Jack grimaced. He shook his fists. The chains still connected to his cuffs rattled lightly.

"Doesn't matter what century," Jack muttered as he made a face at Lucy, "that was just _so_ wrong."

It was all Jack could spare for Lucy. There was too much at stake hinging on his escape to worry about common decency. He grabbed the blood tipped dagger from her limp hands and began working on getting his thick bindings off.

 

Clive hoped the time was getting close and looked for a sign from Toshiko Sato when she came down to help him in the engines every morning. He looked forward to her visits to help him sort out the multitude of controls and gauges. Even though they weren't allowed to talk to each other, she was still welcome company.

This morning, Toshiko touched the side of her nose. Three times. 

Clive nodded to her before Saxon's guards took her to her next task. His gut tightened when he realized this was it. All those nights promising his family that this will end soon. To know it was close enough to taste made his hands shake as he mopped the floor, swishing greasy water around on the grimy floor. His fists nearly snapped the mop he held when he thought about the chance to wrap his hands around Saxon's scrawny neck. 

Under the guards' watch, he casually toed a bucket of soap water closer to himself and moved deeper into the labyrinth of steaming pipes. Clive positioned himself by the pipe he'd been slowly scrapping the rusty housing off with a spoon.

And waited. 

 

Francine watched from her corner as Talan, or Tayla, whoever the poor girl was, stood over the Master to massage his shoulders. He was still talking, occasionally murmuring his approval, still prattling on about what he did to poor Jack Harkness in the Doctor's stolen ship.

Francine shuddered as words drifted over to where she wiped the chair closest to her. 

The Doctor never uttered a sound. He was forced to sit in his wheelchair, parked in front of the Master after the Master was sick of him staying inside his tent. There was no expression on that spotted and lined face but Francine could see his gnarled hands curling around the armrests during certain recounts.

But then, the Doctor glanced over to her and his right hand counted out three fingers on the armrest.

Francine, under the pretense of wiping the table, nodded.

And waited.

 

Toshiko hesitated in front of the doorway where the processors were, just below the bridge. They were all aligned with Saxon's reign: his satellites, his communication lines to the world below, everything to rule a planet, high above, ticking away in heartless bytes. 

The keypad by the door taunted her. It was different from the others, possibly harder to hack. And out of reach. Three guards watched the hallway and there was no guarantee the room was empty. Toshiko hoped it was. She'd observed it each time she was here, but it wasn't a precise conclusion. So much could go wrong.

It was an odd task. Toshiko still wasn't sure why the Doctor wanted her to do what it was he wanted her to do. But Jack said it must be important.

So she took her time cleaning the lavatory across from the room.

And waited.

 

Jack grimaced at the sight of the dais and the all too familiar tubing that lined the room. He recognized the containers, like the ones in Canary Wharf: portable power cells. Harkness power shake special. Two were cracked open, glass everywhere and the rest huddled empty up against a wall. He wasn't sure why the Master never connected him up to the dais, stopped feeding off him that way. Jack wasn't going to complain either. It _hurt_ the last time he was hooked up to those things, even with PV-35 pumping endlessly in his veins. It almost made the alternative better.

Not by much though.

The greatcoat was nowhere to be found and it was with a little regret that Jack gave up looking for it and just settled for his boots. He ran over in his mind the verbal schematics of what Tosh had told him about where everything was. Guards around the right corner, the bridge three levels directly up from there.

Jack hefted Lucy's dagger in his hand, testing its weight. It was an impressive blade. It looked like a lightning bolt, with enough corners and edges to make it hurt more going out than going in. He could feel his own wounds finally sealing, drying, and only pulling whenever he reached for anything. He checked behind him and decided the torn sheets and ripped tubing should hold Lucy Saxon, keep her quiet for now, give him enough time to do what he needed.

Guards around the corner to his right. No guards to the left. 

But the bridge was to the right. To the left, it would mean crawlways and too many turns to reach the Master.

Jack set his jaw. He thought about bright eyes and promises in the dark. He thought about gentle touches that chased away nightmares and soothed away raw pain with faith, with hope, with lo—

Right, it is.

 

**Valiant**

Francine's head shot up when an alarm sang out.

"Prisoner escaping!" someone reported from the elevated bridge level. "Condition red!"

The Master shoved away his masseuse and went up the bridge three steps at a time.

Tish swooped in, grabbed his jacket off the table just as a second alarm wailed out and the lights flickered. She tossed the jacket to the Doctor, who caught it and grabbed the laser screwdriver out of its pocket and aimed—

At the waiting Master. 

"Well, well," the Master drawled. He stood there at the landing, his hands up, smirking. He never flinched as the Doctor steadied his arms in front of him.

The Master sneered.

"You're a bit ahead of schedule," the Master commented, "I was wondering when you and your merry band were going to try this." His eyes shone. 

"Aren't you going to shoot?" Saxon spread his arms apart. He tapped a spot on his chest. "Right here, yoo hoo. Dead center."

Francine held her breath when the Doctor fumbled with the controls.

Nothing.

"Isomorphic controls." The Master's upper lip curled. He climbed down the stairs in two quick leaps and knocked the Doctor off his feet with the back of his hand. Tish jumped as the elderly Doctor crashed into his tent and stayed there. The Master reclaimed the device out of the Doctor's hand. 

"Which means they only work for me. Like this."

A bolt shot out before Francine had a chance to realize it was aimed towards her. Above her, sparks exploded, raining hot against her skin. Francine flinched.

"Say you're sorry again!" the Master demanded, his voice gleeful. 

"Sorry!" Francine spat out. "Sorry! Sorry!"

"Mum!" Tish cried out. She raced over before Francine could warn against it and threw her arms around Francine. Tish pressed her face to her hair and shivered.

Francine wrapped her arms around her daughter and glared at Saxon.

The Master stood on the landing, tapping his blasted screwdriver to his chin like a pen.

"No," Saxon purred, "you're not sorry. You never were."

The double doors burst open next to her. The Master's guards in their damn black suits entered. They dragged a body hanging between them, his dark blue shirt made darker with bloody bullet holes. Another anonymous guard followed from behind, holding Toshiko Sato's arm in a twist behind her.

Tish shook when she realized Toshiko was being brought up to Saxon. Francine tightened her hold around her daughter. Jack Harkness' lifeless body was roughly cuffed then thrown unceremoniously in front of Saxon's feet.

"Pretty, pretty Ms. Sato," the Master breathed as he gazed at her scowling face. He crouched down and peered into her defiant face. "And what did the Doctor have you do to my mainframes?"

Toshiko stared past Saxon's left ear, her mouth set.

The Master tsked. He shook a finger at her and then aimed his screwdriver at the Doctor's head.

"He wanted me to crash the _Valiant_!" Toshiko burst out. She dropped her gaze towards Jack's prone body. "He wanted me to tamper with the navigation controls."

Saxon glanced sharply over his shoulder at his men by the controls on the bridge.

After a few clicks, one of his men nodded. 

"Looks like she accessed the main navigations matrix, a few data entries…" The young man smirked and executed a few keystrokes. "…just a few equations but no completed program was executed."

Saxon wagged his finger at Toshiko.

"Far too clever, Ms. Sato." Saxon toed Jack Harkness on the floor. "You can stop pretending, Captain. I, of all people, know how you sleep. Rise up, Lazarus boy."

Francine swallowed a gasp when the guards hauled Jack up and sure enough, he was alive, alert, and very angry. His white undershirt was untucked and mottled with dried blood.

The guards handed over the dagger and whispered into Saxon's ear. She watched the Master's face twist and turn from amusement to rage.

"Is this the fate of all those you touch, Doctor?" the Master snarled. He gestured sharply to his men by the bridge controls. The Valiant seemed to tremble as he stalked over to the Doctor. He looped his arms under the Doctor's, jerked him up and threw him into a chair. The Doctor grunted, but he stared back unafraid when the Master leaned in close enough for their noses to touch.

"So predictable," Saxon whispered to him. "You inspire such loyalty even in those who once betrayed you."

Francine's eyes burned and she swallowed hard, but the lump in her throat wouldn't go away. She pulled Tish closer to her.

"Leave him alone," Jack rasped. He groaned as the guards slammed him facedown on the table.

"Four men," the Master snarled to the Doctor. He pointed at Jack. "Tied my lovely wife up, snapped the necks of four of my men, determined to come up here to break mine. Is this what you give them, _Doctor_? Death?"

"They know I don't want any loss of human life," the Doctor replied evenly.

The Master laughed. He spun the chair with the Doctor in it a few turns before he went over to Jack. Four guards were needed to restrain Jack Harkness.

Jack grunted as the Master grabbed a fist of his hair and yanked his head back, exposing his neck. Jack gritted his teeth at the strain.

"I don't think this one got the memo!" Saxon taunted. "Or this one, little Ms. Captain Ahab here!" He waved his screwdriver towards Toshiko. Jack jerked towards him with a growl but the guards threw him over facedown onto the table.

Saxon stood there, his head cocked as he considered Jack. 

"Oh, déjà vu," the Master sneered.

"Fuck you!" Jack growled, muffled against the table.

Saxon merely patted his rear and laughed. 

"And you," Saxon hissed close to Jack's ear. He was still loud enough for everyone to hear. "After all I've done for you, you would betray your Doctor like this?"

"You're. Not. Him," Jack hissed. Abruptly, he twisted and Saxon jumped back.

"No!" Saxon declared. "I'm _not_ him." He straightened his shirt and twirled his screwdriver in his hand. He pointed to the Doctor. 

"I'm better. I didn't leave you behind in a floating graveyard." Saxon narrowed his eyes and smiled, a thin slit on his face. 

"I was the one who came back for you."

"Master," the man by the controls called out hesitantly, "we're here."

Saxon clapped. He laughed as he slipped back on his jacket, straightening it with a sharp tug.

"Wonderful! Make sure all the radios and broadcast channels are on, tell the kiddies to be ready." 

Saxon pulled the Doctor to his wheelchair and whistled for his men to drag Jack to one of the larger viewing windows. Jack struggled but more men, grunting and swearing, piled on him, smashing his face to the window.

"Mum," Tish whimpered in her throat. Francine could only let her daughter burrow closer to her, something Tish hadn't done since she was six. She held Tish tightly and tried to imagine it was both her daughters she was holding.

"Behold, Doctor," Saxon breathed as he wheeled the Doctor to another window.

Francine and Tish couldn't see them from where they stood, but she could hear the Doctor's sharp intake.

"Where are we?" the Doctor managed.

Francine heard the Master chuckle. "Japan."

Toshiko stiffened. The guards dragged her to Francine and Tish. Francine looped her arm around her shoulders as Toshiko staggered as if she wanted to go to the window as well.

"Still, child," Francine whispered when she felt Toshiko shivering. Tish wrapped an arm around her middle. "Be still."

"Why are we here?" The Doctor sounded wary.

"Why, because of you, of course." Saxon straightened and looked up towards the young man by the controls. The man, looking almost scared yet thrilled at the same time, nodded. He reached over and flipped a toggle.

The Master cleared his throat, twisted something in his screwdriver before he drew it close to his mouth.

"Hello, hello. A word from your sponsor, your lord and master! _Ohayo_!" The Master smirked towards them, towards Toshiko.

"Funny thing happened today. Little revolt. They tried, oh, they tried, but they failed. No cookie for them, I'm afraid."

"What's he doing?" Tish muttered.

Toshiko said nothing but she stared at Saxon, her eyes anguished. She muttered something that sounded Japanese. 

"Now, I wasn't mad when your charming little country tried to shoot my ship down last month. I wasn't upset when your little resistance band tried to blow up my rockets. Naughty, naughty. But I let it go. I'm really a benevolent and forgiving Master…" Saxon paused.

"But this…attempt…" Saxon smiled thinly at them all. "Must not be ignored. It can't go unpunished and so…" The Master shrugged. "I'm afraid you all must go. You were going to go anyway—"

Jack shouted. He threw his shoulders back. Someone's bones loudly cracked as Jack wrenched free and lunged for Saxon.

Saxon wore first a look of shock that warped into rage. With a wordless snarl, he whipped forward his screwdriver, ramming it into the charging man's body just as Jack grabbed him.

" _Jack_!" Toshiko screamed. She cried out when Saxon's men shoved at her, at Tish with their rifles.

"Don't touch them!" Francine snarled as she pushed the two behind her. She stared hard at their blank faces and rifles.

Saxon stood over Jack's body, breathing heavily, his face contorting with something dark, something Francine couldn't define.

Then, like with a flip of a switch, Saxon blinked and the shadow was gone. He snapped his fingers.

"Where was I? Oh yes," Saxon spoke into his blood tipped screwdriver with a broad sneer. "You are the weakest link. _Oyasuminasai_!"

" _ **No**_!" Toshiko cried out. She surged forward but Francine and Tish held her back.

Francine dropped to her knees, wrapping her arms around both Tish and Toshiko. The _Valiant_ shook as thousands of Toclafane dove from the sky, zipped past every visible window towards Japan below. The light eroded away and the bridge dimmed under the inhumane storm.

"Master, don't do this!" the Doctor grabbed weakly at Saxon, but his wheelchair was kicked aside and he crashed into the window.

Francine kissed the top of Toshiko's head as Saxon cued up music and he grabbed the masseuse and waltzed out of beat with the loud pop music. The woman, weeping, had no choice but to follow.

Toshiko never cried, never begged, but her fists trembled on her thighs. Her body shook violently and she didn't resist Francine's embrace when she pulled Toshiko under her chin.

"We'll get him, love, we'll get him," Francine whispered into her hair. She reached around her body and clasped Tish's cold hand. Tish pressed her wet face to Toshiko's shoulder. "We'll get him."

Toshiko said nothing as the skies grew black; death swooping in on a madman's whim.

 

**Somewhere in Poland…**

Owen breathed into his fists and tugged his knit cap lower over his ears. Gravel, covered in light frost, crunched under his feet. Someone had covered what used to be a barn with gravel to make it livable. Somewhat. 

The air puffed like icy smoke around him. It was easier to stay warm by moving around. Owen spied the shadow by the doorway. He sighed.

"Thought it was my turn," Owen griped as he drew up to the doorway. He stared out of the doorway to the flattened landscape in the dark. It used to be a city. Most of the taller buildings had been dismantled for scrap. The only things that marked their previous existence were the stumps of dug up foundation cornerstones. They dotted the skeletal metropolis, stripped of everything to make the strange fleet of rockets. They hadn't even seen another living soul since they arrived.

"Anything?" Owen whispered as he squinted into the dark.

All he got was a shoulder shrug.

"Well, you're a barrel of laughs," Owen grumbled. He shoved his hands under his pits, but didn't dare stamp his feet. "Gwen's made some tea. Should still be hot."

There was a little cough before a polite "No, thank you." 

Owen rolled his eyes. "Take your turn grabbing a few winks at least. I don't want to have to watch you girls tripping across Europe—"

"It's gone."

Owen paused. He raised an eyebrow. "What's gone?"

A hand, barely discernible inside a thick woolen mitten, lifted up to point towards the night sky.

Owen craned his head out the threshold. He swallowed, his throat tight when he realized that the bright dot of light was gone. The moon looked forlorn hanging among the dim lights of the universe in the night sky. 

"Shit." Owen took a deep breath. "Look, it doesn't mean anything though. It's a ship. It's bound to fly off somewhere like all flying ships tend to do."

The hand dropped.

Owen studied the eyes still staring up at the sky. He sighed. Gwen was better with this shit, he thought. All that touchy feely girly shit was not his forte. Christ, he hope he didn't have to do any hugging. He didn't even have a hanky, for God's sake.

"I uh, I'm sure they're fine." 

Nothing. Owen thought he heard a sniffle though. Owen rubbed the back of his neck with a hand. He had half a mind to go over and kick Gwen awake, let her deal with this. 

"I didn't want to leave him."

Owen's shoulders dropped. "Yeah," he murmured. 

"Word has it in Berlin…" Another cough. "There's a scheduled flight, a supply delivery…"

Owen perked up. "When?"

"Thirteen days."

Owen's smile faded. "Thirteen days?" He looked back at Gwen. She made a sleepy snort before huddling deeper into her sleeping bag. "I don't know…"

"We’ve traveled seven countries in less than three months, you don't think we can do this?"

"Sure, if I was a pack mule and carried you both on my shoulders!" Owen hissed back. Something flared in his chest. "Look, I know you're all about getting back up there, but running ourselves to the ground isn't the way to do it either!"

Shoulders slumped and turned away.

Owen stared at the profile for a few beats. God, he felt like he just kicked a puppy. He gnashed his teeth, scrubbed his face with his hands, and exhaled deeply into his cupped hands.

"You go wake Gwen. She'll have me balls if I do it. She won't hit you," Owen grumbled. "If we leave now, we might get to the border in three days."

A hand squeezed his shoulder and now Owen was left alone by the door.

Owen glowered up at the sky. 

"You lot better be up there," Owen muttered. Then he turned around to pack.

 

**Act V**   
**Valiant**   
**Two days later…**

_"You shouldn't be here."_

_The shadows hid his surprise at seeing Ianto standing in the doorway with his serving tray at five in the morning. Jack didn't get up from behind his desk. It felt like a needed barrier after hours in his bed thinking about things he couldn't give Ianto and how he was destroying them both._

_Ianto's smile was as subdued as the lighting. "Déjà vu. I seem to recall you telling me this before."_

_"Ah." Jack's mouth curved wanly. It came at a time when he wasn't sure if he wanted to retcon Ianto or retcon himself. Lisa's ghost and what they had done hung between them as a barrier._

_Lowering his eyes to his paperwork was a cheat, but it was better than lingering on the unbuttoned collar exposing Ianto's throat, naked without his tie. He was never this unfurled during work hours and the glimpse now felt too much to Jack like an apple in Eden._

_"I was in the neighborhood, thought I’d drop by." Ianto entered the office as quiet as a thought and set the tray down on Jack's desk._

_"You live twenty minutes away," Jack reminded Ianto. He watched Ianto, his movements were as graceful as a dancer, arms moving liquidly as he transferred jam to pastry, pastries to napkin, coffee to cup. An orchestra of clinking ceramic accompanied his movements. It was watching peace in motion and Jack didn't realize things were set in front of him until Ianto cleared his throat._

_The coffee, as usual, was perfect going down his parched throat._

_"You should be home. Torchwood shouldn't be your life," Jack chided. Bad enough it could be his death some day._

_"You seem to have made Torchwood yours," Ianto pointed out._

_"Hopkins thinks I'm here to save the world," Jack reminded him before he returned to his work. Jack rolled his eyes at MOD's 'request' about Archangel. As if. He crumpled the form and tossed it into his out tray: the wastebasket. He gestured at the rest of the stack of paperwork with a scowl. "Save the world? There must be half a rainforest here needing my signature."_

_Ianto perched himself on the edge of the desk. "Necessary redundant bureaucracy," Ianto sighed. "Perhaps this was what Hopkins feared: the end of the world in sad, alphabetized triplicate."_

_Jack laughed even if he couldn't convince himself it was funny. "You don't need me for this. You don't need me here to sign on the 'X' and send aliens into the sun or hunt Weevils."_

_"No," Ianto agreed, as he sipped his coffee. "…We need you for something more."_

_It felt like Ianto thought 'we' was the wrong pronoun to use and the pause before it was unsettling. Jack pulled apart the jelly-jeweled pastry and felt Ianto absently rub his shoulder._

_"Nightmares?" Ianto whispered._

_"No." Liar._

_"Anything I can do to help?"_

_"No." Liar, liar._

_Ianto's voice lowered and the rubbing stilled to a warm anchor weighing on his neck._

_"Do you want me to stay?"_

_Jack raised his eyes at Ianto. He felt hollow and brittle when Ianto lowered his hand._

_"You shouldn't be here," Jack repeated._

_Ianto's eyes crinkled and he looked weary even when he smiled._

_"That's not really a reply."_

_"No," Jack murmured as he turned back to his paperwork, still feeling like this body didn't quite fit him, "but it answers the question."_

_Ianto stayed anyway._

 

What should burn only chilled him. 

What should crack only crushed him to a mix of other pains.

What was ripping him apart only pieced him back together the wrong way.

Wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

The red haze of agony lifted for a brief moment of clarity; a curtain of needles, knives, unwanted touches and a maniacal giggling that was a poor imitation of a purer one eased and he blinked gritty eyes. But there were no rose petals stealing his breath, no skip-skip of a child who was lost forever, just an almost mechanical shrill laugh of something trying to be a child and with it came all the wrong sensations of pain. 

The shade that peeled away to somewhat lucidity only showed him faces he knew he should recognize. Brown eyes that spoke volumes, light eyes that knew far too much, and black pearls that had no eyes at all.

_"Do you want me to stay?"_

Another bone cracked, only it broke in instead of out and something bubbled inside him. He couldn't help himself. He screamed. Rage from all sides pummeled him into darkness. It was always the same—just edged along oblivion but never dismissed into death. 

_"Do you want me to stay?"_

What good would it do now, Jack thought as tears of blood streaked down his face. 

A ghost hand cupped his jaw. It remained there and Jack gagged around the lump of relief and suffocating grief lodged in his throat, as he spiraled into something dark that was not quite death. 

_"Do you want me to stay?"_

Please.

 

Lucy watched unflinching as she stood behind the Doctor's chair. She smiled to herself as she watched their children play, joyful in having escaped the darkness. 

The blood, the Toclafane squealing in pure delight, Harry's eyes nearly white after feeding off the thing, it was like watching a frenzied dance all around a human bonfire.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Lucy murmured. She brushed her hand carefully across the Doctor's thinning hair. Poor deluded soul. He watched like it was a most terrible thing. "That a thing like him can stand such pain is truly something exquisite to behold."

"S-stop this," the Doctor rasped in a reed thin voice. "Stop this right now." Lucy turned the chair around and stooped to look into an aged face with even older eyes.

"But why?" Lucy cocked her head. "It won't stay dead for long and the best part…" Lucy smiled, thinking of her Master's delight. "We'll get to kill him again."

The Doctor stared at her. Perhaps he didn't fully understand the majesty of this. Lucy was about to turn him back around—she wasn't so cruel to deprive him of witnessing the beauty of Harry's true command of life and mind—when the Doctor spoke.

"You've tasted it."

Lucy frowned and narrowed her eyes at him.

The Doctor, for some reason, acted horrified.

"You have, haven't you?" The Doctor raised his spotted, gnarled hand towards her. Lucy recoiled and his hand dropped, too weak to hold it afloat for too long.

"You've tasted the time vortex, seen its secrets, know its power."

Lucy for some reason couldn't speak. She just nodded.

The Doctor closed his eyes briefly at a barely muffled groan behind him. When he reopened them again, his brown eyes were dark with pity.

"You won't hear it. The drumming."

It echoed what whispered in her heart. Lucy blinked rapidly. She settled her hands on his armrests. "I can almost hear it," Lucy protested weakly. Just a little bit more. Harry will see.

The Doctor patted her hand. His skin felt paper-thin against her. It was like a wind could tear him apart and Lucy wondered why everyone saw him so differently, even Harry. He watched the Doctor with a bemused smile, but his eyes still held wariness like cornered prey.

"You'll never hear it," the Doctor said. His voice faltered when Harry laughed and laughed. "Not the same way he does."

Lucy hissed. She stood up and turned his wheelchair around with a harsh yank. The Doctor clutched the armrests so he wouldn't fall out.

"Just watch, Doctor," Lucy snarled even as her eyes stung and blurred everything around her. Her knuckles turned white as she tightened her grip on his chair. 

"Just watch." 

 

**Three days later…**

"Easy," Francine murmured as she watched Toshiko claw the fence and stare hard at the long corridors of pipes and gratings.

A sound, too far away to tell if it was man or machine echoed out. It was lost quickly in the labyrinth of pipes and equipment in the lowest levels of the ship. 

The guard in UNIT gear, however, flinched when the sound repeated. He looked at their cells with a worn face. Then he looked away, backed closer to the main door a meter away. It was as much privacy as he could dare give them these days.

Toshiko dropped to her seat up against the dividing fence that split their area into two cells.

"Do you think that's…that's…" Toshiko began but she couldn't finish.

Francine pressed her fingers through the tiny mesh and tried to touch Toshiko's shoulder. They weren't allowed to work in the same shifts, pulled from their cells in an unpredictable rota. All she had to hold onto was Clive's sweaty shirt that he left on the bunk. Tish always folded her blanket into a triangle to let Francine know she'd been there.

Caught once more trying to explore the engine rooms to find Jack Harkness, Toshiko was left locked up in her cell. She spent the past few days listening to echoes and metal clanging. Francine never asked what she heard; she knew every night when Toshiko cried herself to sleep.

Another sound, fading, too low to even register as a sound—more like the echo of memory—drifted to their cells.

Toshiko pressed her face to the fence. Francine sat on the other side.

"He can't die."

Francine glanced through the fence, startled. Toshiko never looked her way.

"No matter what Saxon does, he can't…" Toshiko visibly swallowed. "He can't die."

"I see," Francine tried to absorb this. The bright sheen in Toshiko's eyes warned her against telling her that it was a good thing.

There were no more sounds, at least nothing beyond the hisses and thumps of engines. Toshiko stared beyond their cells, anguished.

"Maybe he stopped," Francine offered. Toshiko didn't look like she believed her.

"He's all I have left." Toshiko wiped at her eyes. Francine wished the mesh fence's gaps were wide enough to squeeze a handkerchief through. 

"He's all I have left besides Gwen and Owen." Toshiko sniffled. "I can't let that bastard do this to Jack. I have to find him."

"And do what?" Francine pointed out. She rested her cheek against the fence close to Toshiko's ear. "Get caught again and thrown back in here or worse?"

Toshiko stuck out her chin. "I'll get him off this ship," she whispered, sounding more like she was telling herself than Francine.

Francine looked warily at their guard, but he was too busy trying not to be ill to eavesdrop as he stood by the door.

Francine fingered Clive's shirt and thought of Martha currently fleeing Saxon. 

The shirt twisted around her fingers.

"We," Francine whispered close to Toshiko's ear. " _We'll_ get him off this ship."

 

"You shouldn't be here."

Jack could barely speak out of swollen lips but it didn't matter; no one was here to listen. The Master wanted a clean canvas to play with and always left Jack alone afterwards to heal.

_"Déjà vu."_

Well, not exactly alone.

Jack stared at the shoes standing on the huge blood stained tarp covering the grating. It was laid out under his feet to catch any blood or other messes torture tends to inconveniently create. His words. Not Jack's. 

Feet in well-polished shoes stepped closer. No shadow. Jack swallowed and looked up.

Ianto stood before him, dimmed and quiet, with none of the rustles of cotton and silk Jack categorized with him. 

Jack drank in the sight of Ianto, green tie, grey shirt, standing as if he was leaning on the standpipe. Not possible though. The Master, upset with Lucy Saxon's interruption, had thrown her up against it and the pipe scalded her lower back. 

Great, bad enough I have a psycho ex-boyfriend trying to make my insides my outsides, Jack thought, but now I'm losing my mind too? Jack would laugh if it didn't pull at his stomach to do so.

 _"You asked me to stay,"_ Ianto reminded him. He sounded like he was in a tunnel, from afar. Ianto smiled sadly, his hands in his trouser pockets.

Jack nodded wearily. He grimaced when bones knitted inside and bruises shrank tight around him.

It was a little too late though, Jack thought, as he stared at Ianto's cheek, so transparent, he could see the long corridor and door through him. Jack wheezed as he felt a rib move, straightening. God, those were the worse.

 _"Well, you were always bad with time."_ Ianto chuckled quietly. He sat up on the pipe the way he used to perch on Jack's desk. _"Perhaps I should have given you a timepiece instead, Harkness."_

"Perhaps," Jack rasped and tried to smile but it hurt too much.

"Jack?"

Ianto's mouth didn't move and the new voice was thinner, different. Jack stared at Ianto, confused until the other coughed behind a fist and gestured towards his left with his other hand.

His neck hurt when he tried to move his head but with a groan, Jack turned a bit to his right.

A cold shiver rippled down his body when he sighted the Doctor slumped in his wheelchair a meter away from him.

"You shouldn't be here," Jack croaked. He eyed the corridor behind the Doctor but there was no one else.

Age had worn down the Doctor's chuckle into a cackle.

"You already said that."

Jack frowned. "What?" He did? Jack looked up at the standpipe, but when there was nothing there, only steam. His chest seized.

"Jack?" The Doctor frowned when Jack began to cough.

"I would offer you a drink, but well…I'm kind of tied up right now," Jack tried to joke, but the last part was lost in another fit of coughing. 

The Doctor offered a quiet smile. "Not really thirsty."

Jack studied the Doctor, his teary eyes taking in everything he could.

"I'm all right," the Doctor told him. Shaky hands gestured towards himself. "Well…considering."

"Master?" Jack rasped. It hurt to see the Doctor this way, small and frail in the wheelchair, a prisoner in his own body. There was a time Jack and Rose thought nothing in the universe could fully contain the Time Lord. 

The wizened Time Lord nodded. "We have a few minutes before his guards come back for me. He thought I might want to see…" 

"See the freak reset?" Jack wheezed. "See the Master's _Companion_?"

The Doctor winced. He shook his head.

"Jack. He…what he did…"

His body was both numb and crackled with pain at the same time.

"He told you everything," Jack mumbled. He tried to swallow but the effort only made the corners of his eyes prick.

"Yes." The Doctor lowered his eyes, his lips smacking dryly together as he tried to find something to say.

It was the first time Jack had ever seen him at a loss for words. Jack tried to stand straighter but his right knee groaned at the weight shift. His legs buckled and it took a moment before he could right himself on the stained tarp. 

"The others?" Jack gritted out before a groan could. He needed to say something before the Doctor could.

"They're well. The Master's kept them in separate shifts though."

"I…I haven't seen any of them except Tish," Jack croaked. "All I know is that he makes Tish bring in the cold swede once a day and makes Toshiko wash this damn thing under me every time before he…"

Jack's head dropped. It was too heavy to keep up.

"He has not harmed her or any of the Jones family," the Doctor assured.

Jack nodded tiredly. God, his back ached. Every muscle around his neck pulled into an impossible knot digging into his shoulders. His head pounded. He knew he shouldn't, but he lifted his head, stared past the slouched Doctor, but besides steam and pipes, there was nothing there.

"What are you looking at?"

The pipes blurred before him. "Nothing," Jack whispered. He dropped his head. "Nothing." Jack couldn't lift it again. "Doctor…Toshiko…" 

"I know. The Master told me."

Jack swallowed, but without saliva, it just felt like his throat was stuck together, blocking the air.

"D-do we have proof?"

The Doctor nodded gravely. "I saw video of the boy. The Master knows he can't lie to me."

Even now, in a prison of weak flesh and brittle bones, the Master feared the Doctor. Somehow knowing this thawed the ice in his chest. Jack nodded and found it easier to breathe.

"If we try again…" the Doctor sighed. 

Jack closed his eyes briefly. "I know." 

The Doctor stirred uneasily in his seat. 

"Jack—"

"Don't," Jack interrupted desperately. If the Doctor was to apologize now, Jack knew his own questions would follow, questions he wanted to ask the Doctor yet feared to know the answers. He couldn't bear hearing them. Not right now. "Not the time."

The Doctor, to his relief, respected his wishes and quieted. He stared at the ground, at Jack's feet. A few moments later, he made a sound. He cocked his head and clicked his teeth then grabbed the armrests. The Doctor struggled to his feet. 

"Careful," Jack mumbled, "wouldn't want you to break a hip or something."

The Time Lord scoffed. He ignored Jack's protests and very shakily staggered over to Jack. The tarp crunched under the Doctor's scuffed trainers. The Doctor walked like a toddler, arms outstretched and clutching Jack's collar for support when he reached Jack. Rough hands trembled as they cupped Jack's face.

Jack stared past the aged face and saw the man he once knew in those eyes. It was the same gleam when he stood inside the TARDIS, confronting Margaret. The Doctor was still in there somewhere.

His gut warmed, his spine straightened. Jack wasn't sure if his body was just healing or if something inside him was instinctively reacting to the solid determination in those eyes.

"You have a plan," Jack breathed. He stared back, the vise wrapped around his chest was unraveling. 

"Oh yes," the Doctor's voice was impossibly strong. He smiled, wrinkled mouth pulled into a broad smile that melted decades off him. 

"I have a plan."

 

**Somewhere in Poland**   
**Three days later…**

It was easier to get information when the person thinks you're alone, Gwen thought. A world with billions of people and they could only feel safe now in solitude.

Gwen watched the child scurry away with the last two protein bars clutched with both of her tiny hands. Gwen originally promised only one. No matter. Gwen fingered the key around her neck. It was easy to get last time and knowing those two, she would soon get more soon. 

She wiped her sleeve across her brow. She'd wait here inside the gutted out school, catch a few winks and then they'd set out on foot at night. Ten days, she thought to herself. Ten days to find an airstrip in Berlin. It seemed mind reeling. Her feet ached at the thought. They didn't dare steal a vehicle. Authorized people only. 

Gwen sat down behind what used to be a great, big teacher's desk. It had been cannibalized; every piece of metal gone and left a desk, dulled from the elements, sitting flat to the ground because someone had taken its legs and drawers. The rest of the school didn't fare much better. Students' desks were stripped as well and the wooden squares that once held up all their books and their elbows were now stacked up at one corner of the building like firewood.

The floors fell victim to Saxon's reign as well; all the marble gutted out, leaving only dirt on the floor. Walls were knocked down to get to the metal and wiring between them and now the school stands as a single large classroom. Even the glass on the window was gone.

The remains of the desk, however, were a relief for her aching back. Gwen leaned against it with a grateful sigh and pulled out her mobile, wrapped in her old t-shirt so it wouldn't get scratched. Gwen had to shut it down yesterday because they couldn't find a working socket to charge her mobile but she still took it out at night to check it when no one was watching.

The display screen was dark and Gwen wiped her thumb across the screen over and over. It was silly, no one called. No one could. Archangel was the only satellite network left and their sources said Saxon's precious satellites only transmitted now and did not receive. No one can call. No one can send a message. 

Gwen's eyes burned and she rewrapped the mobile.

"I can't believe you kept that stupid thing."

Gwen had tensed when she heard the crunch of boot to rock. Her gun was already out before a word was uttered but she didn't relax until she saw Owen standing in front of her.

"Here."

A couple of protein bars were dropped onto her lap. Gwen looked up and smiled faintly.

"We thought you probably had none left."

"I didn't," Gwen murmured and tucked them into her rucksack.

"Then stop giving them away to every puppy face you see, you ninny." Owen dropped down besides her.

Gwen rolled her eyes but chose to say nothing as she watched Owen tear into the rest of the protein bar he had saved from this morning.

Gwen scanned the little yard the school once boasted. There used to be a swing set by a tree that stopped bearing fruit. The chains that hung on the frame no longer held any seats, most likely taken as scrap, and swayed in the breeze. Occasionally, she could hear the chains twist around each other and their links rattled like wind chimes. Gwen looked away from it, her throat dry, her eyes burning.

"Where's…" Gwen checked her surroundings again. 

Owen paused mid-bite. It wasn't clear if it was to swallow or to find words.

"Needed some fresh air," Owen grunted. "Went for a walk." He finished the last of the bar by tossing in the last morsel into his mouth like popcorn. 

"I've got some bread," Gwen murmured. "It's still good."

Owen shrugged. "Save it for later."

Gwen reviewed their conversation in her head. Her brow puckered.

"Fresh air," Gwen repeated. She watched Owen fidget. "Owen, what happened in town?" They had gone in for more supplies and recon. 

"Well first off, it isn't much of a town anymore. One piece of—"

"Owen," Gwen pleaded. "I'm really not in the mood for your shit today. Please."

With a sigh, Owen kicked at the ground he was sitting on, gorging the dry earth into a shallow depression with the heel of his boot. 

"Saxon's been broadcasting…" Owen grimaced. "Remember when the ship wasn't up there anymore?"

Gwen nodded. She remembered how they had all stared up. She had never felt more alone than when she had realized the _Valiant_ was no longer up there.

Owen carefully stuffed his protein wrapper into the hole he made. He wouldn't look at Gwen as he refilled the opening with dirt.

"They went to Japan," Owen said finally. Still with his head down, Owen looked too focused on covering the wrapper. No evidence behind. They had learned that lesson the hard way when they left Kiev and were chased for nearly a day by Toclafane. The scar by Gwen's left bicep still itched when it got too chilly.

"And?" Gwen prodded.

When Owen finally looked up, his face was expressionless.

"It burned."

Gwen stilled. Her stomach coiled and cramped painfully and it was now colder than before. 

"No…"

Owen rose to his feet and stepped on the hole he had made. He raised his foot and lowered it, giving his foot a twist so his heel would ground in the top layer of dirt. Then he raised his foot again. Up. Then down. Up. Down. Up…

"Owen, Owen!" Gwen wrapped her arms around Owen when he began stomping on the same spot with such violence, he nearly fell against the teacher's desk, his mouth clamped shut because they couldn't afford to scream.

"Fucking…" Owen muttered against her right shoulder.

Gwen sniffed but just held tighter when Owen tried to pull away.

"You know they saw it. Saxon probably made them all watch—"

"All right. All right. Sh…" Gwen murmured to Owen's ear. He stood there, in her grasp, his arms stiff against his sides. And Gwen just shed a few tears onto his shoulder.

After a few seconds, they parted. Owen's eyes weren't even red, but his lips were pinched white.

Gwen looked out the window and saw their third pacing across the derelict school. She sighed.

"That's not going to help," Gwen said, nodding towards outside. She tracked the pacing and the slumped posture. She blinked away the lingering moisture from her eyes.

Owen grunted. "I doubt anything will help sitting around here while that bastard kills off this planet piece by piece." Owen gave the spot one final stomp. "Christ, Alex was right. Everything changed this century. We weren't ready."

Gwen turned sharply at Owen. "You say that again and I will knock you on your ass, Owen Harper," Gwen warned.

The returning gleam in Owen's eyes was a relief.

"Yeah?" Owen challenged half-heartedly. "You two girls can't even tackle a rodent together." He shook his head and sat gingerly on the desk. He stared at the ground, took a deep breath, and raised his eyes at her, suddenly serious.

"We need to stop him, Gwen."

Gwen nodded. She looked back over her shoulder. 

"You know," Gwen said casually. "I'm not feeling particularly sleepy right now."

Owen stared at her for a beat before he nodded slowly. "I'm feeling a bit chipper myself," Owen drawled. "Must be that big lunch I had."

Gwen studied the daylight shining through the window. "We have a few good hours left," Gwen calculated. 

Owen clapped her soundly on the back. "Come on then, before our friend there goes off without us."

Bugger, Owen had a point. Owen was already out the door, steering for their third as Gwen grabbed her pack and scrambled after them. 

 

**Valiant**   
**Three days later…**

Today, it was the blue striped tie. He liked the blue tie.

Jack stared at the blue tie and the long fingers smoothing it down. He stared at the perfect Half-Windsor knot, the fold in the middle of the silk, and at the elegant hand stroking the sleek fabric.

The manacles on his wrists were pulled high enough that sometimes it felt like he was hanging off them but the one good thing about it was the discomfort was distracting and kept him alert enough to watch the tie. 

There was another spark of pain from somewhere along his body and the tie wavered like a mirage. Jack clenched his jaw, refocused and the tie solidified. 

A bolt of agony shot up his spine and Jack squeezed his eyes tight. When he opened them, the tie and everything else he was still trying to summon up the courage to look at were gone. 

The empty spot of concrete wall by the door hurt to see a lot more than he thought anything could.

"Where did you go, Captain?" the Master asked, his voice low and hypnotic. He came around front, stepping carefully on the tarp laid out under his feet and careful not to soil his shoes. Today it was a blue tarp. Blue, blue, like the veins the Master sliced open, blue like Lucy Saxon's crazed eyes when she visited. Jack swallowed.

It was hard not to react when he felt a hand cupping his face, tilting his gaze up to meet the Master's. Jack stared right through him and said nothing.

The Master sighed, wiping his bloodied screwdriver on Jack's shirt and retrieving his coat draped over a pipe. He didn't want any of his staff here. No one comes here except for the Master and any _special_ guests he wished to gloat to or worse, Lucy.

"Where do you go when I'm here?" the Master murmured as he rolled down his sleeves, slipped on his jacket, tucked in his shirt and readjusted his tie. 

"What takes you away from me? From this place?" The Master's eyes shone with anticipation. He drew up close enough to breath on Jack. "Is it the drumming?"

Jack met his gaze. He grinned. "No," he said before he spat out all the blood that had been collecting in his mouth right on the jacket.

Rage contorted the almost docile face and the Master drew a fist and punched Jack just below his diaphragm. It forced his air out, forced him to gasp, open his mouth and the Master grabbed him by two fistfuls of hair and smashed his mouth over his.

It was almost immediate. The draining occurred on contact and Jack could feel something inside him tear like tissue paper, shredding his insides the longer the Master kissed him. There was a growing roar in his ears, his limbs were increasingly numb and he could feel the Master hard against him.

Jack jerked, struggled for purchase on the tarp slick with everything he didn't want to think about. The chains limited how far his upper torso could writhe away from the Master. His legs, on the other hand…

The Master grunted when Jack's knee missed his groin—damn—and contacted his solar plexus with enough force that the startled Master exhaled into his mouth—gross—and fell to the ground with a groan.

Jack spat until it felt like he got everything out. The tearing inside him, the chill that usually followed, abated. 

"Seriously, don't they teach you guys in little Time Lord school to just say no?" Jack gasped. Everything was suddenly hazy, cold. He could barely stand. 

The Master got back on his feet, his eyes white, his mouth set. With one arm around his middle—Jack hoped to hell that it hurt—Saxon circled him slowly. Jack's back was stiff, never relaxing until the Master was in front of him again.

"I do not need you," the Master hissed. The white faded from his eyes and returned to normal.

Huh. That was new. Usually the Master was rambling about breaking and drumming, blah, blah, blah.

"For a guy who doesn't _need_ me," Jack kept his voice as steady as possible as Saxon drew near again, "you seem to come here a lot."

Fingers carded through his hair; a mockery of the real thing. 

"You once told me that you loved me." The Master leered at Jack. "All I did was tear and rip and break, yet you said you loved me."

"I _thought_ I was telling the Doctor," Jack bit out. His insides knotted at the reminder. He refused to look at him though and stared past the Master's shoulder. 

"I _am_ the Doctor," the Master hissed.

Jack scoffed. Ouch. It hurt to do that. His throat felt like sores rubbing together. 

"You guys need to carry ID cards. It's getting a little annoying everyone running around pretending to be the Do—"

The Master's screwdriver jabbed him in the kidneys, spinning, burning, screeching. 

Jack convulsed in his chains, screaming.

"I. Am. The. Doctor!" the Master roared.

The screwdriver dug deeper into his flesh, never piercing but vibrating until Jack's entire body flared. His skin shrank around him, bones broke and mended and broke again, nerves burned as if needles were slowly replacing his blood. 

Somewhere, lost in the agony, Jack stopped screaming. His throat was too swollen to make a sound. As he hung lower, lower in his chains, he could feel his shoulders pop, unable to take the latest abuse.

A fist grabbed his hair and jerked his head back. 

"You longed and prayed for your Doctor to come back for you," the Master snarled to his face. "Well, I did, you disgusting freak. I came back for you, bred you to see and hear as I can and you betray me by standing by his side?"

Jack couldn't speak anymore. Kidneys had completely shut down; he could feel organ after organ being poisoned by his own body. He looked at Saxon sideways.

"Call me Doctor," Saxon purred. He stroked Jack's jaw with the screwdriver with a tenderness that would have made Jack laugh if he could. 

"Just once," the Master encouraged, "and all this? It'll be gone. Forever and I will fix you, just like I promised. Wouldn't you like that, hm? Did you not want to stay with your Doctor? Did you not wish for the Doctor to stay with you?"

The cool metal body of the screwdriver was soothing again his fevered cheek. Air rattled in his lungs as Jack fought the urge to throw up. He didn't want to drown in his own vomit again.

"Just say it once," the Master cooed as he tapped the screwdriver against Jack's temple. That damn two-four beat that haunted him for so long.

"Say it, my handsome Jack. _Say it_."

Behind the Master stood Ianto again. He was back this time with a red tie, a cross knot this time, over a simple dark shirt. Jack always said red was his color. 

"Say it." The Master shook Jack.

Ianto nodded towards Saxon's back and made a face that just read "What's with him?" He smoothed down his tie, straightened his collar and simply gave the Master's back an eye roll.

Jack laughed. Or at least he tried; he choked.

"What is so funny?" Saxon seethed and he shook Jack again. 

Jack gurgled a "Fuck you" but it wasn't as effective when it came out in a spew of bloody bubbles and spit. The Master, however, seemed to get the gist of it and was screaming into Jack's face as his fists clawed vulnerable parts of Jack's body.

Jack kept his eyes on Ianto, which only infuriated Saxon more. Ianto's eyes were suspiciously bright but he never flinched, his gaze fixed on Jack's as if nothing else existed. 

Jack embraced the impossible in front of him even as his own body gave up under Saxon's fury. And as darkness flooded back in again, Jack threw out a single thought.

Stay, Jack pleaded in his mind. Stay.

 _Forever_ , Ianto's reply was a gentle kiss to his cheek.

And Jack expelled his last breath as Saxon raged. He carried Ianto's steady gaze into the darkness. 

 

**Three days later…**

Toshiko stood there, staring through the porthole at the tiny people loading a wheelchair up on a small plane. Planes came and went, but this was the first time Saxon had gone anywhere. She set a hand on the porthole glass and gave the plane a farewell as it took off, Toclafane trailing behind it like a swarm of bees.

The snickers when she picked up the tarp tossed to her on the bridge made her mad but rather than glare, Toshiko just folded up the filthy sheet and pressed it to her chest like she would a child. She walked past the amused guards and steered for the general lavatory to clean it off.

The tarp, like the previous one, was filthy and reeked too much of things Toshiko didn't want to identify. Thankfully, the iron tang of dried blood overpowered the rest. It was sad the things one became grateful for.

Toshiko unfurled the tarp, careful to not tear the sheet or touch the blood that was splattered all over it. 

As before, Toshiko needed a moment. She kneeled across the outer edge of it as it spread out before her on the bath's tiled floor. She bowed her head, took a deep breath then fixed her eyes on it. There were points when her stomach rebelled, but Toshiko forced herself to look at every line, every squiggle and every stroke of blood. It spoke of what happened to Jack and she would be damned if she would flinch away and let his misery go unacknowledged. 

Toshiko settled her hands on it, stared hard at the tarp. When she was sure her eyes had memorized everything, Toshiko very carefully grabbed the sponge floating in a bucket of warm water and squeezed out the liquid down its surface. She didn't dare use the hose.

It didn't matter how much blood was on it, it all washed away with a sweep of the sponge.

With both hands, Toshiko pushed the sponge across the tarp, smearing the plastic with pinkish water until she went over it enough times, that the water cleared. Then she turned it over and cleaned off the bloody boot prints, the red tracks that danced all the way around the material. 

Done, Toshiko dried it and folded it carefully to a small pile of plastic again. She held it close to her body. She made sure her face was blank when she walked past the guards and took the lift to the lower levels. 

The UNIT guards usually stopped her at the lift but to her surprise, no one greeted her at the lift.

Toshiko stepped out of the lift slowly and checked both ends of the hall. 

The Master off flying to wherever he was flying meant more guards upstairs, Toshiko thought as she touched the doors that opened to the engine rooms. They were warm to the touch. Feeling bolder, Toshiko slipped through into the engine levels.

Biting her lower lip, Toshiko took two steps deeper towards the direction of the main engine room. She'd calculated where Jack must be. There had never been a chance to check out her theory.

The tarp crinkled when she hugged it harder. Her heart hammered as she approached the first walkway with a lump in her throat. The last time she had tried, the guards nearly caught her. Toshiko had hidden behind the fuel barrels most of her shift until she could get away. She didn't finish her tasks and went to bed hungry that night. 

It could be a test, a trap, Toshiko didn't know, didn't care anymore.

Steam obscured everything into an intimidating mess of pipes that snaked out of the fog. Walkways split off in dizzying numbers.

Toshiko took a deep breath, nearly gagging at the oily taste and tried to align herself in the right direction. Her cell was on the other side. Judging by the echo, the cubic mass…

That way. 

With a grim smile, Toshiko turned herself like a human compass. Jack was her north.

"Here I come," Toshiko murmured as she took a step.

"And where do you think you're going, girlie?" a voice asked mildly before a hand clamped over her mouth and spun her around.

 

Sometimes, being left alone was worse. The healing seemed to take longer, things felt more pronounced.

It hurt more to heal.

 _"It would be easier if you just stopped antagonizing him,"_ was the mild reproach. 

Where's the fun in that, Jack scoffed, coughing as he raised his head with some difficulty. A muscle between his shoulder blades burned.

Ianto sat on the horizontal pipes that spanned across the room, legs crossed, his hands on the pipes. This time it was a striped green tie—square knot—and his dark suit.

And a pink shirt.

Ianto arched an eyebrow at Jack. He was not bothered by the occasional puffs of steam blasting through the joints and cutting through him. 

_"I suppose I should be grateful you didn't imagine me in something more scandalous,"_ Ianto sighed. _"Like something with a feather duster perhaps?"_

The laugh was lodged in his throat, the same type of laugh that pissed Saxon off enough to send him storming out of his chamber before feeding off him like a parasite. 

I'm doing something wrong, Jack thought. He shifted weight to his left foot now when his right went numb. You would think that I would think of something more…age inappropriate. 

_"Shouldn't that tell you something?"_ Ianto murmured as he buttoned up his jacket.

"That I'm a fool?" Jack wheezed. His dislocated shoulders burned as more and more of his weight sagged. He bit back the groan and smiled sadly at the mirage hopping off his perch to stand in front of him.

Jack closed his eyes and tried to imagine Ianto breathing gently on his cheek, like Jack used to feel each time he woke up next to Ianto. Warm, barely enough to do anything more than register against his jaw, more soothing than any breeze during Boeshane during peacetime. 

_"You are many things, Jack Harkness,"_ Ianto said softly as he studied Jack, _"but a fool isn't one of them."_

There was nothing against his face, nothing warm that told him someone was standing next to him. It was worse than the burning on his lower back.

Jack snorted. "If you think that, then _you're_ the fool." A thought struck him and Jack shook his head, his mouth twisted to a bitter smile.

_"What?"_

"I just disagreed with myself." Jack couldn't laugh. He tried and ended up coughing. His lungs burned. He should have just goaded Saxon to finish him off. "You're not real, just my ima—imagination and I just disagreed with myself."

 _"Well."_ Ianto studied himself before looking up again. _"Then I have a grievance with your imagination."_ He swept a hand across himself. _"Really. Pink?"_

Oh God, it _hurt_. It hurt so much to laugh, but it was a price he was willing to pay to laugh because he knew he wouldn't again. Not like this. Not ever again.

But somewhere, the laughter faded and Jack found himself gasping for breath.

 _"He has a plan,"_ Ianto whispered. _"Just remember that. There is a plan."_ His hand went up and brushed against his face; it felt like sunlight on his cheek.

Jack wanted to close his eyes to savor, but he kept his eyes on Ianto, because Jack didn't know when he would see him again.

"I miss you," Jack whispered. His eyes felt swollen, too hot, but he kept them open to memorize Ianto's face, the strand of short hair above his right brow that never cooperated for Ianto, the pale throat that used to curve and stretch out in offering under Jack. So young. Too young. Jack moaned under his breath as the gash on the back of his thigh stitched together, hot and stinging as skin fought to seal over flesh. 

"It wasn't fair to you," Jack gasped. His arms shook. He wanted to touch Ianto, embrace what life truly was, but his arms burned, oh God, burned with even the slightest attempt.

Ianto's mouth twisted. He said nothing. He stood still in front of Jack.

"I'm sorry," Jack said, his voice cracking. 

_"You have nothing to be sorry for,"_ Ianto replied. His eyes were bright on his translucent face. _"Your words, not mine."_

The blood that was trickling down his back had pooled into his boots. His shirt clung to his back. Jack could feel the bones bending and grinding against each other as they tried to heal.

Jack gritted his teeth. He could feel his hip trying to realign. He gasped before he could stop himself.

_"Jack."_

Ianto sounded like he was far away. An icy flutter stabbed in his chest.

"No…" Jack groaned.

Pelvic bone made a vicious twist as it tried to straighten. 

A child's song rang in his ear.

_Sticks and stones may break my bones…_

Jack groaned as a bone slotted into place.

"Jack?"

Softer, by his ear, Ianto's voice faded in and out like a goodbye.

Jack's eyes snapped open—when had they closed?

Ianto stood there, a hand hovering over his chest, eyes on his face…

Dressed as a UNIT trooper.

Huh…this is new. 

"You…" Jack managed as he stared at the cap on Ianto's head, the Kevlar, the black flak jacket. He'd never seen Ianto unshaven before.

"You came back," Jack whispered. 

Ianto's eyes crinkled, his face crumbled and a tear crept down his face. Jack didn't know why he was crying.

"Jack," Ianto choked. He settled his hands on Jack's face. They were warm, broad, rough and…and… _solid_.

Jack was afraid to breathe. "Ianto?" Jack's voice quavered.

"Yes," Ianto repeated with a watery smile. His thumbs rubbed Jack's cheeks in soothing strokes and he pressed his lips to Jack's mouth with a soft, shaky kiss. 

"I came back for you."


	40. "The Year That Never Was 2.0"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning For This Chapter:** strong language, dark, angsty, VIOLENCE, torture (mostly implied, all a matter of reader interpretation), discusses euthanasia 
> 
> **Notes For This Chapter:** Note there are events here that was referenced in DW's "The Sound of Drums", plus a nod to TW's KKBB if you can catch it.

**Act I**   
**Valiant**

"I came back for you."

It sounded surreal, wispy and Jack searched for the signs: the transparency, light coming through non-corporeal forms, something that said what he was seeing wasn't really here. But the hands, the feel of heat as a body shuffled close, breath inhaling and exhaling so close to his skin felt real. 

It was a thinner, tanned face that stared back at him. It was the same graceful hands that held his face, fingers sprinkled with the roughness of labor. The sparse stubble and cap tilted over one side failed to hide the intense gaze focused on him. 

_Ianto_.

"I…" Jack worked his mouth, trying to regain his voice. 

"I like your cap."

Anguish turned to shock, turned to amusement then quickly turned to anguish again.

"You daft sod," Ianto choked. His hands curled on Jack's face with a desperation Jack understood. "Is that all you have to say to me, Harkness?"

Bones grinded inside and muscles twisted. It was easy to convince himself the tears threatening to spill over were from pain.

"W'll…If I'm still h-hallucinating, I would 'ay t-that would look b-better in r-re—" Jack rasped. His chest seized, trying to push the air out to form the words. His upper torso jerked as he coughed.

Ianto never stepped away. His hands moved across his face, his thumbs wiping away the moisture leaking out of his eyes.

Fingers carefully carded his hair, pressing into his scalp as if checking for wounds.

"Does that feel like an illusion?" Ianto murmured. He stood close enough that his jaw scratched Jack on the temple.

"Do I really have to answer?" Jack returned with a plaintive sigh. He closed his eyes, but they flew open again, just in case. Jack stared into his eyes. He marveled how he could see himself in them. 

"I'm real, _cariad_ ," Ianto whispered. His lower lip trembled. "We all are."

Hands crept up to his left side to draw his attention away. Gwen and Toshiko greeted him with fragile smiles. 

"Hey you," Jack said as he fought to keep his voice steady. He was able to raise a brow at Gwen's little black maid uniform, a twin to Toshiko's. The two women stood close together by his side in short black skirts with aprons.

"You know," Jack coughed, "I think there's a fantasy in there somewhere."

"Nice to see you too," Gwen sniffled. Gwen gave a choked laugh that bordering on hysteria. 

"How…" Jack managed before another fit splattered blood on the tarp. Oh, that will piss Saxon off.

"Supply plane in Berlin," Gwen volunteered with a shaky voice. She pulled out the TARDIS key she wore around her neck. "We snuck in and borrowed a couple of uniforms. We ran into Tosh while we were trying to find everyone."

"I was searching the engine rooms before this prat scared the shit out of me," Toshiko added quietly, nodding towards Owen. She curled a finger through a torn buttonhole as she studied Jack. 

Jack furrowed his brow. "Tosh," he murmured.

"I wasn't caught this time," Toshiko defended. Her nose wrinkled when she added, "they were wandering around with Clive Jones, absolutely lost. There were hardly any guards in here."

Jack frowned.

"He's outside pretending to mop the floors," Gwen explained. "Owen thought he could warn us if someone's coming."

Jack lifted his head. Owen was hanging back in similar dress to Ianto only it looked baggy around his knees and torso. The cap flopped lopsided over his right eye. He stood there, staring wide-eyed at Jack, at a loss for words.

Jack could taste blood on his teeth. He managed a smile to Owen without showing any teeth.

"Aren't you a little short for a trooper?" Jack wheezed.

Sure enough, Owen's shock bristled into a scowl. 

"Not my fault every UNIT trooper here is a vertical misfit," Owen snapped in a hushed voice. He came closer now to glower up at Jack. "It was the smallest they got!"

There was laughter shaking next to him. Ianto rested his forehead on Jack's shoulder, unknowingly sending charges of agony as weak muscles wobbled underneath the weight.

"When this is over," Ianto mumbled against him. "There is a movie I have _got_ to show you."

Jack rested his head on top of Ianto's. He didn't care that his neck ached from the new angle or his shoulders screamed at the weight. He savored the feel of Ianto's hair tickling his chin again.

"Are you asking me out on a date?" Jack rasped.

Ianto shrugged only his left shoulder before he straightened. "Maybe. Interested?"

Jack watched Owen nudge past the girls. Owen ducked under his left arm, his hands carefully rolling up his shirt. Gingerly, Owen felt some spots under his shirt. Jack fought the instinct to flinch when he felt cool fingers pressing lightly on his torso.

"So long," Jack said as he tried to ignore the crawling sensation pulling his skin tight, "as it's not in here." He swallowed a moan when Owen accidentally pressed too hard on the mending rib.

"Yes," Ianto agreed shakily. "Some fetishes should be kept to yourself."

"Who said this was a fetish?" Jack groaned out. Even chuckling hurt. 

Ianto's arm curled around his middle, heedless of the blood dripping down to his sleeve. 

"You just said you imagined me in this." Ianto's right arm lifted up a little too stiffly to gesture towards his own body.

"I have a really good excuse," Jack wheezed. "I—"

Jack couldn't finish. His lungs couldn't tolerate anymore the strain in exhaling out enough air to carry on this long of a conversation. His chest seized, his spine cracked as his body jerked in pain-racked coughs. Each cough forced him to hang lower on his shoulders and he cried out in agony.

Dimly, Jack could feel Ianto and Owen bracing against his sides, taking as much of the weight as they could, lifting his body a little higher so his arms would lower a little. He wanted to tell them to stop, it hurt to move, don't—oh God, stop, it hurts…

"…that barrel underneath him…"

"Watch his legs. On three. One, two…"

Jack could feel himself rising up, arms under the back of his thighs, lifting him, bending his knees, and dropping him on something cool and flat. Sitting higher now, his arms lowered just an inch, but enough so that his shoulders no longer burned with the effort of holding up his body weight. He was still coughing though.

Air grew thin around him, his throat shrinking as he coughed. He heard doors open, a new voice, Ianto calling his name frantically. Jack tried to tell them he was fine, tried to tell them he just needed time to heal, but he could feel blood flooding his mouth, his muscles cramping. His own body was trying to crush him.

"I got you…"

A hand guided his head onto a shoulder then settled on his back. He coughed and coughed, trying to expel whatever vise was crushing his lungs and barred him from air. A harder cough and something cracked before he realized it was a rib that was pressing into his heart. It had shifted as it healed and now sat on his lungs.

Ianto's eyes were huge and his mouth was moving, but Jack couldn't hear him. He could feel himself fading and his heart hammered as he realized that Ianto was blurring before him.

Stay, Jack tried to say but he ended up choking. His head sagged forward as darkness swept over.

Stay.

 

**Somewhere over America…**

The small Cessna dipped its right wing as it circled what used to be the Empire State building. Now it stood skeletal and bleak against a clear blue sky like a child's crayon drawing of his or her house. In a few weeks, it would be completely gone from the once famed New York skyline, stripped down to its foundations for its metal. 

Lucy couldn't look out the window anymore as the plane swooped low over Central Park, now littered with escaped zoo animals left to run wild in the city. They ran away from the shadow of the approaching plane. Polar bears, deer and rabbits ran in an odd, conglomerated herd towards what trees remained. Horses galloped in what used to be Soho in search of food.

She accepted a cup of English Breakfast from Francine Jones and sipped it delicately while she watched Harry pace up and down the narrow aisle. He'd shown the Doctor the rockets that stood magnificent and tall even from their altitude. When the Doctor simply looked away, his face giving away nothing, Harry fumed. Everyone avoided him including Lucy.

The plane was silent now that Harry was no longer playing the exuberant tour guide, harping to the Doctor as the small private plane flew past the sights still there. She sat across from the quiet elderly Doctor. She smirked to herself when she saw Francine Jones turn away from one of the windows with tears in her eyes. 

Harry had confided once what Martha Jones had done in the past, _his_ past that no one else shared. Lucy shared a laugh with Harry at the plan that seemed to play out before them; like a book they had read before. It was a rare thing these days to share anything with Harry; Harry was so busy and if he weren't, he'd brood in a chair set in front of the Doctor's tent or vanish for a few hours with his Companion.

Francine Jones dabbed at her eyes with a corner of her apron and went to fetch the Master more tea and jelly babies.

Lucy wondered if the Jones woman was thinking about Martha Jones. Harry would capture her yet. Did she fear for Martha's safety? Did she think about her wandering the world with Torchwood? Did she resent the Doctor for sending her on her mission? Lucy suspected a mother always worries.

Eyes down, Lucy settled a hand over her flat stomach. She tried to imagine herself with a little boy, perhaps a little girl, with her nose and Harry's eyes. The image both thrilled and unsettled her. A child. Yes, a child would make Harry happy and keep him by her. Her beautiful, brilliant Master. She was sure of it.

"It won't work."

Lucy looked up and saw dark eyes staring back at her. She dropped her hand from her belly.

"All he knows is the drumming," the Doctor whispered. His eyes drifted lower to her stomach. "And you're not compatible."

"I am his _wife_ ," Lucy snarled. She leaned forward across the aisle towards him. "I am more than compatible."

The Doctor studied her with a mournful look. "Human and Time Lord DNA are not well-suited. The odds are very narrow. It could kill the mother."

What was numb now boiled in her blood. Lucy clawed her armrests, a hair's breath away from pouncing at the Doctor to scratch his hearts out. Instead, she sneered.

"Is that why you never asked _Rose_ to stay?"

The blotchy pink face paled. The Doctor stared. 

Lucy smirked. "The Companion talks." Harry mentioned it in passing, another thing from _his_ past.

The Doctor studied her. "No, he doesn't."

Lucy sneered at him. "Are you sure? Is he as loyal to you as I am to my Master?"

"You weren't like this before," the Doctor told her, his mouth wrinkling. It sounded like regret.

Lucy felt her stomach fluttered. "No," she agreed, subdued. "I wasn't." Before she was nothing, a weed under her father's shadow shuttled away to study the classics afar so her father wouldn't have to look at her after her mother died. But now, she could see time and space, was loved by a god. She slowly smiled to herself.

"Now I'm _better_."

The Doctor shook his head and looked away.

She thought she saw pity before the old Doctor looked out the window. 

"What?" Lucy hissed. 

The Doctor ignored her.

Lucy stared at the back of his head. She wanted to scream that he was wrong even if he didn't say a word. But Harry would have her head if she were to raise a single hand against him.

"Master," Lucy called out instead. "Can we see New York again? I want to see the elephants on Fifth Avenue once more."

Her Harry turned around and gave her a striking smile before he ordered the pilot to turn back around. It was far more satisfying than the sudden slump of the Doctor's shoulders when the plane flew back over the demolished city.

 

**Valiant**

There were moments of darkness along with snatches of voices; just bits and pieces saying nothing that made any sense but told him he wasn't alone and for the first time in a long time, that was good.

A hand rubbed his newly healed back, thin pink skin stretched with each cough. He knew in the back of his mind it was friendly, but he recoiled all the same, nearly dropping off whatever they had seated him on. His throat, his lungs were on fire, squeezing tighter and tighter as he choked.

"You're all right…come back…"

A voice murmured quietly in his ear, unperturbed that he hacked and heaved harshly against the speaker. It only faltered once when Jack shuddered as the hand inadvertently drifted lower on his back but started up again until Jack's lungs was simply too tired to fight anymore.

Jack blinked away the haze of tears ripped from him during his fit. The aches of his body told him he hadn't died—damn, would have been a lot easier if he had. His vision cleared and he found himself now sitting on an oil drum—Saxon kept one here for whenever he wanted to practice his foot reflexology skills with a cattle prod—and his chin propped up by Ianto's shoulder.

Gwen and Toshiko stared up at him, terrified and marked with tears and spots of blood Jack had spat on them when they got too close.

Jack could feel Ianto trembling against him, his hand stilled on Jack's back, his face buried in the crook of Jack's neck.

His lips tasted coppery when he swiped his tongue over them and his throat felt raw. Jack took an experimental breath. 

"Ouch," Jack wheezed.

Toshiko covered her mouth with the back of her hand but it didn't look like she was laughing. Gwen tried to smile but then she just burst into tears.

Ianto wrapped both arms around Jack now, not that Jack was complaining.

Wearily, Jack rested his chin on Ianto's head and savored the familiar of a welcomed body against him. He then turned his heavy head and saw Owen, his mouth grim and set as he stood on a crate and worked on the bolts that held the chains to the wall with an old railroad spike.

"What are you doing?" Jack rasped. 

"We're getting you two out of here," Gwen soothed. She settled a hand on Jack's left knee.

The streams of Toclafane flashed behind his eyes. Toshiko's screams as they watched Japan burned still gnawed his insides. His gut clenched.

"S-stop," Jack whispered. He twisted feebly, his arms moving even when his shoulders warned against it. Jack groaned as swollen joints simply stiffened.

"Hold still," Owen said curtly. "If I could loosen just one…"

"I said stop," Jack seethed. He jerked his arm. The chain whipped and Owen jumped back, startled.

"What’s the matter with you?" Owen demanded in a hiss, but he held onto Jack's shoulder to still it, his hands expertly bracing his winged shoulder blade. "Hold still. You're making it worse."

"Jack?" Ianto pulled back a little. He faced Jack. "What is it?"

It was hard to form words. Jack found himself stuttering and forced himself to talk slowly.

"Can't l-leave…" His tongue felt large and useless in his mouth. "D-doctor…"

"We're getting him, too," Gwen promised. Both of her hands were on his knee now. "Jack, we're going to get all of you out."

"You can't."

Everyone turned towards Toshiko. She stared at Jack as it slowly dawned on her.

"I saw Saxon take the Doctor, Mrs. Jones and his wife on a plane. That's why there aren't many guards around."

Jack wasn't sure which upset him more—the news about the Doctor or the realization that the surprise on everyone's faces meant there had been no real plan besides getting him out. He felt cold inside. So much could have gone so wrong if they were caught. The Master would have delighted in his newest guests.

"He p-probably wanted to s-show the…the D-doctor a nic-ce aerial view of what was left—" Jack curled in slightly and coughed. 

"Oi, shut your yap," Owen said gruffly. "Give your lungs a chance to heal, you idiot." His hand splayed center of Jack's chest, the other hand pressed to his jugular. Owen's mouth moved slightly as he counted.

"We'll come back for them," Gwen promised.

"No," Jack struggled to finish. "We c-can't…"

"Yes, we can." On any other day, the determination on Owen's face would have made him proud. Today, all Jack felt was an urge to kick him. "We got up here once. We can do it again."

Jack clenched his teeth. If his hands weren't shackled, he would have given Owen a head slap. "N-no…you c-c'n't…J-Japan."

Toshiko sucked in her breath.

"Tosh?" Owen said. He turned his head sharply towards her. He was careful to keep his voice low enough so it wouldn't echo. "What does he mean by Japan?"

Jack lifted his gritty eyes at her. He hung there, just trying to breathe. Toshiko nodded at his gaze.

"We tried to start something a few weeks ago," Toshiko croaked. "Saxon caught us, stopped us and in retaliation…"

"God…" Ianto whispered by Jack's right ear.

"If we try again or es-scape," Jack gasped, "India is next."

"Christ," Owen spat out. He dropped his arms and squeezed the spike in his grip tightly. His knuckles turned white around the thick barb. "Sick son of a bitch."

"But we can't just leave you here." Gwen looked at Toshiko then to Jack. Her eyes were wide, her face ashen. "We…we came to get you."

"And these girls wouldn't stop harping at me to get up here," Owen snorted as he gestured towards Ianto and Gwen. "Bitch, bitch, bitch all the way from down the mountains." Owen gave Jack a sideways look.

"Thanks for that, by the way."

Jack tried to shrug. He grimaced when his shoulders just stretched, threatening to tear.

"Place was cold enough to freeze bits off me," Owen griped but his expression was serious while he checked Jack's shoulder, his thumb digging deep into the socket.

"You found everything you needed?" Jack managed. He set his jaw when Owen's thumb dug too deep.

Jack caught Owen give Ianto a look. 

"Yeah," Owen answered, quiet. "Everything we needed."

Ianto said nothing.

"There must be something we can do," Gwen insisted. "Jack, down there, they're building—"

"I know," Jack interrupted. Saxon liked to gloat…a lot. "Where's Martha?"

"We're not sure," Ianto spoke up, somber and steadier now than he was before. "We parted after we left Torchwood Four. She said the Doctor needed her to do something."

Owen scoffed but didn't comment as he probed Jack's neck.

Jack nodded wearily. "Saxon's been trying to c-catch her but apparently he was…'ollowing the wrong group." Jack grimaced as another cough pushed up his throat along with the bitter, slimy taste of copper. "He thought she was heading west." Jack remembered Saxon's tirade when he lost her again in Petersburg. It was probably the shortest visit; Saxon had lost control too quickly and Jack died with the Master's astonished face hovering in front of him. 

"Figured Saxon would think it was three people traveling together," Ianto murmured next to him. His mouth curved crookedly. "Didn't think Martha would start out east and us west." Ianto tilted his face up towards Jack.

"He thinks I'm a dead man."

Jack's face must have given something away because the little satisfied smirk on Ianto's face dropped.

"I'm all right," Ianto told Jack. His hand rubbed small circles on Jack's back.

"It was a near thing," Owen grunted, "but your rift watch thing must have scrambled our molecules enough so it was only an itty bitty hole, not a fucking blood gusher—"

"Thank you," Ianto said tightly, "for your medical prognosis, Dr. Harper."

Owen shrugged. "Just saying you were lucky, mate."

It was stupid luck. Luck the dematerialization occurred just then. Luck Owen was with them. Luck that they were able to—

Ianto's hand on his back went up and down now, his other quietly slipped over his right knee to give it a reassuring squeeze. He never said anything, but he looked at Jack with a strained smile.

Jack gave Ianto a tiny nod. Now was not the time.

"Jack," Gwen tried again. "Tell us what to do. There has to be a way to get you out,"

They all looked at him expectantly, waiting for answers like they did with Abbadon. Jack would have laughed if it weren't so sad. 

Jack thought quickly of what the Doctor had told him. He took a deep breath. "Get back to Torchwood," Jack decided.

"In Cardiff?" Gwen stared.

Jack glanced over to Ianto. He smiled briefly when Ianto pulled up his left sleeve to reveal the wrist strap.

"Never took it off," Ianto murmured. He pulled the flap back. He tipped his head and huddled closer to Jack so he could see better as he instructed Ianto on how to input the coordinates. 

"Just don't send us up to the bloody mountains again," Owen mumbled.

Jack huffed; it was as close as a laugh he could manage without the hurt. 

"Jack, what do we do when we're there?" Gwen urged. Her eyes darted from Ianto to the door.

"The rockets," Ianto spoke up. "There must be something we can do about them."

"I know where we can get the plans," Toshiko volunteered. "Should be easy." She smiled grimly. "No one pays attention to the help."

"An' you'll need 'upplies," Jack added, out of breath. "We…we d-don't know what condition T-torchwood is in now…"

"There is an infirmary one level up," Toshiko added. 

"There should be enough dry food in the hub for months and the water pumps are independent from Cardiff's systems," Ianto muttered as he tapped carefully on the buttons as he mentally reviewed everything Jack told him. "No power though. Saxon's shut down all the power grids."

"Rift," Jack wheezed. "There should be…" God, it was getting hard to breathe again. "…enough re…residual…"

"I got it," Ianto murmured. He rubbed a knuckle on Jack's knee. "I know what to do."

Jack sighed. He felt so tired. His limbs felt heavy. 

"You look like shit," Owen announced.

This time, Jack did laugh. At least he tried, managing a strangled gurgle before it felt like his lungs would explode.

"Miss you, too, Owen," Jack gasped out. "I—"

Something uncoiled deep in his body, unraveled and released a hard and unyielding pain that shook him. Jack jerked, felt hands on him and for a second time, blacked out.

When he came to, he was still sitting on the barrel, leaning heavily against Ianto, his arms still outstretched high above his head.

"…internal bleeding," Owen was telling someone. He stopped when he noticed Jack was awake again.

Jack made a face. "I've had worse," Jack managed. He rubbed his chin against Ianto's temple to get his attention. Ianto looked up, his eyes red-rimmed.

"We can't leave you here like this," Ianto's voice broke. "You can't ask me to do that…getting here…it was all I could think about."

Jack rested his forehead to Ianto's. He could feel Ianto trembling as he fought for composure.

"One hundred twenty million," Jack said hoarsely. He felt Ianto stiffen next to him. 

"That's how many were in Japan," Jack continued. His eyes burned and his mind screamed for him to shut up but he plowed on. 

"I could die a thousand deaths every day," Jack croaked, "but it still wouldn't be enough to make up for…" He closed his eyes. "There's something else." 

Toshiko blinked when Jack looked at her.

"Me?" Toshiko whispered. She walked up to Jack, her eyes round and scared.

"Your little brother's still alive," Jack told her. "He showed the Doctor proof. They caught him on his way into Cardiff. He's in the labor camps in London, but he's alive." Jack smiled as best he could. "And he's going to stay that way."

Toshiko stared at his mouth in disbelief. She opened her mouth then closed it. Then her eyes filled and she tipped her head to his chest. She whimpered something in Japanese, her fingers holding little folds of his shirt and started to cry. Owen prodded her over to his shoulder and the weeping continued in earnest.

Gwen looked at Jack with such hope he cringed.

"Did Saxon show the Doctor anyone else?" Gwen pleaded. The glimmer in her eyes dulled when Jack painfully shook his head. "They…" Gwen swallowed. "They must have gone into hiding."

Jack turned to look at Ianto. The younger man's eyes were downcast, his chin nearly touching Jack's shoulder. 

"H-he…he never said anything about…" Jack started, but Ianto looked up, his eyes dry, his mouth a thin smile.

"Okay," Ianto whispered. His arms tightened around Jack, but he stepped back when Jack groaned. "Jack?"

Jack felt Owen back next to him, his fingers cautiously cupped around the bruises Jack knew he had on his torso. Jack tolerated Owen checking his pulse, his eyes, his suddenly clammy skin. The temperature had dropped dramatically and Jack shivered when Owen pulled up his shirt.

"Christ," Owen muttered. He looked up at Jack, his brow furrowed. "How long usually does this stuff take to get better when you do your undying shit?"

"I'm not a zombie," Jack managed. 

"Right, well a zombie would be prettier right now," Owen scoffed. "How long?"

"Three days," Toshiko said quietly, her eyes were now dry but puffy. "Saxon leaves him alone for about three days before he…"

That long, huh? Sometimes it felt shorter. Jack grimaced and tried to remain still as Owen checked his bruised and rigid stomach.

"He likes to start f-fresh," Jack grit out. "Does just enough not to k-kill, but enough— _Owen_ ," Jack groaned as pressure over his left kidney jolted up his body.

"Sorry," Owen muttered. He pulled back his hands. He spread his hands over the shoulder joints. "Dislocated."

"'anging around in c-chains doesn't really give them a chance to heal," Jack ground out. "God, Owen, did you stick your hands in an icebox?"

Owen withdrew his hands. "Cold?" He didn't wait for an answer as he muttered to himself. Owen pulled off his cap—Ianto looked better in it anyway—and raked a hand through his hair.

"And you expect me to leave you here in this condition?" Ianto hissed into Jack's ear. He stayed under Jack's arm, a hand on his lower back to keep him seated on the barrel. 

"I heal," Jack rasped. He rested his chin on Ianto's shoulder again. It was tiring to try to keep his head up.

"In three days," Ianto whispered, but it was loud enough for everyone to tense and look around nervously. 

"Doesn't have to be."

Jack lifted his bleary gaze to Owen. 

Owen's face was pale, his lips bloodless, but his eyes were hard. "When you died before, after I…shot you, you came back without any scars."

Jack stared at Owen and at his fists hanging by his sides, and understood. Jack smiled wryly to himself. Owen would have a legitimate excuse this time. 

"Everything would reset," Jack agreed.

Gwen spun around and gaped at Owen. "What are you suggesting?"

Owen's throat bobbed. He looked like he was going to throw up. "If Saxon won't come back for him for another three days, it'll be better if he was already healed. It…it would be better," Owen's voice faltered.

"By _killing_ him?" Gwen clasped both hands over her mouth to stop from shouting. "He's not a fucking dog to put down, Owen!"

"Gwen," Jack called to her tiredly. "Owen's right."

It was sadly comical how quickly Gwen spun back the other way. She gawked at him.

"You're…you're not serious," Gwen stammered. "You want us to…" She couldn't say it.

"No. Jack, we…" Toshiko fumbled as well.

"Would you rather he suffer?" Owen snarled before Jack could speak up and tell them to forget it. 

"It's…" Gwen pleaded with Jack, her fists on both his knees. "Couldn't you…I mean…there must be something!"

Toshiko fumbled even as she blinked rapidly. She could see what Gwen refused to. "He won't come back here for three days," Toshiko tried anyway, "maybe we could get you out now. We would have three days, we—"

"It's not enough time to do anything," Ianto spoke up suddenly. He pressed carefully against Jack, his eyes away from Jack. 

"I won't do it," Gwen declared, her voice trembling. "This…this is barbaric."

How was it more barbaric than this, Jack wanted to ask her. He understood, he really did, but he also knew Gwen was still living under the delusion that rules were intact, demanding to be followed. The Master had broken all of them with this planet. Jack couldn't afford to coddle her.

"Gwen," Jack rasped, his voice harsh. "S-stop thinking like Gwen C-cooper and start thinking like…like Torchwood." 

Gwen stared at him like he'd just slapped her.

"Listen to me," Jack struggled to keep his voice steady. "This can't be fixed o'ernight. I…I 'an't throw myself to the wolves and fix this. I-I need you all to make the 'ard c'oices f-for me now." His chest heaved with the effort but Jack forced himself to continue. "This is what I was trying t-to get you all ready for."

"For _murder_?" Gwen rasped. Her lower lip stuck out and God, Jack wanted to take it all back, everything—Saxon, the Toclafane, Abbadon. He could see war already carved lines into his team's faces.

"We came to get you out," Gwen whispered as if guilt would get him to change his mind. 

"And now you'll…" Jack swallowed. "…leave me behind." Jack blinked rapidly at the devastated look on Gwen's face. "If you don't want to do it, fine. I'll just—"

"I'll do it." A voice spoke up, halting Jack's words.

 

**Act II**   
**Valiant**

Clive Jones paced the narrow walkway. He made wet circles with his mop aimlessly traveling up and down the walkway.

A guard in his irritating black suit peeked in a crack of the door. He jumped back at the soapy deluge threatening to wet his shoes.

"Sorry," Clive announced loudly, hopefully loud enough to cover the subdued chatter in the room behind him. It was locked, or so everyone should think, but Ms. Toshiko did something brilliant to its keypad and it opened up as if never locked. The small square panel however hung by a screw.

"Lots of water. Careful," Clive boomed loudly and he nudged his bucket so the dirty water spilled closer to the polished shoes.

"Watch it," the pimply-faced guard snapped. He gave the door behind Clive only a glance then a smirk. "Or we’ll string your fat ass up like that thing in there for the Master to play with!" And the youth—Saxon had recruited the disillusioned youth during his reign as Minister of Defense—punctuated his threat by slamming the door before resuming his patrol.

Clive rolled his eyes and mopped as loudly as a wet, slapping mop could. He glanced over his shoulder uneasily at the room. Sweat was beginning to make the back of his shirt to stick to him. Whatever Torchwood was going to do, they better be quick. 

That guard wasn't there before.

 

"I'll do it." 

Everyone turned towards Owen. He held up a rusty pocketknife with a black plastic handle in his hand.

"Put that away!" Gwen hissed.

"Owen," Toshiko whispered, her huge eyes were glued to Owen.

Ianto said nothing. He just turned his head away from everyone, but his hand remained on Jack's back. 

Owen leveled his gaze at Jack. 

"There's an artery and some nerve areas I can sever," Owen said woodenly. He kept the knife in his palm and never tried to grasp it. "It would be painless, I promise."

Jack met Owen's bleak eyes. He nodded.

"Just get those p'ans," Jack rasped. "Do something with them." Jack took a deep breath. "I need you to keep them safe, Owen."

It must have been the wrong thing to say, because Owen's face, hidden from everyone else, blanched and his fingers shook when he took hold of the pocketknife that had always been meant for opening letters and scraping paint not for severing arteries.

"Owen." Gwen grabbed him by the elbow. "You can't!"

"Gwen!" Jack snapped. It was only because steam just then wailed out of a pipe behind him that the echo was concealed.

Gwen halted and gaped at him with the same shocked look as when Suzie shot him. Dimly, Jack wondered just how many things changed that day, how many things will change now.

"You don't have to watch," Owen practically snarled, his face still turned away from the girls. 

Jack watched defiance waver in Gwen's eyes. He sighed to himself. Jack coughed. Red spots splattered, but Owen didn't wipe them off his face. 

"At least…let us stay then," Gwen said, cowed, her shoulders slumped. She pulled Toshiko tightly to her side and both of them fixed their gazes on Jack's face only.

"Suit yourself," Owen muttered. He stuck his chin out, flipped the blade open and drew near Jack. He schooled a neutral expression, his mouth was a grim line but the hand he curled around the back of Jack's neck betrayed him. It trembled over his skin as the other held the pocketknife so tightly, Jack thought he would cut himself.

Jack closed his eyes when he felt the knife tip pressed on his jugular, just slightly below his Adam's apple. One advantage of a doctor doing this, Jack thought with a morbid sense of humor, he wouldn't miss. He could feel Ianto's hand curled and clutching a fistful of his shirt on his back, Gwen and Toshiko's hitched breathing somewhere beyond everything, and Owen's cool fingers digging into his flesh as if trying to pull himself closer to Jack.

Then suddenly, Ianto spoke in an almost inaudible voice.

"Pills."

Jack's eyes flew open and saw what Ianto spied: Owen's bleeding lower lip, his red-rimmed eyes. Jack turned to Ianto, who looked just as destroyed, who stared at Owen even as his hands held onto Jack like a buoy.

"What?" Owen croaked. He retracted his hand and the blade too quickly and nicked his thumb by mistake. He rubbed a knuckle across his lower lip, cleaning it of the traces of blood. "What?" Owen repeated, his voice stronger.

It didn't look like Ianto could speak any more, so Jack spared him. "If there's an in'irmary," Jack rasped, "there may b-be…p-pills."

"Overdose," Ianto added. He didn't look at Jack, or Owen, or anyone else. "An overdose. He'll simply…go to…" Ianto's head bowed slightly.

"It'll be easier," Owen finished. His eyes narrowed as he studied Ianto. Jack could see a thought must have clicked inside because Owen's head whipped around back to Jack. The medic made the connection no one else could.

Jack stared steadily back at him, daring him to say something. Owen didn't. 

"All right," Owen said finally. He seemed calmer now the longer he kept his eyes on Jack. "Tosh, show me where the infirmary is. You and Gwen get those plans. Ianto—"

"I'm staying here," Ianto said, quietly but firmly. He rested back against Jack's shoulder.

Owen never batted an eye. "Right. We'll meet back here in ten minutes."

Owen pivoted around and left with Gwen and Toshiko. Jack saw Gwen and Owen pull out the TARDIS keys out of their shirts to check they were there before they exited the chamber.

The door closed after Clive Jones peered inside to check and indicate he was still outside.

It was a few moments before either of them spoke. A few moments when all Jack wanted to do was hear Ianto breathe, hear the soft inhales and exhales that were comforting to wake up to at night.

"I'm sorry."

Jack felt Ianto start.

"For what?"

Jack closed his eyes briefly, when he reopened them, he stared at Ianto's profile settled against his right shoulder. "For not trying harder to live. I know you hate me doing this."

"I hate a lot of things," Ianto rasped. "The Master, those things out there…" He turned around and studied Jack. "But I could never hate you."

Jack smiled sadly at Ianto. Ianto's eyes were too old for his face. They always were, but Jack had also rejoiced in seeing it recede as time went on. Now, he could only grieve to see it return in full force. 

Ianto twisted around. He reached up and caressed Jack's cheek.

"God, I missed you," Ianto whispered. His eyes welled. "I missed you so m-much…" His voice caught. "Every day that I breathed, I missed you."

The fingers that skimmed his face were fragile yet coarse with calluses that told stories Jack knew Ianto would never tell.

"I thought…" Jack sighed as Ianto traced the contour of his face with quiet, undemanding fingers. It had been so long since a touch soothed instead of hurting, invading, humiliating. 

Ianto never questioned, he simply stood between Jack's legs. Ianto unbuttoned and opened up his vest and his jacket until a black t-shirt was exposed. He then wrapped his arms around Jack's middle and pressed in his body to offer as much contact as the chains and barrel would allow. Ianto stood there, chest to chest, offering Jack every inch of his body against him, held Jack like a child's favorite toy and buried his face over Jack's throat.

Jack choked at the instinct to cringe warring with the instinct to touch. His arms quivered. He longed to reach out towards Ianto.

"I thought…"

"I know," Ianto said simply. "I'm not. I'm here."

"If you had—" Jack dipped his head and spoke into the cap on Ianto's head.

"Shh," Ianto shushed. "I didn't."

"But you nearly did," Jack whispered. He kissed Ianto's temple, marveled how the coarse stubble against his face could feel so comforting. 

Jack could feel the sinewy muscle rubbing against him, the arms around him, but it felt like it wasn't enough. It felt like any minute, he would wake up, Ianto would be gone and someone else would be here, leering.

"Am I hurting you?" Ianto whispered when Jack shuddered.

"No," Jack lied. He didn't want to tell Ianto how his chest felt tight, how his stomach ached and burned each time Ianto held him. He didn't want Ianto to let go. Jack memorized what he could, how solid Ianto felt against him, how his exhales against his skin smoothed away the needles pricking under his skin.

Jack winced as his back spasmed. He covered the groan with a strained chuckle.

"I must s-stink."

Ianto gave his own choked laugh but never looked up from his throat. "I wasn't going to say anything."

"You lo't s-some weight," Jack noted sadly. He could see how the shirt hung on his frame.

"Less takeaway and biscuits these days." Ianto's arms carefully tightened. "You've grown so thin."

"Mira'le diet," Jack wheezed. "Cold s-swede."

"Ah. Dr. Aktins would have been envious."

"Who?" Jack coughed.

Ianto shook his head. His hands traveled up Jack's back, stopping when Jack shivered. 

"S-sorry." Jack struggled to keep his voice steady. "I a'ked if they c-can turn up the 'eat, but—"

"We're alone. Jack," Ianto interrupted. He moved his hands around to cup Jack's face. "There's no one here but me." Ianto sniffed but offered Jack a tiny smile anyway. "We're alone. You…you don't have to be the big damn hero all the time."

Jack stared at Ianto. He could feel muscles around his face moving, trembling as they fought to maintain the smile that he could feel growing brittle. 

A hand went around the back of his head and guided it down to rest his forehead on Ianto's shoulder. 

His neck burned with the strain and his back knotted as soon as his neck bent, but Jack didn't care. He laid his head on the offered shoulder. He listened to Ianto's rhythmic breathing by his ear. Jack thought if he closed his eyes, he could pretend they were back in bed, warm and entangled in each other's arms in the gray morning hours.

A sharp pang in his chest made Jack realize this could only be pretend. That this, these few minutes of solitude, would soon be memory and the pain would begin again and suddenly, Jack couldn't do it. Not again. Not in this soon to be empty, filthy engine room.

The first sound surprised them both. Jack didn't recognize it; the raw, almost animalistic moan stifled by the fear of being heard. The second one escaped before Jack realized he was making the sounds. 

"Shh," was Ianto's only response, his voice just as rough, just as unrecognizable and somehow it eased out the next sound, a whimper, into Ianto's shoulder a little easier.

When it finally released, it came out muffled because Jack didn't have the air, his trembles subdued because he didn't have the strength, his eyes dry because he was too dehydrated to form any tears. Dry-eyed, spent, and feeling like he was falling into an endless abyss, Jack tried to gag himself with Ianto's shoulder.

Through it all, Ianto said nothing. He simply held Jack. And stayed. 

 

Gwen stood by the door, feeling a little useless as she watched Tosh dance her fingers across the keyboard.

"State of the art, my ass…" Tosh was muttering. 

"…still use Windows…firewall worth shit…blows the mind…prats…idiots…It's true…all the villains use Windows…" 

Tosh smirked though as line after line scrolled up the screen. After a moment, a printer in the back of the rows of servers in the tiny space began to beep. It was loud enough that Gwen slipped her hand under her apron for the gun she had tied there. She was beginning to wish she hadn't left her rucksack with Ianto and Jack. Her other weapons were shoved under her dwindling pile of protein bars. Somehow, just wandering the gloomy halls—though unnoticed—with only her handgun left Gwen feeling very exposed. 

"Done," Tosh announced as she rolled up the plans from the printer and pass them to Gwen. "Let me clear the printer cache, do what I need to do and we can go."

Gwen studied Tosh's determined face as the computer expert went back to a computer.

"I'm sorry we couldn't get here sooner, Tosh," Gwen murmured.

"Don't be," Tosh replied simply as she typed something into the computer, tsked when the main navigation page came up and typed some more. Tosh spared her a glance. 

"Sorry I wasn't there with you all." Tosh paused then shook her head. "Actually, not really." She squinted at the screen. "I feel a little better knowing someone was up here with Jack." A shadow crossed her face. "Even if I couldn't do anything."

"Looks like you're doing something now," Gwen observed. She knew enough about computers to know it was taking Tosh far too long.

"The less you know, the better," was Tosh's succinct reply.

"You don't trust me?" Gwen asked, a little hurt.

Tosh looked up with a faint smile. "Trust you enough to know you would die rather than tell." 

Speechless, Gwen stared at Tosh. She could only manage an "Oh."

"Gwen, the Doctor wants me to do something. That's all I can say. We all have a part. But none of us know everything. Just the countdown."

Something bright flickered close to her chest. "Countdown? So the Doctor has another plan?"

Tosh looked up, her eyes abnormally bright, her smile brighter. "Oh yes." She ducked her head again and continued typing.

Gwen noted the pink ears half hidden under the loose bun her hair was pinned up into.

"Oh my God, you like him," Gwen blurted out.

If anything, Tosh's ears grew pinker.

"He's alright," Tosh muttered. "For an alien." She paused, looking up. "A very old alien."

It was probably inappropriate to laugh, but Gwen couldn't help but giggle.

"Christ, Tosh, what is it with you and aliens?"

Tosh sighed but she offered Gwen a sheepish grin. "I haven't a clue. It's doomed anyway. They either get sent to the sun or get shriveled up into senility."

Gwen surprised Tosh with a hug from behind. "God, Tosh. I missed you."

There was a warm chuckle in response. "I missed you guys, too."

 

It wasn't fair. 

That was all Ianto could think about as he stroked the back of Jack's head and tried not to think about the dried blood crusted there. His right shoulder ached from being up too long but Ianto couldn't bring himself to release Jack.

Jack shuddered every so often but that initial tsunami of emotion in the form of tremors and barely unintelligible sounds had ebbed into the occasional shiver now.

No. It wasn't fair, Ianto decided as he blinked away the burning that threatened to overwhelm him. They couldn't even grieve properly because they feared discovery and because that initial burst had thoroughly exhausted Jack.

Ianto kissed the top of Jack's head and fought the urge to cringe at the smell of neglect, blood and filth on him. Jack was right; he did stink. Then again, Ianto probably didn't smell like a rose garden to Jack right now, either.

It was when Jack stirred that Ianto sensed someone standing by the door, unsure of their welcome. Ianto hastily wiped a hand across Jack's face and his own before turning around.

"We're back," Owen said needlessly at the crack of the door, only one foot in, three fingers visible. He studied Ianto before opening the door wider and let Gwen and Tosh entered the room, their arms laden with wares.

"Opioids." Owen shook an amber bottle of pills in his hand. "Should do the trick. Drug of choice." His smile died quickly. "Got some water we can dissolve it all in."

"I'll do it," Ianto reached for the pills and water bottle. 

"Ianto—" Jack's scratchy voice began.

"It's fine," Ianto interrupted. He stared at Jack even as he clutched the items to him. "Let me do this for you."

Jack's eyes were dull with pain and sparked briefly with regret. Jack nodded slowly, but it felt like a poor victory to Ianto.

Ianto never strayed from Jack, both needing to absorb the sense memory the proximity provided. He stayed shoulder to shoulder by Jack, his boots crunching on top of the tarp on the floor, as he uncapped the water. Ianto fought not to react when he offered Jack a sip of untainted water. Jack choked at the first sip. Owen had to tilt his head up a little before the second attempt went down safely.

His fingers shook as he crushed the entire bottle of pills into the rest of the water. He could feel Jack watching him the whole time and Ianto wanted to throw the bottle at the wall. Instead, he shook the bottle with a few flicks of his wrist. He watched with a lump in his throat as the pills slowly disintegrated into a cloudy solution. 

"Jack, we'll come back for you," Gwen was promising. She flinched as Ianto shook the bottle, the water sloshing noisily next to her.

"Don't." Jack's voice was calmer than before. 

"B-but—"

"Gwen, you re'ind us of our h-humanity…Now you 'ave to r-remem'er what's at stake here: humanity."

"I know," Gwen insisted.

"Then know you c-can't do everything you w-want."

Out of the corner of his eye, Ianto could see Gwen's stunned expression, like being scolded by a teacher for the very first time. Ianto averted his eyes and shook the bottle harder than necessary as Gwen tiptoed and brushed her lips across Jack's.

Tosh approached and she tilted her head up towards him.

"You know what you need to do," Jack rasped. 

Tosh nodded and like Gwen, gave him a soft kiss, her hands light on his shoulders.

"I'll come back," Tosh murmured.

"Tosh—"

"I'll be in the neighborhood anyway, I can just—"

" _You can't_!"

Tosh placed a hand on Jack's chest as he erupted into coughs. Gwen held his left shoulder to still it. His right shoulder bumped against Ianto, nearly upsetting the bottle in his grasp. 

"Jack," Tosh sniffled. "You can't expect me to…" She stared at Jack, at his eyes. She gulped then lowered her eyes and nodded.

Ianto looked up at Owen, standing in front of Jack, his arms folded across his chest. Owen scowled.

"I am _not_ kissing you," Owen declared. "You smell funny."

It was a relief to hear everyone, including Jack, laugh, even if it died too quickly. 

"Get over 'ere," Jack ordered hoarsely, his eyes tracking Owen as he approached.

Owen's arms unwound and hung to his sides as he leaned into Jack, his ear tilted up to his mouth, his head bowed low towards him. Owen listened, his face the gravest Ianto had ever seen on the medic and he nodded every so often at whatever Jack told him. The only time Owen's face betrayed him was when Owen darted a glance to Ianto before he gave a curt nod.

"Don't worry, Jack," Owen murmured as he straightened. Owen looked worn and old all of the sudden, but his voice was firm. "I—mmpf!"

Before Owen could back away out of reach, Jack stretched his head over and planted a kiss right over Owen's mouth.

"Damn it, Jack," Owen complained. He made a big show of wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

"Di'n't w-want you to f-feel left…out," Jack laughed breathlessly.

"Brilliant," Owen spat out before he glared at Jack. "Now I'm traumatized." Owen jerked his head over towards Jack. "Come on, Jonesy, get yours, mate."

Ianto glowered at Owen, but the effort was only half-hearted. Owen's eyes were too bleak to be sincere and the emotion lingering at the edge of Owen's expression was unbearable to look at for too long. 

Standing in front of Jack wasn't any better. Before, it was side-glances, faces pressed to faces, but now, standing in front of Jack, the full clarity of what was coming was staggering. 

"Just so you know," Ianto said quietly as he clutched the lethal cocktail with both hands, "I am only doing this under protest."

Jack nodded, or tried, and Ianto could see the visible effort it took for Jack not to react to whatever he saw on Ianto's face.

Before he could think about it, Ianto leaned in and gave a chaste kiss over Jack's mouth, lingering longer than he should. He closed his eyes briefly at the sensation of dry, cracked lips on his mouth. It felt like someone had stuck a hot poker in his gut. 

Before Ianto pulled away, Jack whispered into his ear.

"Don't you dare d-die," Jack rasped. "Or I s-swear, I'll 'ick your ass."

Ianto bit his lower lip, the words lodged in his throat. He pressed another kiss to Jack's brow and felt Jack sigh.

"Ready?" Ianto asked, his voice breaking. At Jack's nod, Ianto uncapped the bottle and with a hand around the back of Jack's head, tipped the bottle carefully to his mouth.

Ianto wished Jack didn't look like the water quenched his thirst. Jack acted like the bitterness of the cloudy water didn't bother him. Ianto nearly pulled the bottle away when he saw Jack had almost drained it.

Done, Jack blinked sluggishly at everyone. Tosh dabbed moisture from his mouth with the corner of her apron.

"Go," Jack whispered.

Owen placed two fingers on Jack's jugular. "There's still time," Owen murmured. "I think we'll just wait, catch our breath, if you don't mind."

"The p-plans…"

"We have them," Gwen jumped in, her voice cracking. 

"And we'll help Martha somehow," Owen promised. "Once we get back to Torchwood, we'll sort it out, Jack."

Jack's head bobbed once. 

Ianto came back close to Jack again, close enough for Jack to rest his chin on his shoulder again. Jack dropped his head down with a sigh. Ianto's right shoulder resisted a little and Ianto was forced to use his left to stroke Jack's hair.

"If you want to go to sleep," Ianto murmured into Jack's ear, "It's…it's okay."

"Not yet." Jack's voice was growing wispy. "Talk to me."

His eyes blurred. "About what?"

There was a puff of air against his jaw as Jack tried to laugh.

"Anything. Just w-want to 'ear those beau'ful Welsh v-vowels."

Ianto choked. "Only you can think to flirt at a time like this."

Jack responded with another huff against his ear.

A hand slowly sweeping up and down Jack's back, Ianto began to talk about where they would go on the date, maybe the little restaurant by the docks, or perhaps dinner in his flat. Ianto felt Jack growing heavier and heavier against him as Ianto told him about what he might make, maybe a little pasta, or soup, and the more he talked, the more Ianto found there was so much he wanted to tell him. He wanted to tell Jack about his university days, about his family, about meeting Lisa one day when he tripped over her bicycle, about the things he wanted to do with his flat, about loving him so much, it was impossible to imagine a day when he—

"Enough. You can stop now."

Owen's hand dropped on his right shoulder, interrupting Ianto's monologue. Ianto looked up numbly and saw Owen standing by him. 

"You can stop now, Ianto," Owen rasped. "…He's gone."

Ianto stilled. He pulled back and stared at Jack's face, long lashes dark against a white face. Like lying on a morgue slab for days. Jack looked like he was asleep.

"Ah," Ianto could only say. He touched Jack's cooling face. "Ah," Ianto repeated. He pulled Jack back towards him and blinked rapidly.

"Ianto," Gwen half-whimpered from behind.

"Leave him," Owen cut her off. "Let's just get that barrel back into place."

Ianto knew he should be helping them. He couldn't get his limbs to move as he held Jack as tight as he could as they edged the barrel out from under Jack. Jack dropped into his arms as his legs could no longer hold him up.

Eyes shut, Ianto clutched Jack to him, trying to keep his body from sagging completely. He could feel something hot trailing down his face and he rubbed his eyes on Jack's shirt to clear it.

The door opened and everyone froze.

Clive Jones' head popped in.

"I think Saxon's returning. I could hear the engines getting ready to prime for a landing."

No, Ianto thought as he tried to will his body heat into Jack. Not yet. He was still too cold. Jack got cold easily.

"Ianto, we better go." Gwen pulled at his arm.

"Tosh, figure a way to patch a secure line to Torchwood," Owen told her in a crisp voice.

"Shouldn't be difficult."

He needed more time. Ianto stared at Jack's unmoving face beside his own.

"Ianto, sweetheart, we have to go—"

Jack couldn't cry before, but he had trembled in his arms as if he had.

"Mr. Jones—"

"Clive."

All alone, chained, barely fed, left with Saxon. No, he couldn't. Jack had stared at him like he was a ghost.

"Clive, can you take over, just until he wakes up?"

"Is he dead?"

His beautiful Jack, chained and tortured like an animal, his soul treated as less than one. He can't. He _can't_.

"Not for long. I just don't want those shoulders to pop out again when we leave—"

"I'm staying," Ianto burst out. He buried his face into Jack's cold neck. "I'm not leaving him."

The stunned silence lasted only seconds. Panic erupted all around him.

"Sweetheart, you can't—"

"Ianto, the Joneses and I will be here—"

"Are you out of your flipping mind, Jonesy? If Saxon finds you—"

"I can't let him wake up and find us gone." Ianto pulled away to yank the wrist strap off. He tossed it to Owen. "Here. This button will teleport you back to Torchwood. I'm staying here."

Owen grabbed him roughly by the shoulders and gave him a shake. 

"Listen to me. You can't stay here. Saxon will tear you apart. You think he'll leave you alive? Where do you think you can hide?"

"I…" Ianto floundered for an answer. He found now. "I can't leave him. You can't make me leave him."

"Actually," Owen answered in a strange calm voice. "I _can_."

Ianto looked up in time to see a fist diving towards him. Before he could duck, it snapped his head back and he crashed against Clive Jones and Jack before Gwen caught him.

"Owen!" He heard Tosh cried out.

"Sorry, Jonesy," Owen said before he plummeted into a darkness that matched what was in his heart. 

 

Jack never knew this, but Gwen once had a best friend who was deaf. She taught Gwen how to read lips. They used to mime secret messages to each other in class. No one ever caught them.

_Don't let Ianto stay_ , Jack had whispered into Owen's ear. Owen nodded, promising as seriously as when Jack also told him to help Martha.

So when Ianto declared he wasn't leaving, Gwen was prepared, but Owen beat her to the punch. 

Literally.

Ianto was too light against her, when he collapsed neatly into Gwen's embrace without a word.

"Owen!" Tosh gasped.

"If you're leaving, you have to leave now," Clive Jones gritted out as he stood behind Jack. He wrapped his massive arms from behind to hold him up. "There will be too many guards out there to slip away."

"It's fine," Gwen assured as she pulled one of Ianto's arms over her shoulder. "We can leave from here."

"But we should leave now," Owen muttered as he shrugged two rucksacks and kicked a third close to their feet. He shot Tosh a look. "He can't stay here, Tosh."

Tosh seemed to have calmed down. "I know."

"You watch yourself, girlie," Owen rasped as he pulled Jack's wrist strap on. "Get us a line in and that's that. If you can't—"

Tosh scoffed, but her eyes were too bright. "Their computers here aren't worth shit. I'll get it done."

"Christ, Sato. Ship life has corrupted you."

"Oh, piss off." Tosh hugged Gwen carefully. "Take care, you." Tosh carded a hand through Ianto's hair. His head lolled back against Gwen's ear. Tosh tenderly gave the top of his head a kiss.

Owen rolled his eyes as he pressed a button. The strap began to hum. "He's fine. I didn't hit him _that_ hard." As the hum grew louder, Owen sobered.

"Don't get yourself killed, Sato."

Tosh stood a bit away and gazed at him. "You too, Harper." And just as Gwen could feel the air crackle open behind them, Tosh suddenly leaped forward a step and kissed Owen hard right on the mouth. They parted with a loud smack.

Owen gawped at her, his mouth slightly opened.

Gwen could feel the rift opening wider to swallow them whole.

"Good luck," Tosh said in a thick voice.

"Tosh, wait—"

With a muted roar, the rift swooped over them. Gwen thought she could feel herself floating, threw one last look at her friends and everything simply winked out.

 

**Torchwood Three, Cardiff**

It was like she blinked and suddenly they were dropped into the dark Hub. There were no lights, no computers lit, nothing even to make the shattered ruins of the Hub sparkle. She thought she heard a caw. Oh thank God. It was still alive. She couldn't believe how much she missed the ruddy beast.

Someone's foot was on her stomach but then it was gone when Ianto groaned.

"What?" Ianto's voice was first groggy then rose with alarm. "No!"

"Easy, Jonesy."

"No, why did you…damn you, Owen!"

It was dark, but Gwen could make out the shadows of the two men grappling in front of her. Owen had a fistful of Ianto's shirt.

"Listen, you stupid prick. What good do you think it'll do to stay there? The only thing that's keeping our captain sane now is knowing that _you're not there_. You think being there will help him? It'll _break_ him, damn it."

Ianto stopped struggling. 

"Are you finished?" Ianto croaked.

Owen let go. "Yeah. I—"

With a loud crack, Gwen saw Ianto's left arm lash out and connect with Owen's jaw. Owen never fought back. He simply dropped.

Gwen got to her feet, but neither one of them made another move.

"Feel better now?" Owen grated out around the hand cupping his jaw.

Gwen could dimly make out Ianto's shoulders as they slumped.

"No," Ianto whispered, "not really." He stood there, over Owen, before twisting around.

Gwen reached out but his sleeve slipped out of her grasp.

"Ianto?"

"I have to convert the rift residuals to some sort of power source," Ianto stammered.

Gwen touched his arm briefly. "Ianto…"

"Not now, Gwen." Gwen couldn't ignore the plea, the wavering voice threatening to break completely. "Not…later. There's…I…work to be done." And before anyone could stop him, Ianto stumbled away from them into the dark. 

Gwen stood there. She suddenly didn't know what to do.

"I didn't want to leave him up there. Or Tosh." 

Gwen closed her eyes. The darkness made the voices more real, more fraught, more painful to her. She closed her eyes to imagine their faces.

"I know," she murmured. "None of us did."

Owen got up shakily to his feet. He stood there, behind Gwen, out of view, his breathing harsh.

"Next time the world goes to shit, _you_ be in charge," Owen bit out. "I fucking q-quit." And with that, he grabbed the rucksacks around him and staggered away, towards…somewhere.

Gwen sniffled. She raised her eyes to the sculpture. It no longer rained clear water down its once sleek surface. Stale, rusty trickles streaked the structure which had cracked right down the middle like a lightening struck tree. Pieces of its mirrored glass were gone and the entire place smelled like piss and rotten fish.

"Welcome home," Gwen muttered to herself before she stretched out her arms to feel her away around and look for the flashlights they had left behind long ago.

 

**Valiant**

With a gasp, Jack woke and the first thing that hit him was that his shoulders longer burned. Oh, that's right, he had died. Ianto—

That was when the second thing hit.

Jack didn't want to look, but he did and it should have been no surprise to find himself alone. No surprise at all, but it still gave him a lump in his throat.

"They couldn't stay," Jack murmured to himself and blinked gratefully at the fact that his chest no longer hurt to talk. Jack sighed again and tried to quell the churning in his gut. He raised his head and paused.

Just above the door of his prison, hidden underneath the shadows of snaking pipes was something new. Jack knew this because he'd memorized every crack, every rust stain to occupy himself during the Master's…visits. 

Next to the water stain that looked like a gatarcat from Peloris—he had named it Lewis—was a new stain, darker, probably no bigger than his hand. If he weren't staring at it, he would have thought it was just a shadow.

Except this shadow had a shape.

It was a collapsed T, a rough copy of the emblem that rotated as their screensaver. It was written in blood. And under it, were the letters G, O, T, and I.

Gwen, Owen, Toshiko, and Ianto.

Jack looked at the blood red handwriting and remembered another time, another place, bloody letters and numbers on a birthday card.

Jack smiled. His eyes blurred but he stared up at the crude drawings. The sick feeling in his stomach eased just enough so that he chuckled.

"I have _got_ to get her a pen."

 

**Act III**   
**Valiant**   
**Month Five Ver. 1**

As Francine walked, she watched. Carefully, so no one knew she was watching. Down the halls, around the turns and past the stony faces guarding the doors, Francine observed what she could, even if she didn't understand it most of the time. 

The scent of tea, red blushing apples and roast chicken on her rolling cart wafted past her and Francine felt a twinge when she saw some of the looks as she walked by. Not on her, though. On her cart. While everyone on the _Valiant_ ate reasonably better than poor Jack's cold swede or the rest of the world below, none of them had seen a fresh apple in a very long time.

When she entered the bridge, she caught sight of Tish and like before, Francine wanted to call out to her daughter but she didn't dare.

_"Ooh, ooh, Master, she brings eats. She brings eats!"_

God, it was those bloody Toclafane again. Three of them hovered high on the bridge like floating chandeliers. 

_"One comes, the other goes,"_ one of them giggled as Francine walked past her daughter on her right.

Tish shot Francine a look, relief blooming in her eyes when she sighted her mother. Francine drank in every detail of Tish's face and took comfort in the fact that there didn't seem to be a mark on her. It was the same everyday, because this was all they'd seen of one another. Besides the scraps of torn fabric with notes scribbled with a stolen pen tucked in a hole Clive dug out under their bunk, there was no other contact. Saxon made very sure their shifts never overlapped.

Francine wanted to take her daughter into her arms because she couldn't with Martha or Leo but all she could do was nod a little to tell her that the pieces of metal Tish had hidden had been passed along. Like before, the scraps had been smuggled behind a water closet, in the compartment loosely concealed by a piece of tile Tosh pried out from the grout. Francine took them, dropped the pieces in Clive's mop bucket and hurried quickly to the kitchen without looking like she was hurrying. 

There was a responding tip of Tish's chin and an innocuous dip of her eyes that looked like defeat—Saxon loved that—and she walked by Francine with a hard glint in her eyes. Francine hadn't seen such a light since Martha had escaped from this bridge months ago with Tosh's friends.

_"Bye-bye! Bye-bye!"_ One of the globes squealed before all three lowered to hover by the large table. _"Much to do! Blood to clean!"_

Not for the first time, Francine cursed the Doctor for putting that light in her girls, yet she admitted if it weren't for that determined gleam burning inside, Martha surely would have perished by now.

Saxon waved a hand, shooing the Toclafane away from his head. He looked annoyed at the interruption. "…or maybe Canada?" the Master finished. "Where could she be heading?"

Saxon was seated once again in front of the tent, ignoring the Toclafane, swinging left and right in a fashion that reminded her of how Leo used to spin in Clive's chair when he was four. He sighted Francine and snapped his fingers towards the large table. 

The tent was made of burlap now because in a fit of rage, Saxon had accidentally burnt down the previous tent with the Doctor still inside. There had been an odd look of panic streaked across the Master's face when he saw the Doctor was too weak to crawl out on his own. Saxon had practically dove in, dragging the Doctor out, getting his own hair singed and his sleeves scorched, in the process.

"…narrowly escaped Japan. Oh, you taught your Companion well, Doctor. Slippery creature."

Another Toclafane bounced madly in the air. _"Hide and seek!"_

Francine hesitated at the mention of the Doctor's Companion as she set the lunch down on the table. Martha's name was tossed around like the devil's name and even though it brought shivers down her back at the thought of Saxon hunting her, a part inside her cheered at the news Martha had slipped away again. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the Doctor sitting inside his hovel, legs crossed. His brown eyes were fixed, unflinching, on the Master's face.

"Still trying?" Saxon chuckled. He stooped his head to peer into the tent but he didn't try to approach. "It won't work, you know. The satellites transmit, but they don't receive. The network is closed to you. It's been encrypted."

The Doctor remained silent, but his eyes tracked Saxon like jewels glittering out of the dark.

"Oh, fruitless plan, Doctor," the Master hummed. "What would break your hearts first? Will it be the Toclafane or the faith fading from your Companions' eyes?"

The Toclafane giggled madly and zipped up the bridge.

The Master tilted his head. "All your plans…" 

_"Clever, clever Time Lord,"_ the obsidian orbs chorused. _"Not clever enough!"_

Saxon tugged at his suit sleeves. The oily smile he wore, slipped and his eyes glazed over. 

"We were a bright race, weren't we? Clever, but arrogant. We burned in the pyres of our own making. We vowed not to interfere yet we embraced the Daleks and burned with them all in the name of futile sacrifice. And the universe never knew. We became myth. Legend!" 

The Master stared past the tent. "And now we're the only two left." His smile returned. "And yet we fight. Does that ever make sense?" He leaned forward and rolled his chair closer.

"You train your Children of Time for war, for death. Hadn't you seen enough death when you witnessed two great civilizations go down in flames? And now you'll doom all those who would ally with you the same horrible fate? For shame, _Doctor_."

_"For shame,"_ the Toclafane echoed.

God, Francine wanted to crash her cart into the little monsters.

Francine swallowed as she folded the napkin into triangles. The last maid, poor girl of twenty, was killed when she neglected that detail. Francine set two plates down for husband and wife.

"She's still alive, you know. Your last warrior," Saxon breathed. He leapt off his chair. It spun wildly until one of the maids grabbed it. The Toclafane trailed behind him like tin cans tied to a car.

Saxon pranced up the steps to the upper level of the bridge and the navigation controls. His voice boomed like a carnival emcee. 

"Out of the destruction of the Fuji Mountains to a fisherman’s boat." Saxon slapped his hands on the banister. "Very resourceful this one." The Master drummed loudly on the bridge consoles as he rocked on his heels. The young man on the monitor kept his head down. 

"All those little ships floating away from destruction. Still sailing even weeks out in the ocean. Poor souls." The Master tsked. He tapped at the monitor as he loomed over the youth, who jumped.

_"Fish, fish, we go fish! We will—"_

"Enough," Saxon warned and the globes silenced, their erratic movements subdued. They cowered into a cluster behind the main console.

"I want to see that part of the sea," Saxon ordered breathlessly. "Grid Fourteen." He snorted in annoyance. "No, no, no. Point it this way."

Francine bit her lower lip as the young man, a boy of Leo's age, stammered as he programmed the satellites to maneuver towards where Saxon wanted. She stole a glance towards the tent and saw the calm face the Doctor wore. The Doctor raised his eyes towards her and winked several times. 

Francine took a deep breath and slowly released it. She muttered the sets of winks to herself so she wouldn't forget.

"Hm, which one?" the Master mused out loud. "So many little boats. Oh, I'll just pick one. B five."

"S-sir?"

Saxon leaned in and rapped on the glass. "There, there. That one!"

She'll be all right, Francine told herself. Her eyes burned as she arranged the dishes and utensils at the head of the table. She'll be fine. Martha constantly slipped under Saxon's radar with an ease that unnerved her. Toshiko confided in her that Torchwood wasn't with Martha as everyone had originally thought. So Martha, her little girl, was out there alone like her son and his family. 

"No, no, no. Where are you pointing that satellite?"

"S-sorry, sir. They won't lock on properly."

Francine checked left and right before she slipped the tiny salad fork into her sleeve.

"Bah, stellar drift as usual. Just degrees, small but a nuisance! There are some things in the universe you can't control, I suppose."

_"Mr. Master will control all,"_ one Toclafane cooed and the others merely bounced in place in agreement around the navigation controls. 

Francine eyed the knife she'd just set on the table. Its sharp edge glinted in the light. Her fingers reached for it, tips brushing the cool silver, but then she caught movement in the tent.

The Doctor gazed at her steadily. His eyes drifted to her hand. He shook his head slowly. 

Anger flared and she glowered at him at first, her fingers still on the knife. But the Doctor just kept staring at her, his eyes unblinking and Francine found her hand retracting despite herself.

Brown eyes softened. There was a small nod and the Doctor retreated back deeper into the tent.

There was a screech from the upper levels. Francine started. She clasped her hands together so the fork wouldn't slide out of her sleeve.

"Oh! B5! I sank her battleship!" The Master laughed. He clapped once then bounded down the stairs. He dropped into his seat and rolled it back in front of the tent.

_"Bits and pieces!"_ the Toclafane cheered as they spun madly around the young man on the bridge. Francine could see the youth trembling even from where she was. The Toclafane zipped away when Saxon waved them off, blinking out of existence with a suddenness that made Francine shake.

"Do you think I got her this time, Doctor?" Saxon rapped his fingers on his armrest. "No, maybe not." His fingers pause. "But no matter." Saxon's smile stretched like a Cheshire cat. “I’d much rather watch her face when she realizes it was all for nothing before I spill her blood."

Francine stared at the Doctor hidden in the shadows. There was a small smile on his lips as if he knew a secret no one else knew. Francine swallowed and turned away. The smile bothered her; she thought it skirted too close to the edge of Saxon's madness. She clutched both sides of her apron so her hands wouldn't shake. Francine stood back as Saxon swiveled his seat to face his lunch.

The fingers prancing on the table were slow and non-stop. Saxon drank his tea as the fingers on his other hand danced in place.

"When will it stop, Doctor?" the Master murmured, his eyes not really seeing the food set before him. He spun back sharply in his seat to face the Doctor.

"When will it stop, Doctor?" Saxon demanded, louder. His teacup sloshed in his fist. "Can you tell me?"

Francine shuffled away to wipe the rest of the table as she tried for another glimpse of the Doctor.

"You have nothing to say, Doctor?" Saxon sneered. "No words—Ah, except for… _those_ words." 

Silence.

Francine could see the other maids fidget nervously. 

"You'll talk to me sooner or later," the Master scolded as he picked up an apple. It crunched with one bite. Saxon dabbed his napkin at the corner of his mouth, took another bite then tossed the remains into a bin with a lazy arc across the air.

"Maybe you would like to visit your old friend, perhaps?" Saxon whispered. He licked his lips.

A shadow inside the tent stirred.

"It's been a few weeks, hasn't it?"

Francine averted her eyes. She scrubbed hard at a crack on the table. Blood had embedded itself into the exposed wood months ago. Francine concentrated on it as Saxon sank into his seat.

"All you have to do is talk to me, answer my question," Saxon coaxed. "And I'll grant you five minutes." His voice twisted and Francine squeezed her eyes shut. "Longer if you wish." The Master snickered. "I'll even throw in some Viagra, old man, if you want to do more than visit."

There was a brief shuffle of sound and the dirty trainers that peeked out into the light disappeared.

"Ten minutes," Saxon bargained. His chair rotated him back around towards the Doctor. Some of the maids shrank back against the walls. His chair coasted all the way to the tent until his shoes were within the opening of the ragged shelter.

"Ten minutes and I promise you don't have to watch this time." Saxon leaned in, his voice dropping to a thin whisper. Whatever was said, however, sounded more like a threat.

Saxon scoffed and faced the table again.

"When will it stop?" the Master repeated. "The drumming?"

Harsh from disuse, the answer came out as a disembodied voice from the tent.

"It won't. Not on the path you're taking."

The answer hung between them. 

Saxon studied his lunch then the other place setting. He sat there, his face giving away nothing. He pursed his lips and picked up his napkin. He unfolded it and draped it across his lap.

Then, without warning, Saxon swept his arm across the table. Plates, cups shattered with the single strike. Everything flew to the left of him, scarcely missing the maid shaking by the wall.

Francine tensed when Saxon leapt to his feet with a roar and stalked over to the tent. A maid sobbed. A guard flinched. She stared at the knife on the floor, by her feet, sharp and as shiny as salvation. Right there. All she needed to do was take it.

"Master?"

The door opening and the voice bordering on urgency and fear pivoted Saxon around just before he could pull his foot back.

" _What_?" the Master snarled.

"It-it is Lady Saxon, sir."

 

Clive winced when he got too close to an abrupt burst of steam. His only reaction, however, was just a flinch and a louder slopping of his mop.

"Miss Tosh," he muttered out of the corner of his mouth. His eyes darted to the gate. The guards, bored, were talking and banging their rifles at the fences, as their conversation grew more animated. "They will be checking on both of us again soon."

A pert round rear in a black maid's outfit wiggled in response. 

Jones, stop looking you old fart, Clive thought as he mopped furiously until his elbows ached. 

Tosh, crouched down by the main steam pipe that carried all the water, was steady as she held the orange tipped metal shard to the small sheets of metal and wiring everyone had collected. One half was wrapped with a rag to protect her fingers from the heat, but Clive caught a hiss or two.

There was a spark every so often. The Asian woman made a face as she shied away from the metal she had superheated on the exposed wiring. It sizzled on contact when it touched the smuggled scraps, curving the patchwork of metal into a long cylinder. 

"What I wouldn't give for a blowtorch right now," she muttered, "or a number three wire cutter."

Clive snorted quietly. "What I wouldn't give to wrap my hands around the Master's scrawny neck."

There was a quiet chuckle by his feet. "I think there's quite a queue for that."

"Yeah, well, let's see who gets to him first," Clive muttered. He craned his head carefully over the large pipe where Tosh was crouched behind. 

"What are you making?"

There was a pause before Miss Tosh replied.

"Not quite sure." She tilted her head as she considered the rod in her hand. "There's only so much he could tell me, and the plans were crude, but whatever it'll be…" Her smile was dazzling.

"I'm sure it'll be fantastic."

Clive stared at her hunched back for a moment. He smiled as well although it felt like it didn't fit his face. There hadn't been many reasons to these days.

"Good old Doctor, eh?" Clive muttered.

Miss Tosh nodded. She flashed him a smirk before she went back to her work. After a moment, she lifted her head and added.

"Still, a blowtorch would have been nice, though."

 

When Lucy came to in her chambers, her first thought was perhaps she had opened too many canisters, absorbed too much of the time vortex leeched out of that filthy creature, but then she felt an ache that shouldn't exist in her belly.

"No," Lucy whispered. Her hand flew to her stomach. Her eyes burned. It wasn't fair. 

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Harry's calm voice drew her eyes to her right. Her Harry sat on a chair pulled up close to their bed in their private chambers. Harry's face revealed nothing. 

Lucy stared at her husband and swallowed.

"Was it a boy or girl?"

There was a flare of something in his eyes.

"Boy or girl?" Lucy pressed.

"Why should it matter?" Harry returned. He sat down on the edge of their bed. "The child's dead." 

His flat voice sent goose bumps running down her back. Lucy averted her eyes.

"I wanted to give you a child," Lucy whispered. 

The sigh hurt more than the callous words. “Our DNA sequences are not compatible. There's not even enough—"

"I am your _wife_!" Lucy twisted around. She gripped Harry's hand. "I'm not…I'm not just a companion. I'm the only one who can do this for you! Harry, you said I came back for you!"

Harry stopped trying to pull away. He looked at her with eyes older than the Doctor's. He captured both her hands and pulled them to his mouth.

"Ah, Lucy." His lips lingered on her ring finger. "I am sorry, dear. I have forgotten. Forgive me."

"I came back for you," Lucy whimpered as she watched Harry kiss each knuckle with a gentleness he hadn't shown her since he had regained his Companion. Lucy shuffled over and rested her head on his thigh. She felt his fingers gingerly touching her hair.

"When will the rockets be finished?" Lucy asked. She felt his fingers pausing just over her ear.

"Half a year more." Harry scoffed. "No matter how I try to speed things along, it will still take a year. Some things are beyond even me."

"Seven more months," Lucy said. Her eyelids were growing heavy. "Plenty of time to try again."

Harry bent and kissed her temple. "Human biology can not sustain such stress." A finger twirled a strand of her hair and gave it a painful tug that brought tears to her eyes. "The damage the fetus could inflict on its mother is fatal. The healing a human body must constantly yield to compensate—"

"Perhaps a son beside you to rule your Empire," Lucy continued. She pressed her cheek into his thigh. The fine wool, ironed to a crisp, almost sharp line, scraped against her face. 

"Or a daughter?" Lucy murmured. "She would be a princess of the universe." Her fingers dug into his leg until she realized she could feel muscle twitching beneath her, but Harry never complained.

"Don't go back to him," Lucy whispered after a moment. She felt Harry's hands loosely grasp a fist of her hair. She kept it long because her Master said it complimented her. "Harry, he's poison."

"He is power," Harry murmured. "You tasted it. Did you not see all of time and space in that one shiny moment?" His hands went slack and Lucy almost wished he would snatch her hair. Anything was better than the dead weight settled on her head, forgotten as if she was furniture.

"There are other ways. The canisters—"

"Are not the same." Harry petted her hair absently. "I told you. It's the difference between drinking wine from a paper cup or a glass, my sweet Lucy. The vortex in its purest form."

Lucy closed her eyes. "He has corrupted you," Lucy whispered. "You said once he was wrong. Now he has changed you, infected me, killed our ba—Harry!" 

Lucy cried out when Harry's fist curled and yanked hard enough that she felt blood trickle down her cheek like tears. Harry leapt to his feet and paced before he stopped at the foot of the bed to study her with cool eyes, a stranger's eyes.

"Don't," Lucy said as she sat up, heedless of the burning on her scalp, the blood trailing a line to her cheek. "Please…promise me you won't go to him." She crawled shakily to the foot of the bed and grabbed the corner of his suit. "You said I came back for you."

Harry gave her a look of pity. "That wasn't you. You're not her." Harry bent over and freed his jacket from her weak grasp. "I will have them send your meals up to this room." He cupped her face and kissed both her cheeks. "Rest, child."

"Harry," Lucy whimpered. "I'm sorry."

A knuckle brushed under her right eye. It wiped the blood away, smearing it across her cheek.

"Alas, sweet Lucy," Harry sighed. "You are but only human."

And Harry left, the door shutting with a quiet click, the promise Lucy asked him unanswered.

 

If he breathed slowly, Jack discovered, it didn't hurt as much. He was not as aware of the bruised, heated pains throbbing deep in his body. Breathing slowly meant his arms didn't ache as much. Saxon had loosened the chains for some reason. So breathe slowly, gotcha. The slower, the better. 

"Did I ever tell you about the time I dated a mermaid? Had to learn to kiss underwater. Great practice for lung capacity," Jack rasped. He struggled to smile. His tongue flicked across his teeth and tasted blood. "Well, not really a mermaid, but she had gills and the sexiest pair of fins this side of the Andros Galaxy. S-she was a resident of post ice age Teracer, an aquatic, amph—Amph…" 

Tiny pricks of pain bolted down his lower back, down the back of his thighs, his calves, and distracted him. Jack gritted his teeth. He thought he could feel his skin, torn from barbed whips, slowly stitching back together. Jack exhaled sharply through his teeth.

_"Amphibian?"_ Someone suggested in a smooth, calming almost lyrical voice. The syllables rolled over his skin like a caress. _"You're telling me you dated a non-existent, aquatic creature?"_

It was a relief to hear a response even if it meant Jack was just going insane. He closed his eyes.

"Not non-existent," Jack protested half-heartedly. "Teracer was mostly water after their ice caps completely melted. Took them nine generations, but the people of Teracer…evolved."

_"Hm…explains why you were so adverse to sushi when Owen suggested it on Guy Fawkes Day."_

The chuckle came out wet, garbled.

"More adverse to food poisoning," Jack groaned. "Owen has a bad record of choosing a place for lunch." Jack barked out an airless laugh before reopening his eyes again. Jack blinked.

"Well," Jack breathed. He tried to talk with a swollen mouth. "Insanity does have its advantages."

Ianto stood in the same UNIT uniform as before with only one difference: a red beret, tilted rakishly to the right.

There was a sigh with no air and Ianto jumped up to sit on the horizontal rows of pipe again. When one joint burst into steam, Ianto didn't even grimace.

_"I suppose,"_ Ianto declared in a dry voice, _"I should be grateful this is the limit to your imagination."_ Ianto readjusted his cap. _"Thought I'd be here with just the cap and my favorite tie."_

Jack frowned. "I don't know what your favorite tie is," Jack coughed. There were a lot of things he didn't really know, Jack realized. At the time, Jack thought it was all for noble reasons.

_"Sorry, I meant_ your _favorite tie."_

"The last thing I want to do is get…enthusiastic with my delusions." Jack grimaced as he rounded back his shoulders. "Don't want to give the Master the wrong impression."

_"I suspect it wouldn't matter if you even spit in his eye, he would still get the wrong impression."_

The laugh coming out was cut short into a gasp of pain. Jack lifted his gaze up high above the door on the concrete. Jack took a steadying breath and returned his attention back to the apparition.

_"I'm not a ghost,"_ Ianto chided. He folded his arms across his chest. He pursed his lips.

"No," Jack agreed. "You're not. You're alive out there. This…this is just a projection s-stymied from psychological mental exhaustion."

Ianto rolled his eyes and briefly disappeared behind a veil of steam that whistled out of a pipe.

_"Show off."_

Jack tried to chuckle, but spat out blood instead. He was careful not to get any on the tarp. Saxon's men were taking it to Tosh soon to be cleaned. It hadn't been washed since the Doctor was last here in…in…how long ago was it?

"A little…techno-babble doesn't h-hurt anyone," Jack managed out before his body jerked in a coughing fit. Jack gritted his teeth until the need to vomit subsided.

Ianto's eyes crinkled and they almost looked like they glistened.

"Come on, don't look like that," Jack groaned. "If I'm hallucinating you, shouldn't you be doing something more…uplifting?"

_"And if I'm not a hallucination?"_

"All hallucinations say that," Jack scoffed breathlessly.

_"Point."_ Ianto stood up. _"So my purpose here is entertainment, then?"_

Jack wasn't positive. His eyes cleared a little and he studied Ianto.

"I'm not sure what you're here for," Jack murmured as he watched Ianto walk over to Jack, his boots silent on the splattered tarp.

_"Perhaps I should do a song and dance?"_ Ianto suggested lightly.

Oh God, it _hurt_ to laugh, but it burst out unbidden and for a second, the room went completely dark and he couldn't breathe. When it was light again, Jack looked blearily at Ianto.

"Don't 'ake me l-laugh," Jack wheezed. "I h-heard a'out you with Tosh on k-karaoke night."

How was it possible, Jack wondered, that a hallucination could blush? But there was Ianto, his ears red, a flush creeping up his translucent cheeks. But there was no protest. Ianto just stared at Jack, wide-eyed, with his mouth clammed shut.

"What?" Jack managed.

_"I-I'm afraid to say anything now,"_ Ianto whispered. _"I thought you said I couldn't do stand-up."_

"You're 'ull of surprises," Jack struggled to say, wondering that it felt necessary to school a reassuring smile on his face. "Or may'e I just s-still have my 'ense of humor."

_"Ah yes, because I'm your hallucination and all."_

Jack nodded. It was too hard to speak all the time—Wait, if Ianto was a hallucination, why did Jack need to speak at all?

Ianto scoffed as if in agreement. He stood in front of Jack, arms across this chest. He looked like he was hovering over the tarp and it felt too much like foreshadowing that Jack needed to look away.

_"I'm not dead,"_ Ianto scolded. 

"I know," Jack whispered. He stared at a pipe that snaked upstairs. Blood stained one rusty pipe elbow. Huh. Nearly two meters.

"Must be a new record," Jack murmured and tore his gaze away, his throat working.

_"I thought you weren't going to speak?"_

Jack thought so, too, but the hisses and sighs of smoke all around him was drowning Ianto out. Talking filled his ears with something else.

Ianto exhaled quietly and edged closer to Jack.

_"I wish I could touch you,"_ Ianto whispered. His hand hovered by Jack's cheek. 

Me too, Jack mourned. Jack closed his eyes and remembered how warm Ianto was against him before, how the scratchy texture of his stubble felt, how smooth and unlined his forehead felt when Jack kissed him there, the way Ianto's face would tilt up trustingly to let him. Jack's mouth parted and he imagined a warm forehead against his lips, unflawed and yet Jack could feel Ianto's brow furrowing under his touch because his beautiful Ianto was constantly feeling, constantly thinking. 

_"You should have let me stay, you bastard,"_ Ianto said, his voice trembling. _"I didn't want to go."_

Jack's eyes flew open. He stared hard at Ianto's face and tried to ignore the fact that he could see the door through him. 

"No," Jack rasped. "I don't want him near you."

_"He doesn't scare me,"_ Ianto declared in that young, unsteady bravado that reminded Jack of a boy announcing that he was no longer scared of the dark.

"He scares _me_ ," Jack whispered because even he had to admit to himself that he was alone with no one really here to hear his confession. 

"The thought of you being even in the same _universe_ with him scares me," Jack forced out to a face that even in his delirium, was too young, too mortal and vulnerable in flesh if not soul. 

_"Jack,"_ Ianto's voice cracked. _"I'm coming back for you."_

Jack's cracked lips twisted into a humorless smile. Why was he telling himself this, Jack wondered.

"No, you won't," Jack told Ianto. "You can't."

_"Don't tell me what I can or can not do, Jack Harkness,"_ Ianto seethed.

"You can't be here." The conversation was getting ridiculous. "I…I need to know you're out there," Jack whispered. Ianto blurred and the hazy image unnerved him. 

"Please," Jack pleaded, his voice cracking. "I need to know there's something good still out there." He took as deep a breath as his body would allow. 

Ianto stared at him. His eyes lowered. He sniffed. 

_"I want to be here."_

"I know. It's enough," Jack said, suddenly not feeling strange at all talking to shapes of air and light molded into torment. "This," Jack whispered, "is enough."

Ianto's smile was small and fragile. His eyes told a different story. _"Mm…so you say."_

__"As my hallucination," Jack asked with a weary smirk, "shouldn't you be agreeing with me?"

_"Delusion's prerogative."_

 

**Torchwood Three, Cardiff**

Ianto jerked awake at the sense of Jack's lips brushing across his forehead. So real, it was like he could feel Jack's body pressed hot against his skin.

There was a moment when all he could do was blink in the darkest of darkness. There wasn't a single light to remind him of his whereabouts, but then he felt a hand on his shoulder, a slender one over his mouth, the sweat-dampened shirt clinging to his back and the god-awful hum beyond the darkness he knew all too well.

Toclafane.

Gwen's hand curled over his mouth warned him to keep silent; Owen's cool hand gripping his right shoulder bade him to stay still.

It was dark, Ianto realized, because they powered everything down. It was hot because they were hiding in Jack's quarters now doubling as their quarters, down the hatchway, under his desk that was moved over to cover the manhole.

It rarely happened that a Toclafane accidentally floated into the tunnels, but it happened enough times for them to watch out for it every time something echoed in the archives larger than a rodent. 

Torchwood was left relatively intact. Those under Saxon's command had ransacked Torchwood, stripped them of weapons and any metal that wasn't bolted down. But the seal over the rift was unmolested. There were some things even an insane, dictatorial Time Lord wouldn't tamper with. 

They weren't left with much, but they were all determined to make it enough.

Ianto could feel Gwen and Owen hunch over the bunk he'd laid down for a moment. The humming signature of the Toclafane sounded closer. Their exhales were muted and slow as they paced their breathing with the mechanical whine above them.

There was a moment when Gwen's hand curled too painfully around his mouth and they could hear the Toclafane directly above them. Her fingers dug into the fleshy part of his jaw but thankfully didn't draw blood. Ianto laid stock-still on the camp bed. Why, why, _why_ did he agree to take a shift of sleep? Ianto felt exposed despite the two bodies bent over him and the key still cool against his throat. His weapons were tucked under a pillow, but felt so out of reach.

When he felt Gwen's hair brush against his cheek like a stroking finger, there was a mad fear that the Toclafane would hear, but their senses, despite what looked like more advanced technology, seemed limited like a human. They didn't like the cold and didn't see well in the dark, either.

It reminded him of a sniffing dog when Ianto caught the reflection of blinking lights passing the small spot Jack's table couldn't cover. The tiny light zipped in and out.

Circling, Ianto realized. Judging how everyone was so tensed, he wasn't alone in his assessment.

After a few more moments of humming, long enough that Ianto was about to scream just because his muscles were starting to shake, there was a whistle from afar and the Toclafane left the office.

They all waited until the humming was gone and even then, they still waited.

When Gwen finally pulled her hand away from his mouth, Ianto worked his jaw, shaping his mouth into a wide gaping airless yawn to work the soreness out.

Owen tapped both their noses with a finger before he climbed up the ladder, wiggled out from the tight space the desk allowed and crept out into the main area of the Hub.

Ianto felt Gwen hold his hand. He merely squeezed the cold fingers and exhaled slowly.

The darkness receded to a murky dimness of kerosene lamps, signaling the all clear.

Regardless, Owen was careful to pull Jack's desk away from the manhole with little noise. Ianto felt Gwen twitch next to him when wood scraped across the floor. 

"They're gone," Owen reported tersely as he popped his head through the hatchway upside down. 

"That was certainly an effective wake up call," Ianto said shakily as he sat up.

"It's only been forty minutes," Gwen offered as apology. "Do you want to get some more rest?"

"Honestly?" Ianto swung his feet around to the floor. "I'm wide awake now." Plus, Jack clung to his skin from sleeping on his narrow bed and from his dreams. Ianto couldn't bear the thought of seeing Jack again, not when it hurt so much waking up afterwards.

"A better start than coffee," Gwen agreed breathlessly. Her hands shook as she ascended the ladder behind Ianto.

Ianto scoffed carefully as he emerged from the hatchway, nearly bumping his head under the desk in the process.

" _Nothing_ is better than coffee," Ianto pointed out. He reached down and pulled Gwen up.

"Oi," Owen hissed. He watched them climb up. "I thought you buried all possible ways in here."

It was directed at him. Ianto knew that, but he was too tired to care.

"There's still the route through the archives out to the sewers," Ianto reminded him. "I can't block that up. It's the only way for us to slip out unnoticed."

"I don't like jumping into bed with you every time we have a visitor," Owen muttered, but the rigid line across his shoulders eased a fraction.

If Jack was here, Ianto thought, there was something he would say about that, but he wasn't here and saying it would only remind Ianto of the acute loss. So Ianto just smiled weakly, knowing full well the gesture was lost in the murky light, and said nothing.

"Shoulder bothering you?" Owen gestured towards Ianto.

It was then that Ianto realized he was rubbing his thumb over the scar one rib down his right shoulder. 

"Stiff," Ianto explained. He dropped his hand immediately. 

"I would say put a warm compress over it," Owen grunted, "but I wouldn't dare boil the water with those bloody Toclafane buzzing about."

Ianto snorted then made his way to the couch in Jack's office. It didn't matter that they all virtually lived in here. It still felt like Jack's office. He was careful not to trip over the patchwork network of cables thick as his arm. They were welded into the rift manipulator like an extension cord.

Tosh's laptop along with Jack's computer survived Saxon's original attack. They sat on the floor, under cushions and mounds of paper to look like debris. God, this place needed a furious and thorough vacuuming, Ianto bemoaned as he pulled up on the screen the last thing he had been working on. He had detected a rudimentary signal, so archaic, it looked like Saxon had ignored it.

"Well?"

It was unnerving how everyone could walk so silently in the dark now. Ianto still jumped.

"No reports coming in about capturing Martha Jones," Ianto reported as he scanned what little documentation they could coax out of an overtaxed computer network on the Valiant.

"Tosh is better at this," Ianto sighed, his fingers curled over his shoulder again.

'"No shit, Jonesy," Owen quipped as he made his way to peer over Ianto's shoulder. "I would have gotten Saxon's blog by now."

Ianto glowered. "End of the world, hiding in the dark, you could at least stop slaughtering my name, Owen."

"Sorry, mate," Owen said, not sounding sorry at all. He straightened and clapped Ianto on his shoulder. The bad one. Bastard. If there was still coffee, he would salt it. "I'm off."

"I can go with you," Gwen offered.

"Medical personnel are only allowed to travel alone," Owen said. He could be heard flicking the hard, laminated id Gwen had made. "Only Dr. Frederick Gorman can do, love."

"I'll wear my key," Gwen pointed out.

Ianto kept his eyes on the dim screen. He swallowed at the plea barely hidden in Gwen's voice.

The click of a magazine locking into a gun was loud. Owen could be heard pulling his pant leg up to slip the gun into his boot.

"You need backup meeting these people," Gwen reasoned. "The plans for the rockets, we're the only ones with copies, if Saxon's people hear about them or catch anyone with the blueprints…you need backup."

"No offense, Cooper," Owen said, his words clipped, "you're not much backup if you're not there."

"Owen," Ianto finally spoke up when he heard Gwen take a step back.

"That's not fair," Gwen whispered. "It was one time. I needed to—"

"You needed to stay where you were and watch our backs," Owen snapped. It was still a sore subject. "Not swan off to go on a solo scavenger hunt."

"They said they had heard of someone with Rhys' description in the slave quarters by Roath—"

"You're not the only one looking for people, _Cooper_ ," Owen hissed. 

Ianto fidgeted because he could feel both pairs of eyes on him.

"Oh, Ianto," Gwen whispered, her hand slipping over his shoulder. "Sweetheart, I'm sorry. I—"

"There have been reports of communications activity," Ianto interrupted. He was so sick of apologies. "The Toclafane haven't been able to breach the location." He tilted his head up. "It looks like it's coming from Colorado. NORAD to be more specific."

"In America?" Owen bent over Ianto again to squint at the screen. "Another band of resistance, you think?" 

"There's no way to send the plans to them," Gwen fretted.

"No," Ianto agreed, "but I think they can help us in another way…"

 

**Las Vegas, Nevada**   
**Four days later…**

The statue had confused her. The once serene face peered out of a mound of sand in a skeletal frame of green and white metal bleached from too many days out in the sun. Her torch clawed the sky from a few meters back, detached from her outstretched arm and also stripped of her metal.

Lady Liberty.

Or at least a facsimile of it. 

Martha Jones remembered dimly the Doctor once telling her when they were in New New New—oh, she never could get it right—York, that in her century, a hotel was made with brilliant reconstructions of New York's landmarks. In smaller scale, of course, but no less 'fantastic and architecturally amusing' the Doctor once enthused. 

Staring at the only thing marking where there ever was a hotel, Martha thought it only looked sad.

Damn Saxon.

Martha rounded back her shoulders. There was a huge slave quarters complex three miles east of the massive field of rockets. They reminded her of the pictures she once saw in school of the America's famed Redwood forests. Now, the area was a desert, like here. Building rockets required a lot of firewood as well as slaves apparently. 

One hand rubbed the key inside her shirt. It itched unbearably under the layers of clothing she wore but she didn't dare take it off. She kept it close to her heart. It was the only thing she had left from the Doctor and the only thing keeping her safe.

"Martha Jones?"

Apparently not safe enough.

Martha spun around and blinked at a man who stood as tall as the Doctor but as broad as Jack Harkness. The man could have been a fine rugby player in his day and his smile put her at ease almost immediately. Almost. Martha took a step back.

"Damn, they were right," the man murmured as he squinted at her. He wore the dusty remains of what appeared to be a uniform. "I paid close attention and still missed you."

"They?" Martha echoed. "Who are you and how can you see me?"

"Sorry. Colonel O'Neill, Air Force—Well, when there _was_ an Air Force." O'Neill gave her a sloppy salute. "Some friends from afar asked me to send you a message and any assistance you need."

Martha opened and shut her mouth. "Sorry," she managed. "Been a while since I had to carry on a conversation." Her eyes narrowed. "What friends?"

O'Neill wordlessly handed her a piece of paper. Martha unfolded the note, her fingers trembling as she scanned it.

KEEPING A KETTLE WARM 4 U STOP  
LET US KNOW IF U FANCY A CUP STOP

Martha stared at the note, reread it twice. Her mouth curved into a smile.

" _Brilliant_."

 

**Act IV**   
**Valiant**   
**Month Six Ver. 1**

_"Tell me about the alien mimes."_

The question slipped into his consciousness like an icy dagger sliding in-between his ribs. No wait. That actually happened. Lucy Saxon was getting creative with that blade of hers. God, those two were perfect for each other.

His right eye wouldn't close properly or stop tearing; the blood vessel inside was still trying to heal and ease off his optic nerve. 

_"Jack…"_

Don't tell them anything, Jack thought, his mind strangely blurry and spinning. Gestapo tended to get bored easily and just kill their prisoners if they couldn't get anything more than the routine name, rank, and serial number. He groaned a little, but he was unable to recite out the rhetorical information—the twentieth century's civilized way of telling a Nazi to fuck off. Jack swallowed hard and tried again, but it sounded more German than what the guy was spouting, pacing in front of him. He sounded oddly…Welsh? 

Jack blinked. Blood and tears made it a mess to see through. But after a few stinging tears, the utility room he thought he was in melted away into metal, steam, and concrete.

_"Hello."_ Ianto, for some reason, looked ready to cry. Did he just visit Lisa? No, wait, Lisa was buried in…in…he couldn't remember.

"'ello," Jack croaked. He licked his lips, trying to get some moisture into his mouth. 

Ianto looked watery in his tearing vision in his denim jeans and worn jacket. Underneath was the simple striped shirt Ianto wore with the collar loose, his neck bared, the odd neckwear settled under his Adam's apple.

"A'ways 'iked t-that ou'fit," Jack slurred. 

_"Again, your imagination is quite a sharp dresser,"_ Ianto replied. He tucked his hands into his jeans. _"And I applaud your restraint from dressing me in more elaborate attire."_

__"When you s-say elab—" Jack coughed. "El-laborate you m-mean as in no c-c'othes?"

It was amusing how Ianto could still pull off an indignant look in such casual dress. Even naked and without a crown, Ianto was able to accomplish the "We are not amused" expression.

_"Really?"_ Ianto huffed. _"A crown? Naked?"_ Ianto folded his arms across his chest. _"Your mind is a very terrifying place, Jack Harkness."_

Jack grinned unapologetically. "Then 'top rea'ing it," Jack rasped. It was easier to breathe when he didn't have to think about feeling his ribs straightening out, his torso sealing off the cuts Lucy Saxon had etched across him.

_"If I'm your hallucination, I can't help but read your mind,"_ Ianto retorted. _"If you have an issue with that, take up a grievance with Freud."_

Jack huffed out a laugh. "F-freud? Please. All he ever did wa' complain a'out hi' mother. K-killjoy."

Ianto stared at him, his mouth agape. _"You dated Sigmund Freud?"_

Rolling his eyes would have hurt so Jack opted to scoff instead. "N-no. I wa' s-sent in to inve'tigate him. H-he wanted to ps-sychoanalyze me."

A puff of steam whistled through Ianto's torso, reminding Jack once again of the illusion. Ianto never noticed. 

_"Let me guess,"_ Ianto drawled. _"It had something to do with sex."_

The chuckle that came out sounded like a sneeze. "It wa' always about s-sex with 'im."

_"I never know when you're joking,"_ Ianto complained but he was smiling. _"How can I possibly compete with Freud?"_

Jack tried to straighten and keep his head up. Minutes later though, Jack's shoulders dropped. His back spasmed, his legs quivered, trying to hold him up. His boots skidded on the tarp vandalized with the messes of his misery. There was a moment when Jack couldn't tell if he was living or dying. Before he could stop himself, a sob broke out.

_"Sh…"_ Ianto's hand hovered by his cheek. Then, remembering, Ianto pulled his hand away, his throat working.

"W-worst hospitality," Jack ground out. "E-ever."

_"Think about something else,"_ Ianto advised. He cleared his throat. _"Maybe…tell me about the alien mimes perhaps?"_

__"S'shouldn't you know?" Jack managed. He squinted blearily at Ianto. He gritted his teeth as something burned from his tailbone and wormed into his gut. How can healing hurt this much?

_"I would rather you tell me."_

"You're f-from my 'ead. Just read it."

_"That would be cheating."_

Jack coughed in response. He breathed through his mouth. Jack's head dropped.

"Tell you w'at," Jack panted. "Y-you wear a p-pink…shirt next 'ime and I'll tell you a'out the mi'es." 

_"I wore one last time,"_ Ianto pointed out.

"Not in a h-hallu'ination. I mean f-for real."

_"No. Absolutely not."_ It was funny how Ianto could manage indignant and panic at the same time.

Jack raised his head. He stared at Ianto and the pouting mouth. God, if he could kiss that mouth.

"Dying m-man's wish?" Jack joked weakly.

Even translucent, Ianto still radiated disapproval.

_"That is not funny,"_ Ianto declared. He folded his arms across his chest. _"In any reality."_

"Sorry," Jack wheezed. He grimaced as he felt his insides churning against bone, internal injuries mending like sandpaper scrapping across an open wound.

"S-son of a b-bitch," Jack groaned. He locked his knees and struggled to stand. He failed and the drop sent agony up his arms. He cried out.

_"Jack…listen to me,"_ Ianto whispered, his voice liquid, calm and soft, a balm that coated him with a cotton-headed feeling of numbness. _"Concentrate on my voice only. Think about something else. Tell me about them. The alien mimes."_

__There was an odd giggle that Jack couldn't swallow back and it rippled pain in his chest.

"No way," Jack gasped out, "am I telling you…no m-matter 'ow much _they_ torture me."

Ianto's responding chuckle was weary and airless. _"You are most obdurate, Jack Harkness."_

No fair using big words, Jack thought fuzzily, when he couldn't remember how to speak for the moment.

_"Sorry."_ Ianto's murmur was like a caress. Jack couldn't help but lean towards the imagined touch.

_"I'm sorry,"_ Ianto repeated.His voice quavered. _"I should be here."_

"Don't…don't you start," Jack gasped. His shoulders pulled back into their sockets. Argh, torture was a bitch. 

_"Just a little bit longer, Jack,"_ Ianto encouraged. He stood close enough to Jack that he could almost pretend he could feel Ianto's exhale on his cheek.

_"Nearly there."_ Ianto's eyes seemed to solidify and darken. _"Bear with it for a little longer. The Doctor has a plan. Remember."_

"He has a plan," Jack groaned quietly in case anyone besides them was listening.

_"He has a plan,"_ Ianto murmured in agreement. His fingers coasted the planes of Jack's face. _"Hush. Rest for now. They won't be back for days."_

Jack obeyed with a weary nod because it was too exhausting to argue. He closed his eyes and sagged a little in his chains. 

"Jack?" Ianto's voice was a purr by his ear.

"Hm?" If Jack concentrated very hard, he could almost feel Ianto's fingers carding his hair.

_"The alien mimes?"_

Jack half-smirked as he sank further into an exhausted sleep. "Pink shirt," he slurred.

_"Spoilsport."_

 

**Torchwood Three, Cardiff**

Something twilled in his ear and Ianto jerked back. Ianto stared blankly at the exposed guts of the rift manipulator. He blinked, the cramping in his lower back informing him that it had been minutes since he sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the exposed rift manipulator. He could feel the imprint of its frame on his cheek where he had rested his head against it for what he thought was just for a moment. Damn, did he drift off again?

"You know, you would sleep better in a bed," Owen drawled just behind him. The kerosene lamp he was holding up wobbled.

"That wasn't an offer, was it?" Ianto shot back as he squinted into the chamber he was working on.

The narrow glow bobbled as Owen snorted. "It's only the end of the world, Jonesy. I'm not _that_ desperate."

"Hold that light still," Ianto grumbled. "I can't see." He tapped the positive flow cables but all he received was a tiny spark.

"Great, you need glasses too, now? First your shoulder and your stupid chest cold, now myopia? Christ, you're getting to be high maintenance."

Ianto sighed. He gestured towards the rift converter chamber with the wrench Gwen had been able to salvage. 

"Either give me more light or instead of that extra power you want, you might just want to make a running start before I blow Cardiff off the map."

"I'm checking for Weevils," Owen grumbled. The light swung left then right. 

"I told you," Ianto muttered as he opened the residual power value further, "they've all escaped into the sewers when everything happened. Torchwood's vaults were set to open if their alarms weren't reset after ten days. I doubt they would remain here." 

The orange vapors that were dissipated from the rift flowed serenely into his makeshift pipe that led to the generator in Jack's office. 

"I thought I heard growling, is all," Owen said as he checked to his right again.

A zap made Ianto yelp and Owen's lamp swing sharply back his way.

"Keep it still," Ianto snapped as he fanned his hand madly in the air. 

Another light floated over. Joined with Owen's, Ianto's surroundings lightened to a grey gleam and the cables in the tight and cramped rift chamber sharpened into focus.

Gwen's face, smudged from her patrol of the vaults, gleamed in a lamp-created halo.

"Better, love?" Gwen smiled as she set her lamp on a tall stool Ianto recognized came from Owen's old Autopsy room. 

Ianto grinned up gratefully. He stared pointedly at the fuzzy blur that was Owen. The medic grumbled and set his lamp down on the stool as well.

"Need a flashlight?" Owen asked as Gwen stretched out her arms to make her way towards Jack's office to monitor the power.

"Fourteen steps to his office," Gwen answered. "Battery's low anyway so no thank you. Rather save it for tonight when we meet the others about those rockets. Tosh's laptop will be bright enough."

"See if there's anything from Martha too," Ianto instructed. "She should be in Texas, near the army base by now. If there are any survivors, she would try to find any form of communications system."

"Be lot easier if our mobiles still worked," Owen grumbled.

"And a lot easier to find us," Gwen reminded him. Ianto could hear her stumble against Tosh's workstation.

"Watch it, Cooper."

Gwen only snorted.

"The Morse code lines are fine," Ianto sighed, but secretly, he agreed with Owen. Mobiles would have been easier if there was still a satellite system out of Saxon's reach. Hoping Martha could uncover old wires buried under decades of military technology was frustrating. They often went weeks without a word from her.

"I think there's a pharm around there as well," Owen mused.

"If it hasn't been dismantled yet." Ianto rotated his neck. His right shoulder stiffened and pulled at his neck until it felt like the muscles were pulling his head back. "She might be able to get what she needs in there," Ianto added. If she could get in touch with them so Owen could tell her. If the building was still there. If there were still chemicals in it. His stomach knotted and the protein bar he had shared with Gwen threatened to reappear. A lot of ifs. 

"Mm, Martha was positive she would find some way," Gwen said, a little distracted as she made her way blindly towards the office. Gwen hissed when her knee bumped into the door. 

"Just don't break your neck there," Owen griped. "I already have my hands full with our picture of health here."

"Hands full of what?" Ianto quipped. He coughed quietly into a fist. Damn cough. It had never left him since the Himalayas. 

Owen groaned. "Great, that's something I would expect from Jack, not from…" Owen fell silent.

Ianto gulped, his own smile dying and he turned back towards the rift manipulator.

Feet shifted from side to side behind Ianto, but he didn't turn around. Ianto tapped his wrench on one cable. He pulled at it harder than necessary and jumped when sparks danced off his fingers.

"Nearly there," Ianto rasped. His neck hurt, but he kept his head low. He could still feel Jack's breath against his face, feel his chest seize when Jack moaned. Short, tantalizing glimpses in a dream. Seconds, just seconds within a dream to see Jack. 

Ianto's eyes welled. God, he _ached_ seeing Jack. He _ached_ when he no longer could see Jack. He was cursed either way. 

"Sorry," Owen muttered.

"It's all right," Ianto said, harsher than he meant to. He scrubbed his sleeve under his dripping nose. "Dust everywhere," Ianto muttered.

"Sorry," Owen repeated. He now crouched down by Ianto.

"And I said it was all right," Ianto forced himself to not shout. There were too many times lately when all he wanted to do was shout.

"Not about that," Owen puffed. He balanced himself on the balls of his feet. He settled his arms on his knees and his head drooped to stare at his dangling hands. "I meant for before."

Ianto glanced over his left shoulder at Owen who was still staring at his hands.

"Before?"

"When I said…when I thought you were…you know…with Jack…" Owen took a deep breath and he looked squarely at Ianto.

"I didn't know it was for real." Owen's face looked distorted and uncomfortably sincere. "Sorry, Ianto."

Ianto stared at Owen because he really didn't know what to say. He turned back his head towards the rift manipulator. He sniffed wetly.

"Thank you," Ianto croaked. He stared hard at the billows pumping sluggishly below the rift capacitator. It hissed and groaned and reminded him of the engine room.

"He can't die," Owen said quietly.

"I didn't forget," Ianto hissed. His face screwed up as he considered the cables all jumbled up in front of him. "It doesn't make it any less what he's going through up there. Saxon, he—" Ianto clamped his mouth shut.

"I know," Owen said evenly. "I'm a doctor. I'm not stupid."

Ianto's mouth quirked in apology. "There's some debate on that," he joked weakly.

Owen slapped him lightly on the thigh. "Oi." He rocked back on his heels. Owen sobered immediately.

"I'm not saying that his not dying makes this better," Owen hesitated, "but at least he'll survive."

Ianto's stomach clenched, but he didn't contradict Owen. He nodded numbly.

Owen gave his good shoulder a hesitant pat as if he wasn't sure if he was doing it correctly. 

The gesture seemed to unleash some of the wetness brimming around his eyes. Ianto sniffed again. 

"Christ, don't get all weepy on me, Jonesy," Owen groaned. He paused. "You…you don't need a hug, do you?"

Ianto choked out a laugh and scrubbed his face with a swipe of his palm.

"It's only the end of the world, Harper. I'm not _that_ desperate."

"Piss off," Owen chuckled tiredly and gave Ianto a nudge on the shoulder that nearly knocked him off his spot.

 

**Valiant**   
**Five days later…**

It was infuriating how flat her stomach still was, like an accusation of her failure.

Lucy stared down at herself, at her hand curled over her belly. She should have been rounded, her stomach in a soft swell by now, not weak and barren, sitting and waiting for Harry as he abandoned her once more for the filthy creature in the bowels of the ship. 

The maids scurried by her, cleaning, sorting, not looking at her. As if they knew how hard she had tried since, as if they saw her sitting with the corpse of her child in a tiny box, too young to have a gender determined, all day in her chamber until Harry had someone drug her food and take her baby away. Everyone avoided her eyes as if they held opinions on her failings. 

She should kill them all. 

"It would have killed you."

Lucy turned in her seat and glared at the pathetic tent huddled against the stairs that led to the bridge's upper deck. She could see the eyes glittering dark as coals inside the darkness.

"He speaks," Lucy murmured. She faced the tent completely, crossed her legs and studied the opening of the tent that revealed nothing. 

It wasn't clear what the look he bestowed on her was: pity, disgust, curiosity? It was certainly not fear. And it infuriated her as she knew it irritated Harry, yet he did nothing more than taunt and gloat in return. A hand never rose to strike him and the one time Lucy tried, Harry's backhand had sent her across the bridge. 

"What wisdom do you wish to impart on me now, Doctor?" Lucy asked the gaze tracking her with deceptively soft sympathy.

"I am sorry for your loss."

Lucy's face twisted. 

"But it would have brought you only death."

No, Lucy thought bitterly. It would have returned Harry to her. She clutched the armrests with a white-knuckled grip. 

"The child would not have resolved anything."

Lucy's upper lip curled back. "And what would you suggest?" She leaned forward and glared into the darkness. The Doctor met her gaze with equal intensity. They matched stares for a long time, heedless of the maids, the navigators calling out satellite coordinate corrections and new positions, guards pacing around the bridge as if she was ever in danger from an ancient Time Lord.

In the long, silent battle of wills, Lucy caught the tiny flinch. The Doctor's eyes dull briefly before an eye blink later, they cleared.

"You can see what is happening to him right now," Lucy breathed. Her mouth curved. 

"You see it all, don't you? How? The ship?" Lucy smirked when she caught the corner of his right eye crinkle in a barely detectable wince. "It's bound inside the paradox machine, cannibalized. It's blind, deaf, silent."

The Doctor studied her with unreadable eyes.

Lucy's eyes widened. "The time ship still talks to you somehow." 

There was an odd thrill coiling deep inside her belly. It pushed away the cold lump she bore at the thought of Harry's absence. It rivaled what she felt and the idea of someone else burdened with something more acute than the gnawing in her bones made her head spin from the blood rushing to her head. She wanted to drag the Time Lord out of his tent to see what echoed on his face, what the TARDIS showed him. Oh, the torment the Doctor must feel. 

"You can see it, can't you, Time Lord?" Lucy clasped her hands together. Her heart hammered and her smile grew. "It shows you, doesn't it? Everything Harry does to the Companion."

"His name is _Jack_."

Lucy fought back the urge to cringe at the thread-thin hiss that reminded her of her Master.

"It won't be for long," Lucy whispered. The singing in her blood quieted.

"And you think that will be good?" The Doctor leaned forward and his wrinkled face emerged out of the darkness. 

"What about you?" the Doctor murmured. "If the Master succeeds, where does that leave you?"

Lucy shrank back deep into her chair. Her hands twisted at the hem of her gown now. 

"Not if; _when_. It will be good for Harry, that's what's important," Lucy whispered. 

"You're not a very good liar, Lucy Saxon."

"This is all I ever wanted for him," Lucy insisted. "Harry knows everything I do, everything I've done is for him."

The Doctor said nothing. He retreated deeper into his tent.

"This is what I want for Harry," Lucy repeated. Her hands clawed her own upper thighs until her fingers drew blood. "Nothing else matters."

But when Harry returned hours later, his eyes still pale and colorless, his body still vibrating from the vortex, Lucy never told him about what she'd discovered about the Doctor. And she could feel the Time Lord watching her as Harry waltzed with her on the bridge to 'Moonlight Sonata'.

 

**Act V**   
**Valiant**   
**Month Eight, Ver. 1**

It was a conversation she knew she was never meant to hear.

Lucy was on the plush, well-decorated viewing deck. She watched the Toclafane chase each other among the clouds as the ship, Harry's palace floated high above the remains of Asia. It was originally designed for UNIT's illustrious guests and world leaders to view the majesty of Earth. The leather seating, the marble flooring and the chandelier still remained, but there was no longer a reason for it to be here, no world leaders to flaunt to so a fine layer of dust coated the low tables and some of the couches, giving the small area a sort of gray and neglected look. 

Hidden behind an alcove of potted leafy trees and furniture, Lucy preferred the quiet, isolated corner shadowed by the staircase that stretched above her to the upper levels and the landing strip. Even with the rumble of planes coming in with supplies or captured resistance fighters, it was a corner of contemplation. No one comes in here: no guards, no maids, no one. It was in these shadows that Lucy's heart calmed. It was in here that her thoughts slotted into the proper places.

Lucy huddled into her armchair. She was sick of her maid trailing behind her like beaten dog. Lucy didn't care if it was under Harry's orders; didn't care if by slipping away it meant a sure death for the young girl. Lucy just wanted a moment to think without a simpering girl hiding within Lucy's shadow. Lucy sat there, a small smile on her face as she thought of how panicked the girl must be right now trying to find her.

A child was a sensible idea, Lucy told herself after a few minutes imagining how Harry would execute—Kelly? Abigail?—the maid. Despite the fact that she had once told a journalist she didn't have any interest in becoming a mother, Lucy could now see the practicality of bearing her Master's heir.

Harry had taken care of her needs in the days she recuperated in their chamber. There were glimpses of the old Harold Saxon, the one she had interviewed and had been charmed by. He visited her during the day, stayed with her at night, and told her about the places he would take her, just like before. Harry, like before, told her he would fix everything; fix the world Lucy never felt she was a part of and give her a universe to shape. He promised her that she would be the mother of his heirs soon—his smile however was sometimes too broad and too slick that Lucy wondered what was so funny—and swore it would all be finished soon. The future, his past, would soon be corrected. 

Lucy reveled in his renewed attentions like a found patch of sunshine breaking out from gray clouds against her skin. It warmed her heart that even when he slipped out of their bed, accidentally waking her, Lucy said nothing. She merely curled over his half of the bed and waited for him to return, freshly showered, eyes milky white and body quivering with a power Lucy has yet to fully appreciate.

Lucy sank deeper into the chaise and stroked the black silk dress covering over her stomach. Harry, on those nights he stayed, used to tap his laser screwdriver on her belly with a secretive smile. He'd laughed when Lucy asked if he wanted a prince or a princess. He would declare there was only so many variables he could manipulate. Even Lazarus, Harry teased as he caressed her cheek, was only human.

Harry always spoke in riddles. It was what fascinated her from the start.

The clouds combined then separated as she watched and Lucy wondered what the sky would look like when the rockets launched and filled the sky with death. The universe was a field of stars, waiting to be conquered and given to their children like a bag of toys.

Lucy's hand slipped over her abdomen just as she heard Harry talking rather loudly to someone, his shoes a sharp staccato on polished stone. She was about to reveal herself but then she heard the telltale squeak of a wheelchair accompanying him. Her face contorted and she huddled back into her private corner. 

"Here we are, my Doctor," Harry announced as he wheeled the Doctor right up to the large window. "Planet Earth, reborn." He took a deep breath, his chest puffed out as his eyes gleamed. Harry exhaled loudly. "Glorious, is it not? Oh, no monuments like the Citadel yet, but there will be time for that." Harry's voice dropped. 

"We now have plenty of time for that."

The Doctor held his tongue, no longer as talkative as he was with Lucy. He sat with his back hunched forward, his arms limp on the armrests, but his eyes were still a Time Lord's, still dark and deep and held more answers than he would ever reveal.

Lucy shrank back further and absently ran her hands up and down her arms.

"You still have nothing to say to me?" Harry sounded disappointed and the glee that pitched his voice high before was gone. The wheelchair squeaked when her Master turned it around. Harry sat down on a lounger, now eyelevel with the ancient Time Lord.

"You know, don't you?" Harry murmured. "You've figured it out about the Toclafane, haven't you?"

Lucy watched as Harry dropped his chin and shook his head.

"Don't let your hearts break for them. They've been saved." Harry lifted his gaze and smiled. Lucy's breath caught at the almost paternal expression he wore. "Utopia wasn't their salvation. _I_ was."

Harry sat back into his seat and gave the wheelchair's axle a little kick to spin it back around towards the window.

"Look at that," Harry murmured. Lucy's eyes drew forward as well. 

"Out there, it was encroaching dark and cold, matter breaking into dark matter, light swallowed up into nothing, barren, a void, vacuum of life…"

Stop, Lucy pleaded. She clamped her ears with her hands. The screams of despair echoed in her head. She saw human children crying when they realized the sky wasn't made of diamonds after all. 

"But here, there's life. Worlds we will conquer and we will rejuvenate the Time Lords."

"They're not Time Lords."

The Doctor finally spoke with a war-weary voice different from the calm one before.

"The Time Lords are dead. All of them." The Doctor turned his head to look at Harry over his shoulder. "Save two."

Harry sat there, staring past the Doctor to look at the window but it didn't seem like he was watching the Toclafane chase each other like puppies chasing their tails.

"No," Harry murmured. He slumped back into his chair. He glowered at the back of the bald head.

"They wouldn't be true Time Lords." Harry's lips twitched as if he wanted to smile. He pulled out his laser screwdriver and waved it like a scepter. 

"But they will be led by one; a true family of Time Lords."

Lucy's mouth curved, her eyes slitted as she silently agreed. 

The Doctor stared at Harry. His weary eyes widened at whatever he saw.

"What have you done?" the Doctor whispered.

"Interesting creature," Harry mused, his smile small and secretive. "Ripe with power and possibilities."

"Stop this," the Doctor snarled with such ferocity, leaning forward so suddenly, Harry started when the wheelchair twisted around.

"Stop this at once!" the Doctor hissed. His gnarled and spotted hands curled into feeble fists to slap weakly on the armrests. Harry reared back into his chair. "What you are doing must stop _right_ _now_!"

Harry stared at the Doctor, his eyes wide, his mouth agape. Then his shock twisted into rage and he shoved the Doctor sprawling back into his wheelchair.

"Who are you to give me orders?" Harry hissed. "Even the Elders who revived me couldn't control me. They wanted to make me a weapon against the Daleks, but they failed!"

"Because you ran."

Harry leapt to his feet and drew back his fist holding his laser device and an odd flutter choked Lucy in the throat when she thought Harry was going to hit the Doctor. 

"You tested me for the last time, _Doctor_. Perhaps spending time down in chains like my Companion will silence you."

"But you can't, can you?" the Doctor lifted his head up to stare calmly at Harry and his fist. "Because if you do and you kill me, you would truly be the only one left."

At the last second, before the fist could strike down on aged, fragile flesh, Harry faltered. He lowered his hand. Harry swallowed hard and sat back down.

"Is that why there’s drumming?" Harry rasped. "It's punishment?"

The Doctor never recoiled from her Master, never flinched under the threat of harm. He matched stares with Harry, his fists back to useless limbs on his lap.

"I don't know why you hear the drumming."

Harry closed his eyes. "It'll be over when it's done. All of it."

"When what's done?"

Eyes still closed, Harry smiled to himself. "Everything I needed to set in motion." 

Lucy pressed her hands over her heart. She could feel it thump madly against her palms. Soon, Lucy told herself. Soon.

"That's why you wanted Jack to hear the drumming as well," the Doctor said, his words slow as if he was coming to a revelation. "So you wouldn't be alone."

"I'm _not_ alone," the Master spat out.

Lucy nodded. She sent a glower through the trees at the Doctor.

"I'm not the only Time Lord." Harry smirked at the Doctor.

"But I don't hear the drumming. No one does."

"He did." Harry sat forward until he was nose-to-nose with the Doctor. "And he will again."

The Doctor's mouth twitched to a weak smirk, a grimace. "It won't help. Whatever you do, he'll never hear it and even if he does, it won't change anything for you."

"You're wrong," Harry whispered. "You only regret not fully realizing the potential here. He would give his life for his Doctor, all of time and space. His very soul is drenched in the vortex. He's saturated with endless power and he's willing to give it to his Doctor."

"You're not his Doctor."

Harry chuckled. "No…not yet."

Lucy didn't want to hear anymore. She clamped her hands over her ears, curled in her chair and waited until the sky outside darkened before she looked up again. They were gone.

 

**Four days later…**

There was a vague sensation of his arms being lowered, his head being cradled, but they were gestures no longer familiar to him, no longer recognizable. So Jack did the only thing he could do: he ignored it.

Usually ignoring it, whatever _it_ was this time, meant one of two things would happen. It would either piss the Master off or piss Lucy Saxon off. Regardless of whoever got pissed off, it always resulted in death. Which sucked. Well, he never studied diplomacy in the Time Agency; always thought his smile would be enough to smooth things over.

"…careful of his legs…"

Jack could feel his shirt being peeled off his arms, his t-shirt rolled over his head, and his trousers carefully undone. He couldn't help but tense. 

A hand curled over his forehead and a voice murmured into his ear. Water trickled over his face, his throat, his bare chest. The water was cold but Jack was too tired to shiver.

It was a blurry few minutes of turning, moving his limbs, a rough cloth rubbed carefully over him wiping repeatedly over his head, his legs, his feet. Jack forced himself to open heavy eyelids and blink blearily at the shadows above him. He was lying down on something. A mattress? Jack flinched.

"It's okay…"

It was a voice Jack thought he recognized. And he tried to flip through the mental rotary of voices and names he knew but the slight give of the mattress underneath him proved to be distracting. Lying flat on his back eased the pressure from the back of his calves, his spine, his neck and the loss of pain in the usual spots disoriented him. 

The rag finished scrubbing his hair and now moved to his chest, moving down to his belly. As soon as the fabric brushed near his stomach, rage rippled up his back.

Jack tensed, curled, wrapped his arms around his middle, and growled deep in his throat.

"Hush, child, it's all right."

A hand brushed back hair from his eyes. The rag pulled away, to his surprise.

"'hat?" Jack croaked. A damp cloth brushed across his cracked lips in reply.

"It's the best I can do. The Master said no water." Someone's soft voice sailed over his head.

"Could you soak a rag?"

It was more than one person, Jack calculated as he felt himself being rolled onto his back. No chains, he realized when his limbs flopped uselessly against him when he was moved. Jack concentrated, tried to imagine his fingers curl into the tightest fist he could manage and swung.

It wasn't Kevlar or the broad, rough texture of a uniform as he expected. And the cursing he usually heard was absent. Jack's fist flailed towards the threat, but a hand, a small hand, caught his fist.

"Calm yourself, you're all right."

Jack squinted and a dark face sharpened into view. A name clicked into place.

"'ey," Jack croaked. Francine smiled tightly down at him from her kneeling position by him on the mattress. 

"We ha'e to s-stop meeting like this," Jack rasped. He waved a hand weakly towards himself. The smell must have been intolerable for the Master again. Francine refused to hose him down as Saxon ordered, even when Jack told her every time that he was okay with it. Sure enough, Jack could once again hear the trickle of the hose by the thin mattress that was shoved to the back of the chamber.

"Sh," Francine just said, her eyes narrowed and crinkled downward. "No point being shy now, Jack. Remember, I raised a boy. You do not have anything that I’ve never seen before."

"And here," Jack wheezed as Francine sat him up and propped him against her shoulder, "I thought I-I was un'orgetable."

Francine gave him a watery smile. 

"How's Tosh?"

"Good," Francine reassured. "And building…whatever it is she's building."

Jack exhaled. "That's my girl," he breathed. "Watch out for 'er."

"Worry about yourself, child."

"You know," Jack stuttered, "t-technically, I'm older than you."

With every revelation Francine discovered about him—she stopped screaming after the first time he came back to life before her—she was unfazed and today was no different. She only retorted with an eye roll that reminded him of Ianto. His chest ached.

"Until you _look_ older than me, Captain Jack Harkness, if I call you child, then that's what you are, _child_."

"Yes, ma'am," Jack sighed and let his head dropped back onto Francine's shoulder. While he appreciated the distraction from being bathed like an invalid, the conversation was exhausting. Jack blinked blearily as he watched Francine clean each one of his fingers with the rag.

"You know," Jack rasped, "I probably 'ook older than you. You're what? T-twe'ty?"

Francine's chuckle was a reminder that laughter could still soothe and not mock. 

"You are absolutely shameless," Francine scolded him gently as she wiped his face. "Clive would have a row."

"Is he h-here?" Jack tried for a grin. He felt his lower lip bleed with the attempt. Francine shook her head while she dabbed the corner of his mouth.

"Good," Jack gasped. "I don't want to 'ave to 'urt him f-fighting over you."

"Oh, don't start."

A reed-thin voice crackled from behind Francine. Jack turned his head towards it. Francine leaned back a little to reveal a wheelchair and dirty toed trainers.

"H-he finally let you bac' in h-here?" Jack managed. He swallowed convulsively at the sight. The Master had stop letting the Doctor see him and Jack still wasn't sure if it was an act of kindness to the Doctor or to Jack. Seeing him unharmed, unmarked, made his head spin.

"P-piss him off again?" Jack bared his teeth towards the wizened form huddled in that damn brown suit in the chair. 

The Doctor nodded. "Thought he would punish me by making me watch this," the Time Lord wheezed. He made a painful sounding scoff. 

"Guess…guess h-he didn't know a'out your voyeuristic t-ten'encies." Jack's laugh sounded raw, barbed with glass. Felt like it, too.

"Hush," Francine scolded, but her eyes were bright. The lines around her mouth were deep when she tried to smile. She held the rag under the hose again and drew it near his mouth. Her face was shadowed with apology. 

"I would give you the hose but the guards have been watching us more closely these days," Francine whispered. She stroked the wet fabric near his lips and squeezed so droplets would trickle down his throat.

Jack closed his eyes and tried not to moan at the relief of the scant water on his tongue. He nodded his thanks.

A soft grunt made Jack reopen his eyes. The Doctor had wheeled closer to the mattress and was trying to lower himself on the pad.

"What are you doing?" Jack wheezed. He tried to sit up higher but could only fall forward against the elderly Doctor when he sat cross-legged on the mattress.

"The Master won't be back for a few minutes," the Doctor croaked. Shaky fingers took the rag from Francine. "Let me do at least this much for an old friend."

"Old friend?" Jack choked. "You c-can talk!"

"Oh, yes." The Doctor made a sawing sound Jack realized was the Time Lord's aged laugh. Not the most pleasant sound currently. He missed how it used to boom in the TARDIS. Rose couldn't help laughing after she heard it. "The face. Had some work done."

"You s-should 'et your m-money back." Jack rolled his face onto a bowed shoulder as he heard the Doctor laugh breathlessly.

Francine shook her head as she gripped the Doctor before he tipped over. "You're both mad." 

"No," Jack giggled with an odd thread of madness bubbling in his belly and the sensation made him want to throw up. 

"He's j-just old," Jack gasped out.

The Doctor patted Jack feebly on the head. "A way with words as usual."

The coarse feel of aged fingers made Jack's stomach churn. He dropped back onto the mattress on his side, unwilling to lean too heavily on the now fragile Doctor.

The strained laughter died and Jack was left staring at the bottoms of the Doctor's trainers. He saw a hole at the toe of his right shoe.

The Doctor's harsh chuckles petered out.

"Rest up," the Doctor murmured. He brushed the damp fabric to Jack's mouth again to let water trail down his throat. "The Master won't be back for a while. I don't know when there will be another chance like this."

Jack nodded. He sucked all the moisture he could from the rag. Done, he rested his head against the Doctor's knee and tiredly plucked at the hem of the Doctor's trousers in response. The Doctor merely patted his head around the vicinity of his right ear.

"I'll clean up here," Francine whispered. "So when the guards peek through that window, I look busy." She noisily rattled her bucket, wiped down his loose chains, and grabbed the tarp to fold up.

"Careful." Jack gestured a heavy hand towards the two concrete pillars that served as his prison. "The tarp. The guards will b-bring that to…to Tosh."

"What the?" Francine exclaimed softly as she lifted a corner of the tarp. 

Jack saw the Doctor turn his head, his body trembling like he would topple over. 

"Is this…" Francine peeled the tarp completely over. The crinkling covered her gasp.

Jack's mouth twisted. "No one ever wondered 'ow I managed to b-bleed onto the b-back of that thing."

The Doctor sniffed. "All they see is the blood," he agreed, "not—"

"Blueprints," Francine breathed. "You…you drew blueprints on the back of these?"

"Each time the Master left me here to watch Jack as a sort of…punishment." The Doctor lifted his hands to show his scarred fingertips. "Although," he cackled, his voice gravelly and garbled, "they should be called red prints, actually."

"God…" Francine sounded both amazed and disgusted.

"Final set," the Doctor whispered. "Then it's up to Ms. Sato to do the rest."

Jack grimaced. He tilted his head up towards the Doctor. 

"I don't l-like how you involve 'er." Jack tugged at the Doctor's trousers to get his attention. "Too ri'ky."

"She's the only one who can do this, Jack." The Doctor's tone was low but Jack couldn't tell if it was due to caution or age. 

"Like Martha?" Francine asked bitterly as she folded up the tarp for the guards to give to Tosh to clean.

"'rancine," Jack groaned in warning. 

"I know. I know." Francine's voice cracked. She crouched by the chains, the tarp folded into a tight bundle on her lap. 

"I'm sorry," the Doctor said. His hands never left Jack's head. "I wish I could explain, but it's better if none of you know the complete plan. The Master would—"

"We know." Jack coughed. "We know."

Hands curled slightly into his hair.

Francine sniffed and continued with her duties, her face closed, her mouth grim.

Jack took a careful draw of metallic tinged air. Everything tasted metallic here. Even the cold swede Tish brought in. The whooshing sound of the ship around him echoed his breathing. Jack could hear the Doctor's labored breathing above him. Jack wanted to tell him to get back in his chair. Jack wanted to tell the Doctor he was fighting the Master, that he would be ready for his part of the plan. There was so much Jack wanted to tell the Doctor, but Jack also knew he would then want to ask questions of the Doctor. Questions that Jack didn't want to know the answers to.

Jack stared at the scuffed soles, felt the scratchy mattress against his cheek, and suddenly a hiccup was pushing up into his throat.

The Doctor's hands made tiny pats on his head as if stroking took too much energy.

Jack bit his lower lip. He was feeling stronger, perhaps strong enough to go out there, snap the guard's neck and escape. But the Master knew. The bastard knew Jack wouldn't leave any of them behind, that he wouldn't be that much of a coward.

"We wouldn't think of you as a coward if you got away," the Doctor whispered. His hands pressed gently into Jack's scalp.

Jack jerked. The Doctor shushed him, his hands on his shoulders now.

"H-how you…" Jack gasped.

The Doctor carefully leaned in. "The TARDIS," the Doctor said softly into his ear.

It was probably meant to reassure, but Jack's chest hitched, his breath caught in a tight vise wrapped around his torso. Phantom pain pulsed deep in his body, in his belly that made Jack curl tighter into a fetal position. His fingers twisted on the Doctor's pant leg.

"You…you saw?"

The Doctor merely smoothed a hand over Jack's hair. Another hand drifted to Jack' middle but thankfully moved away.

"Ah, Jack," the Doctor murmured. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry…"

Jack turned his face onto the mattress. "Doctor," he whimpered.

"Madness guides them both now, Jack," the Doctor offered as a woeful excuse. 

Another thought sliced into Jack's mind.

"Oh God," Jack moaned into the bedding. "'anto…"

"You saw Torch—I mean, Mr. Jones?"

A hallucination. Ianto was supposed to be a hallucination, not…no, Ianto wasn't really here. 

"I'm sure she was only trying to help, Jack, with whatever power she could spare for us."

Jack heard what the Doctor was trying to say and somewhere, in the back of his mind, Jack knew it was an advantage they should use. But all Jack could think about was that Ianto was real, he saw, he _saw_.

"Sh…" Hands rubbed his head, pointy almost skeletal fingers shaking with age circled his scalp in an attempt to soothe, to make Jack believe this was good news.

"How is that possible?" the Doctor mused softly, only to Jack's ears. "She could connect us because we're both on the ship, but him? He's too far away."

His insides knotted. Ianto was far away. Ianto should have been far enough away, safely ignorant of what was happening to him.

"The rift…" Jack rasped.

"Ah." The Doctor's hands stilled. "If he's near it, it could possibly enhance any link."

"B-break it."

"Jack." The Doctor sighed. "This—"

" _Break it_."

"Jack…"

Jack clawed the Doctor's trousers. "Break it," Jack gasped, whimpered, it didn't matter. "Break it, p-please…break it…"

"Doctor?" Francine stopped her cleaning.

The Doctor bent over to Jack's ear. His body trembled with the effort. "Captain, listen to me. None of this, _none_ of this will matter to young Jones." Thin hands, frail hands held an unknown strength as they cupped his face, wiped the moisture off his face. 

"But this link—sh…this link, Jack, this could be what we need against the Master."

"No…" Jack pulled at the Doctor's trousers to his cheek. "Break it," Jack pleaded brokenly. 

Dry lips kissed his temple.

"He thinks you're worth fighting for, Jack," the Doctor whispered. "But you must also fight as well."

 

**Torchwood, Cardiff**

Ianto massaged his temples. It was hard to stare at a bright, flickering square for such a long time in the dark. His neck hurt, his right shoulder had stiffened in his hunched position over the laptop and the combined discomfort made for a painful headache behind his eyes. And his dry cough only made it worse.

Gwen could be heard deep in Jack's quarters, tapping carefully with the antiquated Morse code telegraph that Jack had in a chest under his camp bed. It looked as old as his Webley. Gwen, reading the message under the lamp, was trying to tap out a message into an equally antiquated CB radio powered by a coarse coil of cables from the rift manipulator. The extension snaked down the hatchway. Hopefully, someone was still listening in old radio towers and understood the series of dots and dashes. Hopefully, it was someone who could reach Martha Jones. The American resistance was slowly being carved out, dwindling as they escorted Martha across the country. She barely escaped Texas. The laboratory she went to became a bloodbath. Ianto knew everyone was still trying to convince himself or herself the price was worth it. Three parts of the weapon were now ready. 

A pounding in his head flared and Ianto sat back on the couch, pushing the laptop away from him. He pressed his fists to his eyes and grimaced. Owen was out there pretending to do a medical run as Frederick Gorman. Hopefully the next grab of supplies included a painkiller of some sort that they could spare sharing with the resistance. Either that, or a good mouthful of scotch would be nice. Or a mallet. Or—since he was wishing for the fantastic and impossible anyway—one of Jack's neck massages.

_"I don't think that's a medically proven remedy."_

"But it works," Ianto muttered, "and is far cheaper and more pleasant than a visit to the doc—" Ianto froze. He lowered his fists.

There, sitting on the edge of his desk, head tilted towards him, Jack stood in a hazy glow of blue greatcoat and even bluer eyes. Jack's eyes crinkled sadly at Ianto. His smile was faint, almost a frown. It twitched at Ianto's words.

_"Hello."_

 

**Act VI**   
**Torchwood, Cardiff**   
**Month Nine, Ver. 1**

"…and finally, the last shipment of steel for Dover is coming in at dawn by way of a barge," Ianto recited back. He stared across at him. The darkness was very deceptive. It made things feel more solid, real. The shadows looked more threatening as if they held more than just dust. 

"I still don't get it," Ianto blurted out.

_"Ianto."_

Jack's sigh was substantial despite the contrary before Ianto. Jack stood by the ladder, the dim glow from above cut through his greatcoat covered body with narrow beams of sickly yellow light.

"I know I've said this before, but, I mean…" Ianto gestured weakly towards Jack by the ladder, then towards himself. "I _still_ think I'm hallucinating this in some…post-apocalyptic stress disorder." Lord knew there was enough going on in his life right now to make him go mental. 

Ianto patted the threadbare blanket he didn't have the heart to replace. Owen complained it was an impractical rag but it was a feeble reminder for Ianto of a time when this was wrapped around Jack's smooth, warm skin and Ianto's body, binding them together in a sinful tangle of limbs and sweat. 

"This," Ianto continued as he ran his hand across his lap, "feels real and this," Ianto knocks on the camp bed, "also feels real, so how can I be dreaming this?"

" _You're not. Not really."_ Jack was never this patient in real life. _"I told you. It's the TARDIS."_

Ianto gave him a sour look. "You keep saying that like it was the force, Yoda," he complained. 

_"The what? Who the hell is Yoda?"_

"Never mind. Look, I just don't understand." Ianto felt like a conductor with his hands flailing in the air. "How are we doing this? I'm not complaining, mind you." Never. Never, never.

Jack gestured back in a half-shrug. It shouldn't produce a sound, but Ianto wished it would. Jack looked like he was trapped in an old film, very old-fashioned in his coat, hands moving noiselessly, coat flapping without a sound, Jack semi-transparent against the rusty ladder like a ghost.

_"It's…it's like empathetic projections. The TARDIS helps her passengers from time to time translate things by inserting a sort of translator matrix within a telepathic field."_

"Translator? Telepathic?" Ianto repeated slowly, testing the word in his mouth. He wished Jack at least wouldn't talk like the Doctor.

_"You know, like a kind of translation circuit."_

Ianto's head shot up. "There's a _circuit_ in my head?" 

It would have been amusing to see Jack making fists and growling without really making a sound as he paced a tiny line from the ladder to a few steps deeper into his quarters. It would have been, if Ianto weren't busy feeling his head for any bumps or scars or little microchips embedded in his skull. The last thing he needed was to be " _upgraded_ ".

_"No, it's not really a…"_ Jack slapped his hands against his sides silently. _"Look, hey, hey, look at me, it's not an actual circuit, okay? Okay? Bad choice of words."_

Ianto lowered his arms. He glowered. "Very bad."

Jack rested his fists on his hips. _"You wanted me to explain."_

"I asked for particulars, not for a coronary." Ianto pursed his lips and gave it a thought. "So from the moment I was in the TARDIS, she helped translate everything?" It would explain why everyone at the end of the universe sounded like they were from London. 

_"It is still in you since your trip in the TARDIS, just latent. She must have reactivated it and used it to link us and the Doctor together."_

"In other words…" Ianto bit his lower lip. "I'm not really dreaming, I'm in sort of a…trance?" Ianto looked down at himself. "I don't feel like I'm in a trance."

_"Look, the past few weeks. Has everything I've been telling you been right so far?"_ Jack pointed out. _"The shipments? The prisoners? The ambushes to get Martha?"_

Ianto stammered. "W-what? Yes." Gwen and Owen were understandably a bit skeptical at first, though.

Ianto sagged back on the bed. "So all those times when I saw you in the…" Ianto swallowed. "…on the _Valiant_ , I wasn't dreaming. I was really there…"

_"Sort of. You were projecting into my mind."_ Jack's smile was fragile. _"The connection the TARDIS has made between us was enough to bridge you to my consciousness. I happened to be…open at the time and there you were."_

"I couldn't stop thinking about how much I wanted to see you again," Ianto confessed. "You were so far away. You weren't even in the night sky anymore." He had checked, many times, when he snuck out until Gwen and Owen found out and dragged him back into the Hub. Owen threatened to sedate him with his fist if he tried again.

_"The rift must have boosted that thought. That's how you were able to reach me but not enough to be a solid connection for you to be aware of what you were doing."_ Jack paused. His brow furrowed.

_"By the way, new Torchwood rule: no sleeping next to the rift manipulator."_

Ianto flushed. Even non-corporeal, Jack was a formidable man when he frowned. "One time," Ianto mumbled. "I was tired."

_"I know we were…flexible with our sleeping arrangements before but the manipulator is one kink we can all live without."_

Ianto wasn't sure if he wanted to blush or glare. He opted for the later. Ianto glowered. 

_"I mean it, Ianto. The rift was never something to fool with. The rift doesn't just give. It takes. Viciously and without prejudice."_ Jack's shoulders lifted as he drew in a breath. _"It's a devastating thing. Even just siphoning off the remnants right now is risky. Just don't take the chance. Don't underestimate the rift. Okay?"_

Mollified, Ianto lowered his eyes and nodded.

_"I swear if you get yourself killed, I will find some way to bring you back and kick that cute little ass of yours."_

A smile twitched on his face. "All right," Ianto murmured. "No more naps by ionic, temporal, radioactive reactors. From now on, I'm strictly a bed person."

To Ianto's surprise, Jack didn't rise to the bait. Ianto stared, waiting but when Jack kept looking elsewhere, Ianto cleared his voice to get Jack's attention.

"Why haven't I been able to see you on the _Valiant_ again?" Ianto asked carefully. He fought to keep his voice steady. Ever since Jack established contact—if it could be called that—every time Ianto closed his eyes, he found himself still in the Hub, Jack watching him with bleak blue eyes. 

Jack gave him an odd sort of grimace. It was probably suppose to be a smile because he made an odd laugh following it.

_"I think the surroundings here are a lot nicer."_ Jack scanned the dark quarters. _"Although, you might want to pay the electricity bills for this place."_

"Jack—"

_"I can establish a better connection,"_ Jack interrupted _. "I can pretty much go into a, I guess you would call it a trance, come to you and pass on whatever information the Doctor tells me from what he can gather from everyone else."_ Jack stepped away from the ladder for some reason and darkness shrouded him. He stood as a mere shadow out of the corner of Ianto's eye.

_"It's better this way."_

Ianto nodded slowly, his mouth curved downwards. He wished it didn't make such practical sense. He peered up at Jack. 

"Is he pissed?"

_"The Master?"_ Jack grinned broadly and waggled his eyebrows. _"Oh yeah. I think he was hoping to get those rockets flying by now, but his material keeps getting stolen or destroyed by someone."_

"I wonder who." Ianto grinned back but after a moment, he sobered.

"That doesn't solve the problem of the ones he has already up in production. Delay or not, they'll still be ready to fly in a few months." Ianto sagged back against the wall. "Everyone he's enslaved…they're too afraid to fight back."

_"The Archangel network is emitting a low frequency wave."_ Jack stuffed his hands down into his pockets. _"They can't help themselves and the small percent who can resist? They're too few in numbers to fight those things."_

"This was what Alex Hopkins saw, Jack." Ianto pulled up his knees and hugged them to his chest. "This was what made him go mad and kill everyone in his team."

_"Misguided mercy,"_ Jack reminded him. Jack sighed, the sound muted without the actual exhale of warm air. _"God, what he must have thought when he saw all this."_

"He also saw all of us beating this, beating Saxon," Ianto added.

Jack's lips twitched at the corner. He nodded. 

"Jack?" Ianto gazed up and down Jack, memorized the sleek profile by the ladder. "This…" Ianto waved towards Jack. "I know this is not a hallucination now, but this…"

_"I'm not really wearing a greatcoat right now if that's what you mean,"_ Jack answered, his voice too light, too bright, that Ianto winced.

"Then this isn't real." Jack blurred in front of him when Ianto blinked rapidly.

Jack walked closer to the camp bed. Ianto tracked him as he crouched down noiselessly by the side of the pallet.

_"Real enough,"_ Jack said quietly. _"Like I said…it's better this way."_ His eyes drifted up along Ianto's body. The corners of his lips twitched.

_"I see you still wear it."_

Ianto lifted his right arm up. He'd forgotten it was on his wrist. Funny how it had felt so heavy on his arm in the beginning, Ianto mused.

"I think it looks better on me," Ianto decided. He turned his arm towards Jack.

_"Oh yes, I always thought you'd look good in leather."_

"I thought you said I look good in pink," Ianto returned. He pretended to glare.

_"Pink shirt,"_ Jack corrected him _. "And I do. You would look good in pink and leather."_ He paused. _"Just not pink leather, please."_ Jack pretended to shudder.

"Shouldn't we be discussing retaking the world rather than my attire?"

_"Bossy,"_ Jack commented.

"Focused," Ianto amended.

Jack chuckled. He looked at Ianto's arm with a half-smile and half-mast eyes.

"You're okay over there?" Ianto murmured.

Jack nodded. _"You're right,"_ Jack said, almost conversationally, _"it looks much better on you."_

Ianto studied the almost glowing illusion. Jack's eyes looked almost colorless. The pit of his stomach grew cold.

"Jack," Ianto whispered, "how pissed does Saxon get?"

Jack shrugged one shoulder as he smiled wearily up at Ianto. He didn't answer at first, his hand wavering like a heat wave as he skimmed the bed, tracing the shape of Ianto's arm wrapped around his knees, and retreating back to his side as silent as a fading star.

_"Pissed,"_ Jack finally admitted. He shrugged the other shoulder now. 

The face tilted up towards Ianto shone with the ethereal haze of not really being here; a flicker of light that Ianto knew its source, its flame, was thousands of miles above him. 

"I wish I could touch you." Ianto stared at Jack's face. It blurred due to the murky lighting or the stinging in his eyes, Ianto wasn't sure. He reached out with shaky fingers and hovered as close as he could without shattering the illusion. Jack closed his eyes as Ianto's fingers drew near.

Ianto bit back a sob. His fingers brushed against the shape of light. It felt cool, empty. 

_"I'm sorry,"_ Jack whispered. He opened his eyes again.

"For what?"

_"For getting into your head like this, for having you work even in your sleep, for the danger I'm putting all of you through, for—"_

"Enough," Ianto murmured. "It's true. I never asked for any of this, but if I was given a choice, I would make the same one."

_"I know this mental link with the TARDIS can be—"_

"I wasn't just talking about the TARDIS, Jack."

Jack studied Ianto. His mouth curved. 

_"Okay,"_ Jack just said. He paused, his head tilted up as if listening for something.

"Company?" Ianto rasped. He gripped the edges of the blanket.

Jack turned back towards Ianto with a brittle smile. He rose silently to his feet. His coat flapped feebly around him like clipped wings.

_"I'll find you if I have anything more."_

"Wait! Let me go to you this time," Ianto pleaded. "I can be there for you. Just don't block me out. Please."

Jack's image wavered like a telly signal going out of focus. His eyes were transparent and the blue bled out from his gaze. It made Jack look like a hollowed out doll.

_"I'll find you if I have anything more,"_ Jack repeated.

"Jack…"

Something dark wavered across Jack's face. It was a shadow of emotion, of resignation, maybe even shame that Ianto caught when they were both in Torchwood London; a familiar darkness that sent panic hammering into Ianto's chest.

"On the TARDIS," Ianto blurted out before the tugging sensation pulling them apart could succeed. "I…I meant what I said. I still do," Ianto stumbled. Ianto leaned forward, closer to Jack.

"No matter what," Ianto whispered. "That hasn't changed, _cariad_."

Jack seemed to brighten in front of him, a flickering flame blazing and his smile now wider. 

_"Thank you,"_ Jack breathed.

Like a sigh, the room dimmed around Ianto and there was a ghostly sensation of lips skimming across his cheek like a cool breeze. Ianto gasped then woke up into a darkness that felt colder the longer he sat there.

"Ianto?"

"Jack?" Ianto rasped. His head whipped left and right. Where was he? "Jack?" 

There was a tiny sigh before a "No, love, I'm sorry."

Light vanished when Gwen made her way through the hatchway. Her feet knew each rung by now and she descended into Jack's quarters, jumping down when there were two rungs left. 

"Did you see him?"

The eagerness in Gwen's voice was too much. Ianto nodded, not caring if Gwen could see it or not. He swung his legs around to the side of the bed and fumbled for his legal pad and a pen that boasted the logo of a café that was no longer there on the wharf. It faced Cardiff Bay with its glass terrace and patio furniture. Jack mentioned once that he would like to take Ianto there, but that was before 1941, before Abbadon, before Saxon. It no longer stood there, its remains marked by bloodstained pilings and plastic furniture melted down to the wood like Dali's timepieces.

"He uh…has some more schedules for us from…um…the D-doctor." The pen wouldn't write properly and paper tore as Ianto tried to write down the first delivery.

"Ianto—"

Dates and locations and Jack's face rattled around in his head. Ianto felt like he was flailing to catch a thought and the proper things he should be doing kept slipping out of his fingers. "There's one we need to…When Owen gets back from his medical run…we need to…g-get to it before dawn. S-steel. They uh…"

Gwen shushed him. "Here. Don't worry about writing them down yet."

Ianto shoved away the hands over his. "No, I need to…before I forget…"

"It can wait." Gwen wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

"No, it can't! Otherwise, this would all be for nothing," Ianto gritted his teeth when the top sheet tore in half. Damn! They couldn't afford to waste anything. His hands scrambled for the errant sheet fluttering to the floor when Gwen's fingers curled around his wrists, stopping him. 

"It can wait," Gwen whispered by his ear. She rested her cheek against his head. "It can wait."

Ianto sniffed. He bowed his head, his hands gripped the edge of the camp bed so hard, his arms shook. He took deep breaths until he trusted his hands were steady again when he pulled them back towards his lap.

Something crinkled. Gwen retrieved the paper by his feet and smoothed it out on the bed. She took the pen from Ianto's slack grip.

"Tell me," Gwen ordered. Her command, however, was soft.

In a haltering voice, Ianto repeated everything Jack wanted him to remember, taking care not to rush as Gwen wrote under the weak light the hatchway gave. His voice solidified and steadied as he went down the list of secrets Saxon thought were safe from exposure. Finished, Ianto's words died out and he stared as Gwen reread what she had written before folding it carefully into her pocket.

Her jacket, Ianto noted absently, needed mending. It was the same form-fitting leather jacket she has had on since the beginning but Ianto could see that the tears from stray bullets, scrapes against rock, and months of neglect was starting to bleach the once supple material to a grey finish with scales of black leather fanned out around the elbows and collars. Gwen stubbornly kept it, explaining only that Rhys had bought her the jacket for her first day in Torchwood. Ianto fingered the black flak jacket he wore, stolen from the _Valiant_. It sat heavy on his shoulders and was a bit too long but it warded off the Hub's chill. 

"There's…" Ianto rasped. He swiped his tongue across his lower lip. "There's a closet in the back. Ja—" Ianto choked. "There are some jumpers you can wear. They might be warmer."

"Owen stole a few UNIT uniforms I can wear if it gets colder," Gwen assured. She patted Ianto's left knee. "I…it just wouldn't feel right to wear his things, you know?"

In the dark, it was hard to see faces, but Ianto could feel the look of pity Gwen was skewering him with. Ianto nodded and pulled the blanket off his body. He folded it carefully into a worn, pilled bundle of afghan and tucked it behind the AK-47 at the foot of the bed.

"Was that all he had to say?" Gwen asked hesitantly. "About the shipments?"

Ianto lifted his shoulders, too tired to think of something encouraging to say. 

"Nothing about our families," Ianto said bluntly. He grimaced and his eyes lowered. "Sorry. I mean—"

"I know." Gwen sighed. She squeezed Ianto's knee. "I keep asking. Must be tiresome." Gwen rubbed her hands up and down her thighs. Gwen gulped. "I wish…I wish I could see Rhys the way you can see Jack. At least you know where Jack is."

Ianto flinched at the envy he could hear in her voice. "I don't know," Ianto professed. "There are times I think I'm just going mad. And other times, I wish I couldn't see him at all." Ianto could feel Gwen start next to him.

"It gets that much harder to say goodbye to him each time," Ianto choked. 

"Ah." Gwen pulled him against her and gave him a one-sided hug. "I sometimes forget how young you are, _annwyl_."

Ianto didn't feel young, but he didn't correct her. His bones felt dense, heavy and it took effort to smile so Ianto gave up trying. 

"What the hell are we doing down here, Gwen?" Ianto croaked.

"We're helping the resistance, helping Martha Jones, getting those plans out there so we can tear down those rockets—"

"They won't help us, Gwen," Ianto snapped. He couldn't help himself. It seemed like all of it was rubbish shoveled down his throat. "Most of them are too scared to do anything."

"The resistance—"

"Are too scattered across the world to do anything more than escort Martha and hijack supplies." Ianto leaned back. He slumped.

"Jack's saying it's enough, I…I just don't see how."

Gwen sat there quietly. Ianto stared at her back for a long moment. He suddenly wished he had never said anything. Ianto covered his eyes with a hand. He exhaled sharply next to her.

"Sorry," Ianto murmured, lowering the hand. He didn't dare look at her. He felt like all he was doing lately was a lot of apologizing. "I—"

"If Jack says it's enough, then it's enough." Gwen twisted around, her mouth set, her eyes bright.

"Didn't you tell us that Jack said the Doctor has a plan?"

Ianto mutely nodded.

"Well then. We keep doing what we're doing until Tosh can find a way to communicate with us." The gap in her teeth flashed when Gwen grinned. 

"We'll just keep pissing Mr. Saxon off until we hear otherwise."

Ianto find himself smiling wearily back.

"Owen was a fool," Ianto murmured. He grimaced. Bollocks, he shouldn't have said that.

Gwen gave him a slight slap on the knee. She smirked. "Of course he was. All men are fools," she chuckled quietly to herself.

"Oi, are you being rude about me?"

Gwen just laughed again. 

 

**Valiant**

Toshiko bit the inside of her cheek when a piece of the metal flap overheated and died a rather messy death.

"Bugger," she muttered. Toshiko scowled and waved a hand in front of her to dissipate the steam constantly fogging her view. She poked at the device and removed the melted bit over the wires and tucked its carcass under the pipes.

"No good?" Clive Jones whispered under the wet slapping of his mop.

"Too thin," Toshiko whispered back. "I need a denser piece of metal for the housing otherwise whatever this thing is, it'll blow up the user's hand once initiated."

"You still don't know what it is?"

Toshiko scowled at the rod in her hands. "All I know is this will be good for one shot and one shot only and to give it to Jack."

Clive's mop paused before it started up again. "Not the Doctor?"

"No, the last bunch of plans I found on the tarp said to give it to Jack when…" Toshiko paused.

"When?"

Toshiko didn't dare look at Clive. She lowered her eyes to the strange device in her grasp. "When Martha gets here."

The mop thumped so loudly against the bucket, Toshiko froze.

"What you mean _'when Martha gets here'_?" Clive hissed. "My daughter? She's trying to get away from bloody Saxon!"

"Clive," Toshiko warned. She peered over the pipe she was hiding behind to the door. "Your voice."

"What does that Doctor want my Martha to do?" Clive went on angrily. The mop shook in his fist. "He already has my little girl out there all alone and—"

" _Clive_ , your voice."

A door banged open. "Hey, you two! What's with all the racket in here?"

Toshiko jumped to her feet. "A r-rat!" she squeaked as high as she could. She hopped in place and pointed with her left hand to the ground, her right was gripping the device out of sight. "A very, very big rat! Oh God, it was as big as that bucket!"

The guard's face twisted and he slammed the door shut.

Whatever Toshiko wanted to say died at the sight of Clive's wide-eyed, white-lipped stare.

"Sorry," Clive whispered. He deflated. "Seems all I can do is yell and shout while my little girl is out there saving the world with your friends. Sorry."

Toshiko reached over and patted Clive Jones on the arm. 

"What we're doing here," Toshiko whispered, "is making sure they succeed."

Clive nodded with a tight smile on his lips. He clasped a hand over hers on his arm and gave her fingers a squeeze. Then he looked down to the ground with open disgust.

"You saw a rat? Really?"

Toshiko rolled her eyes and went back to work. 

 

**Act VII**   
**Cardiff**   
**Month Ten, Ver. 1**

Owen rubbed his thumb under his lower lip. He grimaced. He wasn't accustomed to the goatee—damn Jonesy had altered his photo with facial hair when he had made this fake identification. Owen constantly found himself rubbing the bloody thing with the key around his neck and wishing for his razor that had been left sitting by the sink recharging. 

Out of curiosity, Owen had driven by his flat once, but the building was gone, stripped of all its materials. All that remained were shreds of someone's dark grey curtains flapping around a steel girder that was left behind because it was too embedded into the foundation. He tore a scrap of the curtain off and kept it in his pocket like a charm. 

Bloody Saxon. He'd just finished paying it off, too.

Night, without the light from Cardiff's buildings and cars blinking like stars, was exceptional dark here. It seemed colder, too. Even inside the cab of the truck, his own icy breath obscured Owen's view of the road. The only good thing about the chilling temperatures was that the Toclafane abhorred the cold and the dark. The skies were clear of those miserable beasts whenever the temperature dropped. 

The truck quieted to a purr when Owen switched the engine into idle. He wished he could turn on the headlights but it would draw too much attention.

Owen stared at the dirt road and the rubble that lay before him. It used to be an arcade filled with noisy shoppers and loud and raunchy workers stumbling out of pubs smelling of drink. Now it was just dusty rock and shattered walkways void of the sounds of life. After a few minutes of staring at nothing but debris, he was half-tempted to turn the truck around. 

Miserable ingrates, Owen thought as he scratched his chin with his thumb again. More food, more medicines for a bunch of people too scared to do anything more than promise they'll try. They were too scared to go up against millions and millions of stinking Toclafane; too scared to take those contraband plans and smash up those rockets any more than bits and pieces like stealing a piece of candy from a jar. They wouldn't talk to Owen, Gwen or even Ianto, only to the resistance members mixed in with the slave labor. And all the resistance would do was distribute the food, gather the bits of gossip they heard, and pass promises from a slave labor force too terrified to keep them.

"Useless shits," Owen muttered to himself but he settled back into the seat anyway for the wait. Hooded under the tall skeletal remains of shops and offices, it was an efficient meeting place for whoever was meeting him, that is. It changed every time. The resistance—even as desperately hungry and determined as they were—were a suspicious lot.

A tiny shadow peered around a lopsided light pole by what used to be a bookstore at the corner. It crawled out from an opening made by the rubble and the store's dented sign. Owen smirked, but he didn't move from his spot or get out of the truck. Owen kept both hands on the wheel and didn't smile as the shadow scampered over, tripped on some uprooted cobblestone, and stood on tiptoe by the door.

Owen merely stuck his head out the driver’s side window to scowl at the dirty face with the greasy mop of blond hair peering up at him. The child was wrapped in too many large shirts to discern age or true size. He looked like a little ball with legs.

"Evening, Dr. Fred," the little boy quipped. He set his small hands on the door as he craned his neck up to see.

"You get shorter and shorter each time I see you, Widget," Owen growled in return. "Are you shrinking?"

The growl only made the tentative smile on the dirt-smudged face widen. A tiny tap on his door and the shadow scrambled quietly back to his hiding spot. Three much larger shadows crawled out with it now.

Owen climbed down the truck, acutely aware of the gun tucked in the back of his waistband. He made sure his arms dangled visibly by his sides.

"Special delivery," Owen murmured. He wanted to shout it out, just to hear his voice again, but he didn't dare and only stood there while the three shadows became a trio of disheveled, narrowed eyed faces.

"Doctor Gorman?" a woman whispered. She poked the air with her rifle, one hand pushing back on the little one trying to peer around her.

"That's me," Owen said in an even voice. He raised his hands and set his jaw as one of the woman's friends took the gun from his waistband then prodded him with the muzzle of his weapon to peer under his jacket. Owen just stared straight ahead. "And you are?"

She nodded back to the others standing close behind her with assault weapons. She was dwarfed next to them. Their barrel-chested builds made her look like a child. "Rogers. Clark. And I believe you already know Widget."

Owen gave Widget an eyebrow that Widget returned in the form of a grin. Hm, the brat had lost another tooth. He made a note that there were no more bleeding gums at least in Widget's smile before he flicked his eyes towards the woman.

"Smith," the woman offered succinctly. 

Owen resisted rolling his eyes. "Right… _Smith_. Can I put my hands down now?"

Brown eyes considered him before she nodded and her two comrades lowered their weapons. Rogers handed back his gun, his fist gripping the barrel too tightly as if he didn't want to let it go. After a tug, Owen reclaimed his weapon.

"Get your own, mate," Owen grumbled before he tucked it back into his waistband.

"Sorry," Smith offered, but it didn't sound sincere. "We lost two trying to get _your_ information yesterday. We're all a little on edge."

Owen ignored the lilt that sharpened her words. "But you got it, right?"

"We got it," Clark bit out. "Professor Docherty."

Owen muttered the name to himself. "You sure?"

"We're sure," Smith said before her comrades could take a step towards him. "She works in the repair shed by Nuclear Seven. Whatever you have, she can sort it out for you. But her son—"

"Doesn't matter about her son if it's true," Owen told her. 

"It's true," Clark snarled at Owen. "We're not the enemy here. We will meet our end of the bargain."

Owen bit back a sigh. "Then stop treating _me_ like the enemy." Owen stared at Smith. She must have been pretty, Owen thought. It was hard to tell under the rag scarf wrapped around the lower part of her face but the shape of her eyes and nose were pleasant to look at despite the dark smears around the visible part of her face. 

"There's food back there, some basic medical supplies, some clothing," Owen told her.

At Smith's nod, Clark and Rogers trotted to the back of the truck. After a few minutes, Clark returned.

"All there, like he says," Clark reported. There was a tremor in his voice, relief that made his tone unsteady. 

"Nice to see the trust," Owen muttered under his breath. "I'd only been doing this for months now."

"Excuse us if we don't quite believe you, _Dr. Gorman_ ," Smith said smoothly. There was a hint of a smirk above the scarf. She didn't think that was his name either. "But it's hard to believe a group of people who put that much faith on the actions of one girl supposedly walking the earth."

Owen shrugged. "Hey, the Doctor wanted her to do that. I'm not exactly willing to sit back and let her have all the fun either."

Something flickered in the brown eyes before him.

"I see," Smith murmured. "We'll see what we can find out about Docherty for you." Smith watched Clark and Rogers unload the truck for a few moments.

"Come here, brat," Owen beckoned. Widget wiggled out from under Smith's grasp and looked up expectantly at him. 

Owen rubbed the mop of hair vigorously and Widget squealed. Clark in the back shushed him and Widget, chastened, clamped his mouth shut and his eyes rounded huge as circles. 

Owen sighed. It wasn't really that loud. Then again, Gwen nearly shot a rat that went scurrying by yesterday, upsetting a bucket in the dark. "Let me see those teeth again."

Unlike Smith and the others, Widget has no qualms about smiling. He bared his teeth in a stained grin.

"Hm," Owen grunted. "You been eating those vitamins I got you last time?"

"They tas'e funny," Widget lisped.

"It's vitamin C for scurvy, not chocolate, brat." Owen gave the head a light scuff. Then he pulled out two golden oranges from his pockets. He'd swiped them from the guards' quarters. Gwen and Ianto would have a fit if they knew he went in there though. Better get rid of the evidence here. 

"Here, these might taste better. Now off with you, you smell funny."

Widget hugged the fruit to his narrow chest. Hands full, eyes shining, Widget could only head butt Owen's hip farewell.

"Go back to Luke and Maria, sweetheart," Smith hushed and nudged the boy back to where they were hiding. "Let the others know we're coming."

"Bye, Dr. Fred," Widget whispered.

"See ya," Owen quipped and he stared after the boy walking back with exaggerated care. When Widget reached the corner, he turned around, waved to Owen with his elbow then disappeared into whatever tunnel the resistance had made.

"Find any of his family yet?" Owen asked, his eyes was still staring at the spot he last saw Widget.

"We heard his little sister was sent into the mining tunnels."

" _Little_ sister? He's what? Ten? Eleven?"

"Nine." Smith's eyes hardened. "Saxon would have had Widget crawling in those little tunnels mining too if you people hadn't found him first. Saxon's been working everyone to the bone."

Owen set his jaw. "Well… _I_ didn't vote for Saxon."

Smith was studying him with unnerving intensity. "Neither did I, Dr. Gorman."

"Owen…" Owen scratched his chin. Damn beard. "Name's Owen H—"

"Safer if I know you as Dr. Fred." Smith tracked her men staggering with their crates marked " _For the Valiant_ " across their sides.

Owen grunted.

"Where is she now?" Smith hesitated. "This Martha Jones."

"South Africa…somewhere." Owen shrugged again. Martha was vague. Well, as vague as one could be in a telegram. 

"Is it true, what they're saying?"

Owen eyed their surroundings. He was tempted to pull out his key to wear. He didn't like being out in the open for this long. "About?"

"About what she wants us to do."

Owen met her challenging stare. "I don't know anything about it."

"What good will it do? What can she expect that will accomplish—"

"Not her. The Doctor."

There was another flicker across her face.

"You know him," Owen realized.

The eyes behind the scarf crinkled. "A lifetime ago."

"Then you know this could work."

Smith's eyes dimmed. "Perhaps. It seems so…insignificant."

Owen wanted to grab her by the arms but knew her two goons would stop him. "Then help us do more. The rockets. We have the plans. We gave them to you to send out. We can stop the rockets—"

"They're too scared—"

"If you think they're scared now, wait until those bloody things _launch_!" Owen hissed. He calmed and took a step back when he saw Smith tense. "Sorry."

"We'll try. That's all we can do. There aren't enough of us in the resistance to do this ourselves. I would tear those rockets down myself if that would be enough, but it won't. We need people. But the people are scared."

Owen sighed at the hard glare. "Sorry," he repeated lamely. Smith mimicked him and exhaled as well. No matter who was here to do the exchange, the conversation never changed. He studied Smith carefully. "Probably not a good time to mention this, but…what about the other thing?" 

"We…" Smith hedged. "We found one from the list, but that doesn't mean anything. People were relocated, moved, names were changed—"

"Who?" Owen interrupted impatiently.

Smith looked over her shoulder back to where they came. A shadow detached from the others and slowly approached.

Recognition twisted Owen's mouth to a smile that was now unfamiliar to him. Closer, there was no reaction, just wary curiosity. No surprise, they were never properly introduced.

"Well," Owen drawled, "someone will be very glad to see _you_." 

 

**Valiant**

Jack was still trying to remember what usually came first: the cut under his ribs or the slice under his arm. Psychos, Jack had decided, were still creatures of habit. They…they…

A cramp rippled from his groin and settled up around his middle like a throbbing pulse. Jack bit his lower lip and tried to ignore it. It'll go away. It always did. That freakish energy tainting his blood would always make sure of it. It was the same abnormality that had gotten him into this mess though. Jack sucked in his breath. The endless cycle of pain then healing grated him. Jack locked his knees together, fought the urge to vomit, the Master's voice ringing in his ears even if Saxon was long gone.

_…thrum-thru—_

"Shut the hell up!" Jack hollered because he knew no one would come to answer anyway. He yelled because it was loud enough to drown out the pattern the Master has been trying to bury deep into his skull.

The echoes rattled around him for a long time before Jack's breathing calmed. Jack stood there and tried to think of something that would distract him from the sensation of his skin stitching back together along the entire length of his back. Tried to think of anything but of Saxon standing behind him, his sneering voice, the heated hum of his damn laser screwdriver, the…

Jack closed his eyes. He could feel a wiggling at the edge of consciousness, like a flicker of movement at the corner of his eye. It felt warm and openly afraid, afraid for him. It…it shouldn't be here.

There was a plea that was wordless and soundless that begged as Jack tried to imagine a door and mentally nudged that warm spot of _something_ through that door. Jack thought he could feel warm skin, hot tears, when he gave its essence a light brushing of lips before he gave it a firm push and latched the door in his mind.

_"Jack…"_

Think of something else, think of something else.

Jack blinked rapidly and stared up again at the spot over the door that sealed him away from everything else.

Steam had obscured the Torchwood insignia, but the letters Tosh had morbidly scribbled were still intact. Jack looked at every letter, followed every curve and stroke and took another breath, a cleansing one. 

How long had it been? Jack wasn't sure. He had lost count of the times Tish came with his food and the Doctor never answered the rare times he appeared before him. Jack wished he could reach out to the Time Lord but he feared it would only open the doors for Ianto to come in and if his Ianto did, Jack knew he wouldn't have the strength to make him leave.

"Almost there," Jack whispered to himself. There was a plan. There was a plan.

Jack kept the four words like a mantra. He kept it in the far recesses of his mind like a piece of curled paper, folded and tucked away, never to be read. But Jack could sense its presence, reminding him that this…this was nothing.

"Nothing," Jack rasped. He squeezed his eyes tight. This…all this was _nothing_. The paradox machine. If they could destroy it, the Doctor said time would be reversed. All of this. This could be fixed. Fixed.

Jack couldn't help it. Jack laughed. He laughed and laughed but then it became something else entirely so he gritted his teeth and swallowed it back. It took a few tries, a few gulps, before the hitch in his chest smoothed out to the pained, ragged breathing again. Jack forced himself to straighten, exhale hard through his teeth and reopen his eyes.

He wasn't alone this time.

There was a boxy looking dog sitting just at the outer edge of the tarp Jack stood on. Brown with a black saddle, the wiry furred canine studied him with a tilt of his long, rectangular head, brown eyes barely visible underneath bushy fur over its eyes. 

It sat there, unperturbed by the steam bursting out of the pipes behind it, or the heat of the room. A terrier of some kind, it just looked at Jack as if waiting for a stick to be thrown for fetch.

"This is…new," Jack managed as he stared at the whiskered dog. The Master did have a strange sense of humor though, but never this strange. At least it wasn't the Toclafane again, here to draw pictures on his back. "What are you suppose to do, nibble me to death?"

_"I hardly think its teeth are sharp enough for the task, Jack."_

Jack yelped and chains rattled as he swung out a leg, losing his balance in the process as he tried to get the dog away from him.

His foot sailed right through where the head should be.

The dog simply yawned. Its ears folded forward in a flop and there was a glimpse of little incisors when its mouth opened.

_"Really Jack, if I was a real dog that would have only aggravated me."_

"D-doctor?" Jack gasped. He sagged in his chains. "What the hell?" Jack locked his knees, standing taller so his shoulders wouldn't ache and he glowered at the canine. He could now see the ground through it, the sliver of light from under the doors. 

"What are you doing?" Jack groaned.

_"It took too much energy to manifest myself into human form to talk to you,"_ the dog said. At least it looked like it did. It was hard to tell if the dog was talking or yawning. 

_"Thought a more simple carbon form would suffice."_ The terrier raised its front legs and pawed the air with its small feet. _"Welsh terrier, eh? Thought it would be appropriate."_

_Nothing_ about this was appropriate, but Jack chalked it up as an odd eccentricity of Time Lords. Before, the Doctor had shown up as some guy in a scarf, then an old man, and later, one in a V-neck jumper. That one was kinda cute, though.

_"Really, Jack."_

The dog—Doctor frowned. Its bushy fur went over its eyes and the bearded muzzle bristled.

"I'm trying to decide if this is an improvement or not," Jack muttered. "I—wait a second…what do you mean ' _too_ much energy'?"

_"Ah."_ The whiskers drooped and the head dipped. _"She can't keep maintaining the links, Jack. Even with the rift, it's a lot of energy she's using to keep us connected. Transferring our unconsciousness to each other is hard enough, but in some physical entity as well? The Master was starting to notice fluctuations in the paradox machine."_

Jack nodded. He considered the dog by his feet.

_"Besides,"_ the Doctor went on, _"it isn't too bad, is it?"_ The dog sat up and lifted one paw in the classic handshake position. _"I think she chose rather nicely. Welsh terriers are nice breeds. Highly intelligent."_

"She hurts, you know," Jack whispered instead of replying. It was an echoed ache in his gut that he knew wasn't his.

The Doctor shook its head and gave a full body shiver that was both dog and Doctor. _"I know. I can feel it in my bones. She can't last much longer. That's why the Master wants to finish his empire quickly and find a new source to maintain the paradox."_

Jack swallowed as he saw the beady eyes turn his way. 

"That too?" Jack tried to joke, "I guess I'm a Jack-of-all-trades."

The Doctor/dog huffed a cross between a bark and a laugh. 

_"There was terrible."_

"So says the neutered Time Lord," Jack shot back tiredly.

_"Eh?"_ The little ears perked up and the dog stood on all fours and tried to see, raising one hind leg up.

_"She did!"_ The Doctor sounded horrified, amazed, and incredulous at the same time. Only him. _"I—w-what…why would she ever—hold on, how could you tell from there?"_

Jack grimaced. "Trade secret." He tried to offer something else. There must be a lot of things he could say about the Doctor now being a perfect candidate for fleas. Anything. But bile kept rising up to his mouth. His throat constricted at the thought of perhaps being chained forever, fed on like a piece of meat, used like something less.

_"We won't let it come to that, Jack. I won't let it."_

It should have been laughable. The Doctor now sat on its haunches by Jack's feet, looking a little doggish, a little like he's waiting for a scratch behind his ears. Jack should be laughing but all he could think about was how the Doctor never showed his present state—the wrinkled, feeble man who crawled out of his wheelchair to write on the other side of the tarp with a bleeding finger.

_"We're nearly there, Captain. I promise."_

The dog settled its head on Jack's filthy boots and he shouldn't, but Jack thought he could feel the weight of a small head. It never moved, a curled body of imagined fur resting by his feet.

"Did you need me to pass on something?" Jack fought to keep his voice steady.

_"No…not really."_

Jack's brow furrowed. "Then why…"

_"You were calling for someone, Jack. So I came."_

"No I wasn't," Jack croaked. He rolled his shoulders and arched his back to iron out the twinges. 

The dog jumped back to all fours again. Jack felt a coil of ice digging into his gut when he thought the Doctor was leaving, but instead, the Doctor merely shook its fur and settled back down again.

_"The Master and his wife are elsewhere. We're left alone for now, Captain. Rest."_

But Jack couldn't. Closing his eyes meant seeing Saxon again, seeing his thin smile every time Jack called him Doctor, feeling the hot, dry hands gripping him in the dark.

"When did you first realize?" Jack blurted out before Saxon's grip sharpened to claws on his thighs to spread him open. When he heard himself, heard the question, Jack balked and wanted to take it back.

_"After we defeated the Daleks."_

Jack averted his eyes. He knew. He _always_ knew, even before the Master came and told him. The whoosh from the TARDIS back then was a farewell. It took decades of binge drinking, faceless and violent sex, and rage twisted into something numb to admit it to himself.

_"When did you first realize?"_ the Doctor echoed Jack's question.

Jack didn't have to think about it. "Earth, 1892." He could still taste the sourness in his mouth. Someone said something, what, he didn't remember, not even what he sneered back. "Got in a fight in Ellis Island. A man shot me through the heart." Jack remembered the sobering shock of the bullet cutting into him like a branding iron then feeling cold, very cold.

"Then I woke up. Thought it was kinda strange. But then it never stopped." Jack felt the dog sit up to look at him intently. 

"Fell off a cliff, trampled by horses, World War I, World War II, poison, strangulation…" Jack smiled darkly to himself, "a stray javelin." He wasn't even trying that time. 

"In the end, I got the message, I’m the man who can never die."

The dog with its brown eyes looked solemn sitting there in front of him.

"And you knew." Jack whispered, "All this time." Jack swallowed. "That's why you left, wasn't it? Because I was…I was…w-wrong."

_"No…I was."_

Startled, Jack raised his eyes towards the dog. Brown eyes round and dark met his gaze, looking very sorrowful, very old.

"Doctor," Jack stuttered, his voice suddenly thinned, "what happened to me?" Mouth dry, Jack's words tumbled out hoarse, almost breathless.

"Last thing I remember back when I was mortal…I was facing three Daleks. Death by extermination. And then I came back to life. What happened?"

_"Rose."_

The name wasn't one Jack expected. "I thought you sent her back home."

_"She came back. Opened the heart of the TARDIS and absorbed the time vortex."_

Jack closed his eyes. "She brought me back to life. Ah, Rose", he sighed. Jack stiffened. "Wait, if she had absorbed the vortex—"

_"It's why this happened. She couldn’t control it. She brought you back forever. That's not supposed to happen."_ The Doctor exhaled and the furry muzzle stirred. 

_"That’s something, I suppose. The final act of the Time War was life."_

Hope flared in Jack's chest. "Do you think she can change me back?"

The ears flattened, the tail dropped, and the canine slouched like a whipped dog. 

_"It was killing her so I took the power out of her. Killed me instead and I regenerated."_ The whiskers drooped and for a moment, Jack thought the fur grayed before him. 

_"She’s gone, Jack. She’s not just living on a parallel world, she’s trapped there. The walls have closed."_

Jack cast his eyes to the tarp. "I'm sorry."

_"Shouldn't I be saying that to you?"_

Jack shook his head. "I…I don't think I can hear that right now."

_"I understand."_ A foot pawed the air. _"There is plenty of time for that later, my friend."_

Jack smiled shakily. His throat felt stuck together. "Sure."

_"We're nearly there, Jack. Once Martha is here, it will all begin. Just hold on."_

The chains rattled when Jack shook his arms. "To what?"

The dog woofed.

"Seriously, this dog thing? Very disturbing."

The dog actually rolled its eyes at Jack.

"You're just showing off, aren't you?" Jack found himself standing steadier on the tarp, the skin on his back healed completely without him ever being aware of it. 

The short tail wagged and the Doctor offered a wolfish grin with teeth.

"So how's that neuter thing working out for ya?"

The dog growled.

 

**Torchwood, Cardiff**

Gwen peered over Ianto's shoulder as he tapped the pedal. He clicked out a response to the fishermen in South Africa. They were forced to move it up from Jack's quarters. It had gotten too cold down there. Ianto's fingertips were turning red trying to type in the freezing space. 

"Tell them don't forget to go by night," Gwen reminded him.

Ianto grunted and kept clicking out the instructions of where to find Martha.

"Oh, and if it gets too warm, tell them not to chance it. The resistance said they don't like the cold."

"I know," Ianto muttered. The laptop by him set his face in an odd blue glow.

"And the last part of the gun, tell them to—"

Ianto sighed and sat back from the telegrapher. He slapped his palms on his jeans and squinted at her in the dim light. His mouth was set in a grim line. 

Gwen shrugged and offered a sheepish grin. "Of course, we told them this all before." She rubbed a tense shoulder next to her. She rubbed her thumb just under Ianto's right shoulder blade. Sure enough, she could feel a knot even under the thick black t-shirt.

"Better?" Gwen murmured when Ianto hissed. 

The stiff posture Ianto had sported all morning deflated in front of her. 

"Sorry," Ianto mumbled. "I've been an arse, haven't I?"

"Really?" Gwen patted his arm. "I haven't noticed." Her smile faded at Ianto's face. 

"Still nothing from Jack?"

Ianto flinched. He mutely nodded. 

Gwen looped an arm around his shoulders and gave him a brief hug. "Maybe the timing is bad and they're just being careful."

Ianto bobbed his head again.

"Nothing from Jack, nothing from Tosh either, Saxon hasn't been broadcasting, what's going on up there?" Ianto dropped his face into his hands.

"He's all right, Ianto," Gwen whispered. She planted a kiss on top of his head. "This is Jack Harkness we're talking about here."

Ianto sniffed but said nothing else. He coughed, shied away from Gwen and went back to the telegrapher.

Staring at his bowed head, Gwen's heart ached. There were times, he reminded her of Andy back in the days when they were partnered together. God that felt like it was a long time ago. She opened her mouth to try again when something outside the office clanged. 

"Lights out!" Ianto hissed. He snapped the laptop shut, threw the covers over it and the cables and leapt over them to grab his weapon.

Gwen nearly stumbled as she blew out all the kerosene lamps before she grabbed Ianto by the sleeve and dragged him towards the hatchway opening. Wiggling past Jack's desk half covering the hole, Gwen climbed down as fast and as quietly as she could. She could feel Ianto's boots a hair's breath from her head as they descended, but already she could hear clattering noises out in the main area coming closer. Blast, why didn't the proximity alarms work?

A fist gripped her shoulder tightly and a weapon was pressed into her shaking hands. Gwen aimed towards the opening just as a shadow crossed the hatch. Ianto's shoulder bumped against her as they pressed close. Both their guns pointed towards the opening. Gwen scarcely breathed as she heard a scrape on the floor. 

"Oi."

Gwen's arms went limp and Ianto next to her exhaled.

"Owen," Gwen hissed. "You were supposed to give us a signal to let us know you're coming!"

"I was," Owen defended. He popped his head in to smirk at them upside down. "I mean, I was going to," Owen amended, "until he tripped that bloody line of pots Ianto set up as a backup alarm. Still a stupid idea, by the way, Jonesy."

"Well, it worked, didn't it?" Ianto huffed, still panting from the sudden burst of adrenaline. "Wait, who's _he_?"

Owen's grin was bright even in the dark. "Guess what I found?" Owen didn't wait for an answer and ducked out.

Before anyone could follow, another head popped in.

"So this is Torchwood? Doesn't look like special ops to me."

"Andy!" Gwen breathed.


	41. "The Last of The Time Lords"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning For This Chapter: strong language, dark, angsty, VIOLENCE, torture (mostly implied, all a matter of reader interpretation), child death, character death (but remember what year we're in…lol)**
> 
> **Notes For This Chapter:** Note there are events here that was referenced in DW's "The Sound of Drums", "Utopia", "Parting of Ways", TW's "Day One"

**Act I**   
**Valiant**   
**Month Eleven, Ver. 1**

Lucy observed the young pockmarked pilot fumbling with the satellite network's controls and trying to realign them once again. They were drifting in and out of sync like a scattering of glittering marbles. Lucy knew exactly how they felt; she was finding herself increasingly caught in an odd conflict of rage, fear, and joy that always resulted in her writhing alone in her bed, a scream stuck halfway up her throat. She looked on, bored, as equations and nervous chatter sailed over her in an incomprehensible prattle. Lucy crossed her legs, smoothed the wrinkles off the silk draped over her body and turned her chair back towards the tent.

Harry was once more off doing…things and left Lucy to watch the Doctor. There wasn't much to watch though. The Doctor stayed inside his tent most of the time, mute, unmoving and if it turned out he was dead—he was quite old now—it wouldn't surprise Lucy one bit.

"What's he doing?" Lucy mused out loud to try to get the Doctor to reply. Just in case. She stretched out her leg and gave the tent a little nudge. None of the maids behind her commented. None of them dared. The ragged blanket serving as his shelter shuddered under her foot.

"Do you think he will succeed this time?" Lucy murmured. She sank deeper into the chair and folded her hands across her belly. 

The Doctor said nothing, but his hunched form shifted away from the visible light. Lucy stopped. It was enough. 

"Such an interesting thing," Lucy mimicked Harry. Her foot tapped against the tent again. "Fascinating. No wonder my Harry is so amused by him."

Still saying nothing, the Doctor stayed huddled in his hovel.

"You're seeing it right now, aren't you? My Harry and his companion."

"He is _not_ his companion."

The smirk spread easily across her face. It was predictable how easy it was to get the Doctor to respond. He talked to her even without prompting. It frustrated Harry to no end when his taunts went unrewarded. She'd often wanted to tell Harry, show him how to instigate, but something always stopped her. This was hers and hers alone, as private as the dank engine room below was to Harry. There was something comforting knowing something Harry didn't. With all the secrets he wouldn't share, Lucy felt centimeters taller with her own insignificant secret clutched close to her breast.

"No," Lucy agreed, still feeling too good-humored to think about the wisdom of talking with the Doctor, "he isn't Harry's companion." It was odd no one contradicted her here; no hand was slashing across the air to strike her for blasphemy. 

"But he will be…soon," Lucy echoed Harry's vow and tried for the same sly crooked smile Harry favored, but her stomach clenched at the promise.

"And where would that leave you, Lucy Saxon?"

Lucy scowled at the tent. "Why would it leave me anywhere? I will still be by his side. Harry came back for _me_."

"He also came back for _him_."

Fingers dug into the plush armrests, her nails carving grooves into the leather. 

"Only to use him. Only to drain him. Only to—"

"Then why are you here?"

"Because he loves me." It came out too weak, too unsteady and Lucy took a deep breath and tried again.

"Because he loves me."

The laugh from the tent sounded like sandpaper rubbing together. "All right," the Doctor agreed far too quickly. 

"He does," Lucy insisted as she rolled her chair closer to the dark opening. She wanted to reach in and grab him yet the thought of touching him, seeing him up-close made her heart pound and her mouth dry. 

"If the Master can ever feel _love_ , it would be for the Lucy Saxon who came back for him." The Doctor leaned forward. Eyes dark like slick mud stared at her, crinkled downward with an emotion that made her cringe.

"But you're not her, are you?"

"Yes, I am," Lucy snapped. Her arms shook as her grip grew tight enough that her fingers began to cramp. 

"No, you're not."

It would be so easy to kick the tent down, tear it from its hook hanging off the railing of the upper bridge. 

"I am the same one who went crawling through the rift, let space and time disfigure me and found him and awakened him. Me. I went to the far future to his past and reawakened our Master."

A chill traveled down her spine when she could see brown coals burning bright in the dark. Lucy fought the urge to rear back.

"Lucy Saxon came from the future, to _his_ past to awaken the Master," the Doctor murmured. "His past…our future. Ah. Time is such a tangled river."

Lucy didn't like the way the Doctor looked, his thinned brows knitted together in thought and she knew, oh, she _knew_ she had said something she shouldn't have.

The Doctor lifted his eyes towards her. Lucy pressed her mouth together. "If she hadn't died back there, do you think he would have come back for you?"

It was a question Lucy never voiced out loud. Hearing it spoken out loud mocked her.

"It doesn't matter," Lucy hissed. Her fingers curled painfully on the edge of the table. She lifted her chin. "The fact of the matter is he _did_ come back for me."

"He's been traveling back and forth in time," the Doctor murmured. "What stops him from going back to get the right one—"

" _I am the right one_!" Lucy shot up to her feet. The chair rolled back and smacked the table with a loud enough clatter that Lucy flinched. 

"Ah, Lucy Saxon," the Doctor sighed.

Everyone around her stilled, stunned in their tracks. Lucy whipped around to glare at them all standing stock-still, gawping like stupid sheep. 

"Leave us."

One of the guards, pale and pathetic in his black suit, stepped forward. "Lady Saxon, we were told you were not to be left alone with—"

"Leave," Lucy said in a cold voice, "or the Master and I will dine watching you dropped over the Atlantic."

The guard, one of many youths recruited during Harry's ministry days, blanched. "Ma'am," he stammered before he fled with everyone else including the bridge crew once they set the autopilot.

Lucy stood in her black silk gown, tall in her heels, feet slightly apart. She stood there, her back against the edge of the table and she stared at the tent opening.

When the door clicked, signaling the last of the staff had escaped, Lucy kicked her chair and watched it crash into the side of the tent. It missed the Doctor but tore the blanket off its hook and the tent collapsed. The cover fluttered down, revealing the Doctor sitting cross-legged, his eyes pinned to her face, unflinching. 

Old and withered, the Doctor sat with his back hunched, his hands folded in a contemplative gesture. He sat with the stance of a yogi yet with the air of a waiting soldier. His head hung, too old to keep his head up for too long, but his eyes stayed on Lucy.

Lucy didn't approach him.

"I can't kill him." Lucy raised her chin. "You know that, yet you fear for the freak." 

The Doctor narrowed his eyes but said nothing. 

"When Harry is done with him, it will be over and I will have my Harry back."

It was infuriating how the Doctor held his tongue. There was no challenge in his gaze, however. He just looked at her with something akin to pity.

Lucy felt a flutter in her belly. She swallowed. Her chin dipped. 

"It'll never be over." Lucy stared at the Doctor. She sat heavily on the edge of the table. "You don't think it'll ever be done."

"It is a vicious cycle he is in. The vortex was never meant to be tasted."

The corner of Lucy's mouth twitched. "I have."

"And you saw it, didn't you?" The Doctor tilted his head a little, his gaze unreadable. 

Lucy's smile faded. She rubbed her palms along the edge of the table. She remembered the brief moment of clarity she had felt when she absorbed the shattered drums of collected power. She remembered the stark, cold prick of fear when it faded and she became more aware of how too human, too limited she was. 

"The truth. What was. What could be. What will be. You saw it."

"Yes," Lucy breathed.

The Doctor leaned forward. "All of it?"

Words strangled her and rendered her speechless. Lucy could only nod. 

"The Master and I are burdened with this. Always. But we learned since childhood how to keep it at bay." The Doctor sighed long and low. "But the vortex _highlights_ things in time it shouldn't. We lose perspective in all that power. The vortex reads our desires and shows us what can be possible, but there are so many possibilities." The Doctor shook his head and dropped his eyes.

"Your Master is slowly drowning himself, Lucy Saxon."

"But he won't stop. He'll never stop," Lucy whispered. "The drumming haunts him and I tried but I can't hear it …" Her eyes burned. "I can't. But for him…It'll never go away. It won't, not while he embraces the time vortex, not while he's with _him_."

"Help your Master, Lucy Saxon." Low and melodic, the Doctor's words wrapped around her like a silk scarf. Lucy rubbed her bare arms absently. "You came back for him. You're the only one who can _help_ him."

"How?" Lucy rasped. She stared past his shoulder at the portholes. The sky was gray and gray would soon turn black and trillions and trillions of years later, it will all turn to nothing. 

"Keep him away from the vortex."

Lucy laughed. It scratched her throat like broken glass. 

"How?" Lucy repeated, but it was to herself more now. There was something that made her look up. She was caught by the infinite gleam in the Doctor's eyes, older than time itself, stronger than the ancient body that housed them.

"Help me get Jack Harkness off this ship."

 

**Torchwood, Cardiff**

There were times when Gwen wanted to hug him. 

There were times when Gwen wanted someone to hug _her._

After the initial shock of finding Andy with Owen, her joy had turned bittersweet. The resistance found no one else on the list she and Ianto had compiled of their families and Tosh's. Reuniting with Andy suddenly became a luxury, too acute of a privilege to bear. There were times now when Gwen found she couldn't look at Ianto in the eye. 

Andy felt thinner than she remembered when she hugged him. His hair was cut shorter, almost shorn off and Andy looked more coltish with his bony knees and elbows than when she last saw him. He didn't appear too impressed with Torchwood and conversation these days was far more strategic and technical than she was accustomed to. Gwen missed their aimless talks about the tavern's new cook—because the chips tasted different this time—the latest on Nasty Nick's chaos in _Eastenders_ and all the little things about subjects they would prattle on about to make the rota pass quickly. Gwen realized during Andy's clipped conversations that nothing they ever spoke about stuck in her memory. She still missed it though.

Gwen shot him a look sideways. They had found spools of cables left in an abandoned factory; wires they could use for explosives, for the rift, for everything. It was a mundane task but better than sitting in the dark, waiting for Ianto and Owen to return. They were seated in Jack's office, the laptop the brightest thing in the room. Andy was staring at the spool he was unwinding with such intensity, still silent, to the point of laconic. 

"Tomorrow's the next steel run. Dawn." Gwen snipped off another length of wire and bundled them together. These would be for the resistance, Gwen calculated, for if they ever gathered their nerve to sabotage the rockets.

"Ianto shouldn't be sneaking into that barge alone. I can help. Backup." Andy tugged at the spool for more wire. He trapped them under his feet to straighten the thick cable. 

Gwen felt her insides knot. "He's done it before. We all have. We can't all go out there, just in case."

Andy nodded as if it made sense and unraveled more wire for her.

"Andy—"

"You would have been proud of him," Andy suddenly said as he held up the wires for her to trim. 

"Rhys?" Gwen asked tentatively. She was almost afraid to say his name out loud as if it had become an unspoken taboo between them. Andy hadn't talked about anything except for the four months he had spent with the resistance. 

Andy paused, his hands held up like he was sorting yarn and not meters of copper wiring for dynamite. 

"Yeah," he said curtly before ducking his head. After a beat, he raised his head again.

"He came charging in after the news about Torchwood being taken to the _Valiant_." Andy's smile was brittle these days, as if it physically hurt to smile. His head dropped again and his hands busied around the cables. They looked like golden snakes coiled around his wrists. 

The kerosene lamp by the couch flickered against a pale scar under his throat. Gwen was afraid to ask him about it. He sometimes smoothed a finger down it then tensed as if he had forgotten it was there.

Gwen cleared her throat quietly. "You said Rhys charged into the police station?"

Andy shrugged his narrow shoulders, lost in Jack's dark blue service shirt and jumper Ianto had found him. His old clothing had been burned because Owen deemed them infested but didn't elaborate. Owen was becoming as secretive as Jack every passing day. The jeans Andy wore were the right length but he needed to slip a bit of rope through the loops to make the waist fit.

"Insisted you couldn't be one of those terrorists," Andy went on as he cut the wires into the needed length. "Said it was malarkey." 

"Sounds like him." Gwen wanted to smile but it felt like her face forgotten how.

"Kept coming back to see if there was any more news. Then at some point, he stopped going home and just stayed. Nearly put him in a cell for all the times he was having a row with the DI—"

"Oh God." Gwen moaned softly and covered her face with her hands.

Andy gave a strained chuckle. "Called Mason a…let's see…'a short, stumpy, self-servicing wanker who couldn't find his own ass even if his thumbs were'…" Andy gave her a sideways look, a small, unsure smirk on his face.

"You don't really want me to finish that, do you, Gwen?"

"Oh no, no, no," Gwen struggled not to laugh too loudly. She dropped her hands and looked at Andy, a new clarity coming over her.

"He's dead, isn't he?"

The rare brief smile faded and Andy lowered his eyes. He nodded.

Gwen was surprised to find her voice calm when she asked, "What happened?"

"We were all watching that broadcast, saw the assassination…" Andy stared at the ground as if it was the telly showing everything. "Then those _things_ came out of the sky and people were screaming. Rhys ran out to help as Abby opened the doors to the basement."

"No windows," Gwen remembered.

Andy nodded. "We tried to herd as many as we could inside but there was all this running …" Andy's brow knitted together. "I don't think everyone really knew where they were running to. Rhys and I and—I think…yeah, Fred was there, so was Tony…"

Gwen smiled, her eyes burning. "I wanted Rhys to meet them one day, they would have got along well."

"You wouldn't have known they were strangers. They were all yanking and pulling people inside, yelling at others to avoid the windows. There were so many. Finally, we couldn't go out there anymore. Then there was…there was this screaming." Andy rubbed the heels of his palms over his knees. 

"There was a family across the street. Three children. Their mother was covering them. They were so small. Their father was waving some sort of bin lid at one of those aliens."

Gwen gulped. She blinked rapidly and felt something hot down her cheek. "Rhys ran out there, didn't he?"

"We tried to stop him. By the time he reached them, the children were already orphans. By the time he got them back…" Andy's palms stopped and finger-by-finger, they curled into fists.

"He…" Andy sniffed. "I think he was trying to say something, tell me something, but by then …" Andy sighed and he suddenly looked both too young and too old in Jack's shirt and jeans. A man-child hunched in the dark, squinting under the kerosene light.

Andy's gaze was still fixed to the ground. "He saved a lot of lives then, Gwen. A lot of people, but when Saxon's people came …" Andy shrugged. "Some of us were split up for mining work, others for dismantling, it was fatal work for many."

Gwen ran her tongue across her teeth. "What…what happened to the children?"

Andy said nothing. He picked up the wire again and tugged at the cable harder than necessary. 

The spool sputtered as wire unwound and rattled. Stiff copper wrapped in colorful plastic or latex made a hissing sound as it spun around under Andy's guidance. 

Gwen took the hint and went back to snipping again. She kept her head down and tried not to imagine Rhys facing the Toclafane. God, her daft, heroic man.

"There wasn't enough food," Andy suddenly said. "Everyone rationed their share so the children could have more. Some even went without but in the end …" Andy dropped the wire he held. His fists thumped his knees.

"What were their names?" Gwen asked around the lump in her throat.

"What does it matter?" Andy returned with a bitterness that made Gwen look up. He sighed.

"Sorry." Andy's response was small. "They didn't know their surname if that's what you mean. The children…they were too small to know."

Gwen stared at the clippers in her hands. "Oh," she managed. It was a horrible thing to be grateful for, but Gwen was glad Rhys didn't survive to see that. It would have broken his heart.

"Oh," Gwen repeated because she couldn't think of anything else to say.

"There was so much wasted death." Andy sounded worn. Gwen couldn't look at him again, because this wasn't the Andy she knew and the idea felt too much like one more name to grieve over. 

"Rhys died trying to save people," Gwen said softly. She wished she had her wallet still. It was lost somewhere in the Himalayas. There was a picture of her, Rhys and Bana—God, she forgot about Banana Boat. 

"And those people died eventually, too," Andy bit out.

"Stop it," Gwen hissed. "Don't belittle what Rhys tried to do."

"I wasn't—"

"Yes you were!" Gwen swallowed before her voice rose too high.

Andy was shrouded in the dark. He turned his face away from the laptop, the lamps, from her.

"Sorry," he meekly offered. "I…you're right. They all died trying to save people and me? I was—"

"Surviving," Gwen said before Andy could finish. "You were surviving, love. Just like me, like Ianto, like Owen, like the resistance." Gwen settled a hand over the knee closest to her. "There's been enough death, Andy."

Andy looked at her hand on his knee. He shrugged and his knee shifted away. 

"Yeah," he mumbled. Andy studied Gwen with an unreadable look. 

"Torchwood, this isn't really special ops, this…" Andy gestured to his surroundings. "You deal with all the strange stuff, don't you? Each time I see you lot it's always after some spooky-do. Am I right?"

"We sometimes deal with…aliens," Gwen acknowledged slowly. "We collect anything that's dangerous."

Andy stared hard, speechless. His mouth shut and his mouth twisted to a tiny smirk.

"I think Torchwood missed one."

Gwen pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. A cross between a giggle and a sob squeaked out before she added, "No shit."

The giggles released were small and stifled, but a balm to the soul. Gwen enveloped Andy in her embrace and buried her face into his shoulder. Andy paused at the contact but then relaxed into it as he dissolved into giggles that didn't just sound like giggles anymore.

When they parted, Gwen said nothing about Andy's red-rimmed eyes and knew Andy would say nothing about hers. 

"Thank you," Gwen said quietly, "for telling me about Rhys." 

"I'm sorry about Rhys. He was…he was a good man, you know? Everyone ran away. He ran towards the danger. Like I said, you would have been so proud of him."

Gwen felt stinging at the corners of her eyes. She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

" _Diolch_ ," Gwen murmured, "I am." She rose to her feet. "I need to get downstairs, monitor the Morse decoder. The people down there promised they would try and contact us around this time."

"I'll finish up here," Andy offered.

"Remember, if the alarm—"

"Lights out, computer shut then down the hatch, I know," Andy interrupted. He offered her a tight smile. "It's happened enough times before I can do this with my eyes closed."

"Better not, you might trip," Gwen joked weakly. She made her way to Jack's desk.

"Gwen."

Gwen stopped at the top rung and looked over.

The combination of the laptop and kerosene light cast a halo around Andy that Gwen didn't like so she looked away.

"Yeah?" 

"Rhys…I think what he was trying to say before he…" Andy took a deep breath. "I think—no, I know, he was trying to say that he loved you."

Gwen closed her eyes. She took a shuddering breath before she looked over.

"Thank you," she rasped before she descended down the rest of the rungs.

The decoder was silent on the floor away from the hatchway. Gwen sat cross-legged on the ground by it. She stared, not really seeing it in the dark, but she could make out its small, angular shape like a hunched shadow by her feet. 

After a few deep breaths, Gwen fumbled out a burlap wrapped lump that had sat in her pocket all these months. Despite the lack of light, Gwen knew by touch what it was.

Always completely charged, her mobile lit up as soon as she turned the power on. Bloody thing, useless thing, it took up space in her front pocket that she could use to store more ammo, maybe more food for the little ones she came across. She should really throw it away. 

The mobile was too bright and it hurt her eyes staring at it, bright enough that her eyes filled from trying to look too long. Like staring at the sun. Gwen clutched it with both hands and stared at its colorful face and the text flashing repeatedly on the LED screen.

_'No signal found'._

Her vision blurred. Gwen pressed the mobile to her face and as quietly as she could, began to cry.

 

**Valiant**   
**Five days later…**

The taste of blood never really went away no matter how many deaths he suffered. Even vomiting couldn't get the coppery tang out.

"You know," Jack managed before he spat out a tooth to the side. That _so_ better grow back later. "Most people start with the relationship first before the whole…bondage thing."

Saxon had the balls to look pleased. He straightened out his sleeves, slipped back on his jacket and tweaked his tie in a smooth move that was so unlike Ianto's subtle gesture, it made Jack _miss_ Ianto more. Weird.

The smirk made Saxon's eyes narrow to slits as they lingered on his torso. "I always thought we were past that, Captain. Given our … _history_."

Jack glowered as Saxon circled him, the pointed tip of the screwdriver tracing a line around his middle. He tensed, his spine a painful line that wouldn't relax until Saxon stood in front of him again.

Saxon tsked. "Look at the state of you." He tapped his screwdriver against his chin. "Really, Captain, appearances and all …"

Jack clamped his mouth shut. He watched Saxon pacing in front of him.

"You know he just left you here."

Jack stared past his shoulder at the pipes cracked and bleeding with steam. 

"Left you behind so long ago, left you in here in this rusty room, why do you still insist on being so loyal?"

Blah, blah, blah, Jack thought as he stole a glimpse above the door again then dropped his gaze quickly before Saxon noticed.

"…wrong…a freak left among the dead, rotting where you stand …"

The words grazed him like an old barber's blade skimming down his jaw, scraping clean his stubble, the edge cool and thin as it lingered by his throat. Jack hung still, unmoving as Saxon rattled on. It didn't even look like the Master noticed that Jack was staring at the terrier now sitting by the pipes behind them. 

It apparently didn't matter that for weeks, Jack had thrown up walls and doors to close in around him, to barricade himself from witnesses and Saxon's non-too-subtle attempts to throw a sledgehammer into his mind. The Doctor had walked through his mental blocks with a cheerful ease that was both impressive and a little frightening. 

"…everything around you withers and turns to dust…"

The black and brown terrier lifted one bushy brow. It now looked like it was winking at him. Huh, didn't think dogs could do that. It got up on all fours and trotted over to Saxon and began stepping in the Master's shadow, mimicking the pacing with light feet.

"…drumming under your skin…"

Saxon stood close, far closer than Jack would have liked, his fingers tapping the back of Jack's head like a table.

"He was never going to come back for you."

Jack's right eye flinched before he could stop himself and Saxon chuckled.

Fingers danced on his skin, nails pricking up and down in a pattern Jack knew too well.

"You can still hear it, can't you? If you try hard enough, you can still hear it."

Jack set his jaw. He didn't react to the hand now curled around the back of his neck.

"Surely you must wonder. Why wasn't he the one to greet you in 1941?" Saxon's upper lip curled back into a sneer. "Did you fear what he would have said if he saw you on your hands and knees, taking every co—"

The terrier growled soundlessly, pranced up to Saxon's feet and lifted up his hind leg. 

Jack burst out laughing.

"What is so funny?" Saxon seethed.

There was a smack—Saxon apparently didn't have a sense of humor—and Jack's head rocked back. The room dimmed then brightened with a few blinks. When Jack's head fell forward, he saw the Doctor on the pipes, slouched down, his bearded muzzle droopy, his eyes liquid and wide.

Great, Jack thought blearily, puppy dog eyes, I thought only Ianto could pull that look off.

The terrier straightened then bared its teeth up at Jack in a canine version of a Cheshire grin.

A fist on his hair drew Jack's head back. 

"What are you looking at?" Saxon snarled.

Jack made a point to meet the Master's eyes.

"Nothing," Jack said very clearly then spat into his face. When Saxon staggered back, Jack drew up a knee and kicked him in the balls. That should ensure a quick death rather than the alternative.

Saxon's face purpled. He stood feet apart in front of Jack, breathing hard. 

"I will break you, Captain. We have a long time to make it happen." Saxon loosened his tie as he approached. 

Jack just stared right at him with little expression, but in the corner of his eye, behind Saxon, he saw the terrier cringe.

 

**Three days later…**

"You sure?"

Francine nodded. It was hard to tell with the meshed fence, but Tosh looked stunned.

"Think," Tosh whispered. She glanced behind her shoulder at the guard pacing outside the door. "You're certain that's the message he gave you?"

Francine pushed back the irritation that wanted to come up. Martha and Tish sounded like that when she announced she was divorcing Clive. 

Tosh cleared her throat. Her fingers settled on the fence that divided their cells.

"I don't mean…"

"I know and yes," Francine replied, "I'm quite certain those were the exact sequences he gave me every time I was there for the past few days. Why? What was the message pieced together?"

Tosh swallowed and lowered her head to check the ground where she had etched out the code.

"Tosh?"

" _'Change of plans'_ ," Tosh recited. She lifted her eyes to Francine, her brow furrowed. "' _Don't wait for Martha. I'm getting Jack out._ '"

 

**Act II**   
**Valiant**   
**Month Twelve, Ver. 1**

_"Be ready."_

Jack groaned when he saw the terrier on the pipes again.

"Seriously?" Jack lifted his chin. It was a good thing he was left alone, Jack told himself as his knees couldn't lock and his stomach churned. Saxon, frustrated, was trying something new.

"Ready for what?" Jack gritted out. "If it's for running, I hate to tell you this, but I'm kind of tied up right now.

_"Just be ready,"_ the Doctor insisted. One paw lifted up. _"You'll see."_

"You know, I'm getting a little annoyed at your Time Lord cryptic crap." Jack blinked. Huh. Guess he now knew why it bugged his team, too. "Be ready for what? I like to be prepared like a Boy Scout."

_"You were never a Boy Scout."_ The terrier frowned at him, its bushy brows furrowed over chocolate eyes. 

"No," Jack admitted, "never was. Didn't like the uniforms. I didn't look good in shorts although I did think about a kilt once. Did you know you don't have to wear anything under—"

_"Jack."_ Great, the dog was looking more and more like the Doctor each day. _"I really don't want to hear the rest of that."_

"You're no fun," Jack complained half-heartedly.

_"I'm not here to entertain you."_

"Then why are you always here?" That came out sharper than he intended.

The dog blinked. _"Because there was a question you didn't ask me."_

Jack's gut twisted. "I know all there is to know." It was hard to hide the bitterness in his voice.

_"No…I think not."_

The chains rattled. "What do you want from me? Damn it, what the hell is it with you Time Lords and needing all this crap from me?" Jack gulped back a raw-feeling sound that wanted to escape. 

_"It's not what I need. It's what you need."_

The laugh hurt like salt ground on a weeping wound. "What I need?" Jack snorted. He jerked at the chains hard, not caring that his arms ached when the links vibrated down his arms.

"What I need is a drink." Jack hesitated. "No, not anymore. What I need is to know what I have to be ready for?"

The terrier nimbly jumped off the pipes and as if walking on its tiptoes, trotted up to Jack. Its ears flopped as large brown eyes tilted up towards him. It stood on its hind legs, its front paws on his thighs. 

_"I'm getting you out."_

Jack stared. "W-what? But what about the plan?"

_"I'll figure something out."_

Jack shook his head. He would be touched if his insides weren't churning. "You honestly think you can defeat him in your current state. I—"

_"It has gone far enough."_ The terrier's bearded muzzle laid flat on his thigh and damn if Jack couldn't feel the weight of its head against him. The terrier nudged his middle with its nose, stopping when Jack couldn't help but flinch.

_"The Master has gone too far."_ The terrier's whiskers drooped. _"He has gone too far. I can't let you stay here, old friend."_

"But the plan—"

Tiny incisors gleamed when the dog grinned. _"I'm an excellent improviser."_

__Jack chuckled weakly. "Like Tekka Three?"

_"That wasn't my fault! I didn't think the king would want two concubines!"_

Jack shook his head. "I think this is a bad idea." He swallowed. "You're not…Ianto…the others…you can't."

_"I won't,"_ the Doctor promised. _"I won't let Saxon near young Torchwood. You have my word. I have someone else in mind."_

"Not Tosh. Not the Jones family," Jack said sharply. "Doctor, you can't—"

_"It's neither."_ The terrier got back down on all fours. "Jack, trust me this one last time, all right?"

Jack stared at the dog and its unusually dark eyes. 

"I've always trusted you," Jack whispered. "Even when it wasn't really you, I…"

The terrier nuzzled his ankles.

_"Thank you. Just be ready. I believe it will happen soon."_

"I still think it's a bad plan."

_"So says the man who once dashed naked across a hospital."_

"Hey, you said you wanted a distraction!"

 

**Torchwood, Cardiff**

Gwen grinned as the last of the tapping died down. She rechecked her decryption, placed the paper close to the lamp and read it again.

"Well?" Ianto huddled over Gwen.

"Makes you wish mobiles still worked, doesn't it?" Andy muttered. He rubbed the back of his neck. 

"Gwen." Had Ianto been twenty years younger, a meter or more shorter, he would have been tugging at her sleeve for her attention.

"It says…" Gwen paused. She double-checked. " _'MJ on boat. Stop. She has disk and last part. Stop. Ten days. Stop. D. Jackson.'_ "

Ianto dropped to the bed. "She's coming," he said in a dazed voice. "She's nearly here."

Gwen wanted to kiss the paper. "Martha and whatever plans from the Doctor. Christ, how long has it been? Almost a year!"

Ianto laughed shakily. "Owen and I better alert the others. They need to get someone to meet her."

"So…" Andy looked from Gwen to Ianto. "This is a good thing then?"

Gwen wanted to grab Andy into a hug. Or maybe Ianto. She couldn't decide. "Oh yes, a _very_ good thing."

"Why?"

Gwen exchanged a look with Ianto. "Well…uh…we're not really sure actually. But Martha was tasked to do something." 

"Which is?" Andy pressed. He paused. "Oh, right. The _Doctor_." Andy rolled his eyes. "Does he even have a real name?"

Gwen frowned to herself. She could understand her friend's skepticism but she didn't like how it deflated Ianto either.

"Go tell Owen," Gwen instructed.

Andy looked like he was about to argue. But at Gwen's look, his shoulders slumped. Instead, he climbed up the ladder.

Gwen studied Ianto on the bed.

"Sorry," Gwen whispered. "He's not usually so…" She shrugged. 

The watery smile Ianto gave her didn't ease the tightness in her throat.

"Who hasn't changed because of all this? I can't imagine what he must have seen."

Gwen stood up and planted a light kiss on his hair. Ianto blinked in surprise.

"Get some sleep, love. You look positively knackered."

Ianto's eyes glimmered. "What's the point? He's not there, Gwen."

Gwen shushed him. "But we need you to be here a hundred percent." She nudged him to lie down. She pulled the afghan he favored over him. "Take your four hours. Owen will get you when it's his turn."

The nod was a sleepy one. Ianto blinked up at her.

"This is a good thing, right?"

Gwen patted his cool hand before tucking it under the blanket.

"You bet it is."

 

**Valiant**   
**A week later…**

The doors flew open with such a bang that Jack expected Saxon to breeze through the door. Instead, Lucy Saxon and three guards strode in. The door swung loose and Jack caught a glimpse of the outstretched feet of his guard splayed out in a large puddle of blood.

"You know," Jack remarked as Lucy stood there, staring at him with cold eyes. "If you wanted to have a party, I would have gotten dressed up.” Jack kept his eyes on her. 

"I suppose the Doctor must have told you something already," Lucy snarled.

Jack kept the smile on his face. "The good Doctor hasn't visited me in quite—"

"That's not what I meant and you know it, you vile creature."

Jack matched the intensity of her gaze and said nothing. Shit, she sounded like she knew.

Lucy's mouth twisted. "I'm only doing this because I love my husband."

"Oookay. Whatever it is you're planning, don't you think you're better off telling him with some flowers—" Jack arched his back when Lucy rammed a taser over his kidneys. Damn it, that hurt!

"…or a watch?" Jack panted as he fought to stand.

Lucy studied him. "I'm only doing this for my husband," she repeated.

"Doing," Jack hissed, "what?"

Lucy glanced over at her guards hovering by the door.

"Kill him," she ordered as she stepped back. "It will be easier to carry him out that way."

Carry him out?

Jack steeled himself as the three approached. One lifted a gun, his impassive eyes glued to Jack's head.

I guess this is what he meant by getting ready, Jack thought when the muzzle pressed close to his temple.

"I'm only doing this for Harry," Lucy said as she curled her lip in disgust and turned her head.

Jack set his jaw as he felt the hammer cock back.

"A watch would have been better," Jack muttered before there was a loud bang. 

He never heard Lucy Saxon's reply.

 

It was like the ship was holding her breath.

Toshiko held the tea tray close to her chest as she walked past the bridge. The guards stood like unmoving granite, not even smirking as she slipped by with her head down. Everyone passed her like automatons, their heads down, their voices silent.

No messages, no plans etched in dry blood on tarps, nothing. 

Time slowed to an intolerable crawl. Toshiko embraced the snatches of moments crouched under the engine room pipes working on the strange device. But between the periods of productivity, Toshiko couldn't help but feel shadows creeping up into her heart and she thought about her little brother and her lost family.

A bit more, Toshiko told herself as she reported for engine duty. Finish the strange device, find a way to reach Torchwood and…Toshiko wasn't sure what the next step was but she was sure she would find out soon enough. 

Toshiko took the lift to the lower levels. She paused when the lift door opened. Two turns, three doorways away was Jack, whom she hadn't seen since Owen and the others had snuck on board. Francine hadn't seen Jack in days, robbing Toshiko of the thread-thin reports Francine used to whisper to her at night. Her skin crawled at some of the descriptions but she still wanted to see him.

Ridiculous, Toshiko muttered as she stood at the crossroads. Jack couldn't die. He wasn't dead. He wasn't. She'd see him soon enough.

Nevertheless, Toshiko took a step towards the left. The guards were between shifts. No one would notice for a few minutes.

Beyond the double doors to her right was Clive Jones with the device he retrieved for her from its hiding place. Nearly completed, a talisman for whatever the Doctor's plans were. Even if the plans were changed—she wasn't supposed to pass it to Jack anymore—Toshiko suspected the device would turn the tide.

Toshiko bit her lower lip and steered for the right. 

A bit more, Toshiko repeated as she ducked her head to slip in-between the doors. Just a bit more.

As soon as her palms struck the surface of the double doors, the alarms wailed all around her.

 

**Cardiff**

It was the lack of sound that frightened him the most rather than the smell of blood surrounding him as thick as smoke, as rancid as rotting flesh. It was dark, but he could feel that the walls pressing against him were solid and immovable. He pounded the walls, but they never caved and his fists made no sound striking the thick barriers. His pleas were also muted here and ignored. All there was around him was the blood and absolute, life draining, silence.

Ianto jerked awake and it took a few deep breaths before the metallic taste went away in his mouth.

"And I thought it was bad enough that you snore."

Ianto glowered at Owen to his right. Owen didn't react, his eyes intent on the road.

Ianto slumped back into the passenger seat of the supply truck. He glared out the windshield, his jaw set. For some reason, the countless crumbling facades that scrolled by only made him want to punch the dashboard. The dark served only to vex him.

"You…you see him?" Owen didn't look over.

His mouth soured, his gut growing cold, Ianto shook his head. He bit his lower lip.

Owen sighed. He rolled back his shoulders and concentrated on driving again. Ianto caught Owen working his jaw out of the corner of his eye.

"Doesn't have to mean anything," Owen muttered.

"I think it means plenty." Ianto rubbed his hand up and down his leg.

"Well, you're an optimistic bloke. Between you and happy Andy, I feel like lying down on the road for you to run over with this truck."

"Jack won't let me see what's going on, see what's happening to him. This is the one time where no news does not necessarily mean it's good news." Ianto slouched in his seat.

"No," Owen grunted. "I suppose it doesn't." Owen's finger went up and down on the steering wheel.

Ianto stared out his window. He couldn't see the moon. The smog from the factories making the rockets clogged the sky with its black, foul tasting curtain of soot. He wrinkled his nose and sneezed before he could stop himself. Ianto sniffed loudly and tugged his jacket tighter around him with a fist. The zipper had long since been worn down to its teeth.

"Christ, don't get me sick, too," Owen griped next to him. He gave Ianto a dirty look. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to find antibiotics these days? Roll down a window. Sneeze over there, Jonesy."

"I'm not catching a cold!" Ianto snapped, but damn it, a cough that had been tickling his throat escaped. He muffled it behind a sleeve. 

" _Right_."

"I could be choking on your stench," Ianto pointed out testily as he waved a hand in front of his nose.

"Oi, you don't exactly smell like a rose right now either," Owen returned with a half-hearted growl. "I thought you got the showers working."

"I did," Ianto ground out. "If you visited down there more often to use them, you would notice." 

"If the water wasn't pumped in from the bloody frigid Bay, I would!" Owen growled. His shoulders, after a few minutes, dropped. He shook his head. "Anyways, I'm a little sick and tired of cold showers," Owen grumbled, his voice lower. 

Ianto started and glanced over. He smirked faintly.

"I'd think you were used to it by now from all your dates." Ianto stared at his clasped hands on his lap. He rotated his thumbs around each other.

"Oi." Owen slapped a hand against his right arm. 

Ianto's hands curled then uncurled over his lap.

"I'm sick and tired of protein bars," Ianto offered slowly. "I can't even begin to describe how horrified I am to find myself craving roast pork chow mein right now."

Owen snickered. He squinted at the windshield.

"Hob nobs," Owen said suddenly. "I would trade the whole lot of you for a package of Hob nobs."

A chuckle choked Ianto. "You're joking."

"Nope. Nice packet and I’d handcuff your sniffling, cold-infested ass myself."

Ianto snorted. "Now I know why we always ran out."

Owen bared his teeth at Ianto and waggled his eyebrows up and down. He turned back towards front. He suddenly tensed.

"Shit. Company," Owen said without moving his mouth. His hands tighten on the steering wheel.

Ianto turned back forward and swallowed when he saw a Toclafane bobbing up and down in front of the truck a few meters away. Ianto felt for the key cool and flat under his shirt, against his throat. It didn't comfort him when three more floated down into view. In fact, it suddenly felt woefully small against his skin.

The gun Owen had on his lap the whole time quietly moved to Ianto's. Ianto curled his fingers loosely around it and then sank carefully into the seat well by Owen's feet. He curled in, his chin smashed up against his knees, his feet awkwardly folded under him. He nearly shouted when a Toclafane bobbed in to his left side window. Ianto fought back a flinch when spikes sprang out with a metallic hiss. Another appeared by Owen's window.

_"You are past curfew, little man."_

"Supplies for the slave quarters." Owen pretended to fumble for his identification card hanging on his neck. He flashed his card to both windows and the quaver Owen made was very convincing. "I'm a doctor."

The globes hung in mid-air by the windows. 

Ianto took a deep breath but didn't release it. His legs ached bent too long huddled under the dash. He'd never been this close to those blasted things before. He didn't know how the key would work at such range.

The Toclafane next to Owen wobbled as it studied the identification card. Then it stilled and hung frozen in mid-air.

Ianto felt Owen's calf twitch close to his face. It felt like Ianto's chest would burst. He didn't dare exhale yet.

The orb by his window retracted its spikes.

" _Supplies are good,"_ the wretched globe next to Owen cooed. _"Makes slaves feel better, makes slaves work more. You may continue, little man."_ With a giggle that rose the hair on back of Ianto's neck, it flew away, the others following like a flock of geese.

After a second, Ianto released the breath he was holding.

Ianto grimaced as he wiggled back up to his seat. He dropped his head back to the top of his seat. He settled a hand over his chest. He could feel his heart still thumping hard against his palm. How did those things not hear that?

"These aren't the droids you are looking for," Ianto muttered. 

Owen shot him a look before he turned the ignition. It took several tries. His fingers kept missing the key. The engine rolled into a shudder when the key was finally turned. Ianto exchanged a look with Owen. He wondered if he was as white as Owen. It felt like he was.

The truck jumped as its tires rolled over rubble. Too old, barely functioning, and containing only enough petrol to survive getting there and halfway back, the truck's progress was slow and arduous. Ianto stopped himself many times from urging Owen to drive faster.

"They're usually not out this late," Ianto whispered. His heart was still hammering too hard against his ribs to draw enough air to speak. "The temperatures—"

"I know," Owen bit out.

"They've been staying out later and later—"

"I _know_ , Ianto." Owen's left hand curled tight around the steering wheel like he was going to tear it out. "Just keep your hands in your pockets, stop coughing and shut up, okay?"

Ianto shut up. He didn't put his hands in his pockets, though. It would mean letting go of the gun in his lap. Ianto sat there, stroking the gun like a pup, his head turned towards his window because he kept hearing the whir of Toclafane behind him.

The sight of the streets empty of buildings that once represented the financial district made his chest ache. They drove past a battered sign propped up by a pile of rubber. It was his bank. He used to make deposits there every third Sunday because they were opened seven days of the week. He used to watch the bankers slip bright red and yellow lollipops with the bank's logos to the children when their parents weren't looking. He'd liked that they spoke Welsh. Now it was a just a faded and dented logo that shrank in his cracked side mirror as the truck drove away. Ianto wondered if he dug around the rubble, would he find broken bits of sweet red and yellow shards.

Ianto glanced down into his lap at his weapon. It was less painful than staring out at his side mirror.

"They're looking for something," Owen muttered out of the blue.

Ianto frowned to Owen. "Looking for what?"

"Most likely looking for whom."

"Martha?"

"Could be. Her last message did say she had a few close calls. That Smith lady told me last time, they’ve been mostly searching the shores."

"The shores?" Ianto stared out of the windshield. "Owen—"

"I know." Owen gnashed his teeth. "Stop telling me things I already fucking know, Jonesy."

Ianto bit his lower lip and stared out his window again as the shattered landscape rolled by.

The sigh next to him surprised him. Ianto smiled tightly as he felt Owen slap his right arm in apology. There was no reason to say anything else.

Ianto wasn't sure how Owen knew where they were, but the truck slowed to a halt, signaling that they'd arrived at their destination. Without talking, they both climbed out of the cab on either side to sit on the front bumper to wait.

In the dark, with no light and so cold, Ianto raised his eyes to the sky out of habit and was startled to find a new star.

"Owen." Ianto prodded him with an elbow and pointed towards the series of blue luminescence lights.

"What the hell?" Owen squinted at the sky. "Is that—"

"The _Valiant_."

The new voice was unexpected and Ianto barely stifled a yelp as he slide off the front bumper and hit the ground in an ungraceful heap.

"Smooth, Jonesy," Owen groaned as he straightened up. "Smith."

"Gorman." Brown eyes cast his way. Hidden behind scarves and hoods, it was still clear it was a woman. She didn't offer him a hand as Ianto struggled to stand. She tracked him as he rose to his feet. "Jones, I presume. Any relation to Martha Jones?"

"No." It took a grip to his right hand before he was set back into a more dignified upright stance. "No relation. Common name."

"Like Smith," Owen drawled as he slapped the dust off Ianto's back. 

Smith rolled her eyes. "You're late."

"Traffic," Owen quipped. 

The news made her eyes narrow. "I see." She glanced around warily. Even with the lower half of her face concealed, Ianto could tell she was frowning.

"They've been out here later and later."

Owen shrugged. "So we'll be more careful." He nodded towards the back. "The usual and a bit of extra."

Smith beckoned a couple of men who were peering over piles of debris to come forward. "Extra?"

"Fireworks," Owen said then added when Smith tensed, "just in case."

"It would really help," Ianto spoke up. He stared squarely at Smith. Her eyes reminded him of the Time Lord; a witness to more than what was in front of her. "Anything would help."

Smith sighed as if this was a conversation she had far too many times. "Look—"

"Our friends are up there." Ianto pointed to the sky. "They're doing everything they can to help the Doctor. We need to do the same down here or there's no hope."

A coolness Ianto hadn't realized was there warmed a fraction in Smith's eyes.

"I've learned long ago that no matter how dire the circumstances, there is always hope." Smith reached over and grasped Ianto's hands. Her hands were delicate looking but the skin rough with months of toil.

"You have someone special up there," Smith guessed.

"We all have someone up there." Ianto glanced over to Owen, but he was talking to a small scruffy child, tipping the boy's chin back to study his teeth.

"Yes," Smith agreed, "we all do." She squeezed his hands. "And we'll get them all out."

Ianto started and stared at her, hope flaring in his chest. "Then you'll help?"

"I can only promise we'll try. The people—"

"They're scared." Ianto lowered his eyes. "I know. The satellites—"

"That's only part of it." Smith released his hands and folded her arms in front of her but it looked like it was more because she was cold. 

"The Archangel network may be telling the people of this planet not to go against Saxon, but it's just a minute influence. Fear multiplied by the many is what we're fighting against."

"They're all afraid to be the first one to do something," Ianto murmured, "because they might be fighting alone."

Approval shone in Smith's eyes. "Yes. I'd been trying to explain that to Dr. Gorman here for a very long time."

"Well," Ianto joked weakly, "he only plays a doctor on the telly."

"Oi," Owen growled low as he rejoined them, "I heard that."

"Congratulations," Ianto shot back "I was worried about your auditory facilities."

Owen waved a dismissive hand towards him before he faced Smith.

"Widget's been telling me about the _Valiant_?"

Ianto shot him an alarmed look as Smith nodded.

"Ship arrived over Cardiff two days ago. No announcements. Nothing. But…"

"But?" Owen glanced up at the sky. The cluster of soft blue lights was the brightest thing up there.

"Some sort of alarm must have been rung out up there an hour ago. All communications and flights were closed, immediate lockdown." Smith studied them. "We've intercepted nothing from the _Valiant_ for the past forty minutes."

"Your team seemed to always have very plausible information about the ship. Have you heard anything?"

Ianto bit his lower lip. He shook his head.

"I was cut off," Ianto whispered. He stared hard at the ground, at the feet all clustered around him. They blurred.

"We lost communication," Owen explained in a clipped tone. "We know even less than you."

"Ah." Smith sounded far too sympathetic. She stepped aside with Owen, their voices dropping even lower. Ianto could feel their eyes on him though. He wanted to climb back into the cab when a boy with tousled blond hair over his eyes peered up at him.

"Would you like me to check your heart?" 

Ianto sniffed. He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry. What?"

The boy held up a dented, discolored stethoscope. There were scratches on the chrome from someone scrubbing too hard. The child grinned with a gap in his teeth.

"I can listen to your heart," the boy lisped. "Dr. Fred said it's good to hear what your heart has to say to you."

"Dr. Fred said that, did he?" Ianto smirked wanly. He sniffed again and stooped down. "Well then…what does it say?"

The stethoscope head was pocked with dents and dull with streaks. The boy placed it under his jaw by mistake, but he frowned in concentration as he listened with his eyes tightly shut.

"It’s sad," the child announced.

Ianto's smile faded. He forced his lips to curve again but it hurt his face. "You're…you're very good with that thing," Ianto rasped.

The boy's lower lip stuck out. "I made you mad."

Ianto shook his head. "No," he assured the child. One of his nephews was this boy's age. "I'm not mad."

"Do you miss your parents, too?"

Ianto sat down on the front bumper. He blinked rapidly so he could see the boy better. "I miss a lot of people. That's why my heart sounds sad."

The boy fiddled with the hearing piece of the stethoscope. "Me, too," he said, in a small voice. The child brightened. "But Dr. Fred said if I hear everyone's hearts and tell them, they would feel better. Do you feel better?" 

It was easier to smile at such a hopeful face. "I do," Ianto told him. "Thank you."

The child beamed at him.

"Widget." Smith scolded as she approached. "I said you could come only if you promised not to bother them."

"Oh, he wasn't bothering me," Ianto hastened to say.

"Well, he was bothering _me_ ," Owen declared. He swatted at Widget's hair. "Scat, you little brat. It's already late."

Ianto bit back a grin when Widget suddenly hugged Owen's legs. The boy barely reached his hip, his arms couldn't even wrap around Owen properly.

"Thank you for the birthday present, Dr. Fred." Widget, although muffled against Owen's jeans, still sounded happy. It was a sound no one had heard in a very long time so Ianto wasn't surprised when he caught Smith's bright eyes crinkle as if she was smiling.

"Widget," Smith failed to sound stern enough.

"Go," Owen said gruffly. He gave Widget a light shove. "Before you give me your fleas."

"Okay, bye-bye." Widget chased after one of the men carrying the crates to help. The men merely ruffled the boy's hair as he hopped, trying to reach any edge to hold up. Widget was only appeased when one huge man let him carry a sack of potatoes the size of his head.

"I'll get our man out here to see you," Smith told Owen. She excused herself and hurried after Widget who was dropping potatoes like breadcrumbs behind him.

Owen glanced over to Ianto. He bristled at Ianto's smirk.

"Wasn't that yours?" Ianto asked. He swallowed back a snicker when Owen glowered at him.

"I don't need it." Owen flapped a hand at him as if he was shooing a gnat. "You rotten lot are upright and breathing. Don't need no rusty stethoscope to tell me that." Owen harrumphed. 

"Stupid thing's all filthy anyway. I'll steal me a better one."

"Whatever you say, Dr. Fred."

"Shut up," Owen muttered. He shoved his hands in his pockets and made a point of staring away. He straightened when Smith returned with a young man Ianto's age.

"Gentlemen, may I give introductions?" Smith had a hand on the small of her friend's back.

"So you'll be escorting our Martha Jones when she arrives?" Owen didn't pull out his hand to offer a handshake. "You poor bastard, how did you end up with the short straw?"

"Owen," Ianto groaned. Antagonizing the only help the resistance had offered in weeks was not a recommended strategy. 

Amusement made the man's eyes as dark as the sky above.

"Straw? There was no straw." The man smiled blithely. "I volunteered."

Owen threw Ianto a raised eyebrow. "Okay, _volunteer_. What's your name?"

"Milligan." The smile broadened to a determined grin. "My name is Tom Milligan."

 

**Act III**   
**Valiant**

There was barely a chance to react when the doors were kicked open. Francine and a few of the maids jumped. Two of Lucy Saxon's personal guards flew in and crumpled into a messy heap of blood and oddly bent limbs.

" _How_?" Saxon's roar introduced him before he charged in. He stepped over the dead guards, avoiding the puddle of blood still spreading on the floor with a lip curled in disgust. Saxon steered for the tent, his face white, his nostrils flared and even Francine couldn't help but cringe. Saxon ignored everyone, his bloodshot eyes glued only to the tent. Like a rampaging beast, he scattered his staff by merely storming through them. The maids and guards scattered to either wall. Francine, herself, pressed up against the wall. She gave the tent a furtive glance.

"How did you turn even my own _wife_ against me?"

With an easy grab, the material of the tent ripped and the tent spilled open around the Doctor. Francine jumped, her hands flexed on the wall her fingers were splayed out on. 

The Doctor looked up at Saxon, his head tilted up, his face blank.

Saxon stood over the Doctor, one fist shaking as he held the tent above the elderly Doctor.

"It didn't work," Saxon hissed. "You couldn't change her completely to your side and she failed. You weren't able to take my Companion away from me."

"He. Was. _Never_. Your. Companion!"

Francine gaped as the Doctor stood shakily in front of Saxon. His gnarled hands curled around Saxon's tie.

"What you're doing must stop." The Master swayed comically as the Doctor tugged at his tie like a leash. "And if you can't, I'll stop you!"

Saxon stared at Doctor, his mouth slightly open. The Doctor shook on his feet and Francine wondered if the tie twisted in his spotted hands was the only thing keeping him upright. 

"You?" The Master's shock contorted and his face turned red. " _You_?" The Master slapped the Doctor's grip away from his tie. 

Francine took a step forward when the weakened Doctor stumbled back and fell heavily to the floor with a muffled grunt. One of the maids whimpered and Saxon spun around to glare at her.

The Doctor lifted his head, his eyes still bright and alert. They found Francine's and stayed. Then, he shook his head.

Francine swallowed and took a step back.

"Oh, how the mighty have fallen," Saxon sneered when he turned back to stare down at the Doctor. He stretched out his arm and let go of the tent in his grasp. The coarse material fluttered to the floor. 

"I remember the days when the Doctor, oh, that famous Doctor, was waging a time war. Battling Sea Devils and Axons. He sealed the rift at the Medusa Cascade single-handedly."

The Doctor set his jaw and watched Saxon pace to the left and right of him. 

Saxon stopped short in front of him. He spread his arms wide. "Look at him now. Stealing screwdrivers. Twisting women into doing his work. Martha Jones. My _wife_. For shame. Have you no decency, Doctor?"

Shaking his head, Saxon crouched down in front of the Doctor. "How did he ever come to this?" the Master breathed. He cocked his head. A moment later, he snapped his fingers.

"Oh yes…me!"

The Master shot up to his feet and threw his head back and laughed. He abruptly stopped and stared at the Doctor.

"How do you do it? How do you gain their loyalty, even from my own Lucy?" Saxon murmured, almost to himself. His back was rigid in front of Francine. "You turned her against me."

"She never betrayed you. She thought she was helping you."

The Master scoffed. "Yes, I believe she said something to that nature when I caught her with the Captain's _corpse_ on our plane." Saxon pulled out his screwdriver and he tapped its tip to his jaw. "She was going to toss him out somewhere, as if I wouldn't find him."

"Poor deluded child. I wonder where did she get that idea?" Saxon sat back at the edge of the long table that stood in the center of the bridge. His fingers danced up and down on the table by his hip.

"The vortex…" The Doctor met Saxon's gaze unwavering. "This madness, your thoughts…it's from the vortex. It's poi—"

" _You're_ poison!" The tapping ceased and Saxon bunched his hand into a fist instead. He kicked the chair by the table, kicked the torn tent, kicked a spot on the wall next to the Doctor's head. The Doctor never moved.

"Every life you touched has met a fate far different than what they'd ever hoped." Saxon loomed over him, breathing heavily as his thin body shook.

"The Captain, the famous _Rose_ he kept talking about, and young starry-eyed, loyal Martha Jones."

Francine swallowed. She felt pinned to the wall. Her throat closed up at the sight of the Master standing above the Doctor.

The Master lifted his chin. 

"They've all been changed because of you, willing to kill, willing to sacrifice their lives for their _beloved_ Doctor. You've changed them. You. Do you deny it?"

Francine could see the Doctor raise his eyes to meet the Master's.

"No." There was a small smile on the Doctor's lips. "I have been changed, too."

The Master scoffed. "Your fascination with humans made you weak. Their underdeveloped minds fed and influenced by degenerative emotions: fear, anger, hunger—"

"Love."

The Master stopped.

"Lucy Saxon was motivated by love."

Francine lowered her eyes.

"She was tricked into thinking she was doing this because of love," the Master snarled. "Like your misguided, doomed Martha Jones. Like the captain even when you left him behind, discarded him like trash. When were you going to do the same to young Jones?"

Her throat ran dry. Francine rested her cheek on the wall. Ah, Martha. She wanted to weep, but she found she lacked the energy to do so.

"How do you think she will look when she realizes that everything you have her doing will be for nothing? That she was misguided by the fallacies of her pitiful human heart? Do you wonder what it would look like?"

"No." The quiet conviction seemed to echo loud in the bridge. "I don't. I'll never see it."

The Master stared at him, at the withered old man sitting cross-legged and slouched by his feet.

"You'll fail. It's fated," Saxon said quietly. "These humans are fond of this saying: Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it." Saxon settled the screwdriver by his side, his hands flat on the table.

"A past we cannot remember?" The Doctor's expression never changed but his voice lowered as if deep in thought. "Whose past?"

Saxon's face flicked as if he realized something. He pivoted on his heel and headed back to the dead men on the floor. He waved towards the guards still standing back, unsure. At his gesture though, two white faced youths stepped forward and dragged the bodies out.

The Master tsked as he stared at the wide smear of blood. 

"So hard to get good help these days." Saxon shook his head. "Alas, poor Yorick, I knew him well." Saxon paused. "Actually, I didn't. Oh well." 

The laugh Saxon made rippled the skin on Francine's back. She wanted to grab the knife on the table, leftover from his last meal and plunged it into his heart.

"Where's Lucy Saxon?"

Why do we care, Francine thought bitterly. She observed the twist from rage to amusement to disgust on Saxon's face.

"Why does it matter?" the Master grunted.

"Because she is your wife." Francine caught a twitch in the Doctor's face. "Did you kill her?"

An image of Lucy Saxon patting concealer on her bleeding cheekbone flashed behind Francine's mind. Francine swallowed. 

"Like you said," Saxon said airily, "she thought she was motivated by _love_. Why would I ever punish her for that?" 

"I didn't say she _thought_. She was motivated by—"

"By the _idea_ ," the Master hissed, "that doesn't exist. It's chemical, it's lust, it's dependence, it's weakness, it's a fool—"

"Are you trying to convince me…or yourself?"

There was a heart-stopping moment when Francine thought the Master would truly strike the Doctor. And for a brief second, Francine wanted to run to get the dull knife, but then the violently shaking fist Saxon had pulled back past his ear, lowered. It dropped like dead weight to his side. 

"Humans have poisoned us," the Master murmured and without another word, he snapped around and stalked towards the doors.

"What are you doing?" the Doctor called out in his reed thin voice, growing higher the further Saxon walked away. "Master! What are you planning to do? He has nothing to do with this! Nothing! Master!"

Saxon ignored him, his hands slapping on the doors. They whipped open with a roar that sounded like thunder crashing through them. Everyone jumped as if the doors would fly off and cut them.

" _Master_!"

Francine whipped around towards the Doctor again and caught sight of the elderly Doctor trying to stand, his eyes normally drooped and squinty were now stark and wide.

"Damn," the Doctor whispered, his eyes fixed to the door and Francine felt her guts clench in response.

 

**Torchwood, Cardiff**   
**One day later…**

Odd. 

The last thing Ianto remembered was cording the Rift modulator through the adaptor to boost the extensions. Gwen and Andy were debriefing the Milligan fellow. Owen went to check the vaults and Ianto had coils of wire as thick as his arm wrapped around him like a boa constrictor as he struggled to eke more power from the Rift manipulator while avoiding alerting Saxon what was cached underneath the Rift activity.

Then suddenly, he was on the camp bed in the dark.

Ianto blinked. He sat up and just…blinked. He lifted his hands and studied them. Where did the wires go?

_"Ianto?"_

All questions fled the moment a hushed voice wrapped around him like a familiar embrace. Ianto's chest filled two sizes too big and his gasp was caught within the thumping of his heart. He whipped his head around and immediately located the almost eerie blue tinted glow.

Jack stood, garbed in his greatcoat, in the center of the quarters, illuminated by his presence.

"Jack," Ianto choked out. He suddenly couldn't move. God, what was _wrong_ with him? His throat wouldn't work now. His eyes blurred.

Jack stared at Ianto as if _he_ was the apparition. 

_"Ianto?"_ Jack repeated. He looked around himself, his mouth slightly open. _"How did …I shouldn't …"_ Jack took a few steps towards Ianto then stuttered to a halt before he was under the feeble spot of light from the hatch's opening. Jack stared at Ianto, looked around himself again but didn't take another step. Something crossed Jack's face and his shoulders slumped slightly.

_"The TARDIS."_ Jack looked up at a spot beyond his right shoulder. He tilted his head as if he was listening for something. He sighed. 

"What?" Ianto murmured, distracted. His eyes greedily memorized every line and seam displayed in front of him. He knew the greatcoat and the braces he used to twist around his fingers as he pulled them off Jack's shoulders weren't real. The tint that cloaked Jack betrayed its incorporeality. But his fingers twitched regardless. The urge to reach out the last remaining inches to Jack made him lightheaded. 

Ianto tore his gaze away and Jack's words finally filtered in. The confusion on Jack's face hurt. 

"You…you weren't trying to reach me?" Ianto fought to keep the tremor out of his voice. He wasn't a child, damn it, but there was a stabbing sensation in his gut that made him swallow convulsively. "You're not doing this?" 

Jack hesitated, unsure himself, before he slowly shook his head.

_"Last thing I remember,"_ Jack murmured, _"was waking up in that room again, him charging in screaming something about the Doctor and his charming wife and—"_ Jack averted his eyes, his Adam's apple working as he drew in a steadying breath.

_"Later, I…I thought I heard Rose singing then nothing. The TARDIS must have…"_ He didn't come closer and Ianto was afraid to approach now. Jack wavered like a mirage by the ladder. Shafts of weak light from above cast a sickly halo around Jack. Jack edged closer, his eyes studying the dim quarters.

"You're here," Ianto whispered. "You're…you're really here then. But the TARDIS did this. Not you." He bit his lower lip.

Jack looked smaller in front of him for some reason, his glow dull as he smiled back. It looked forced.

_"I guess I am,"_ Jack murmured. He flinched for some reason and fidgeted where he stood. _"…for now. I don't know for how long—"_ Jack hissed. He bowed his head, took a deep breath and cleared his throat. _"The TARDIS pushed our link wide-open without my permission."_ Jack turned away, his shoulder to Ianto.

Ianto thought of saying _diolch_ to the TARDIS but he didn't think she would hear it. To his surprise though, he thought he could feel a tendril of air caressing his cheek in reply. He watched Jack wag a finger in the air and Jack muttering something under his breath. 

"What are you doing?" 

Jack turned back around just as he rolled his eyes. _"Scolding her but I doubt it worked. I think she just gave me the mental equivalent of the finger. I guess it really is the universal language."_

"I ought to be doing that to you, you bastard," Ianto bit out. 

_"Me?"_ Jack sounded baffled. _"I'm non-corporeal here, what did I do?"_

"How could you block me out like that? All this time?" Ianto whispered. He hated how unsteady his voice was.

_"Oh."_ Jack stuck his hands in his trousers. His head dropped and he stared at the ground. Jack rocked on his heels and said nothing.

"That's it? You're not going to say anything? You're not even going to say you're sorry?"

Jack raised bleak, almost colorless eyes at Ianto. _"I'm not apologizing. Not for shutting you out from the ship, from me. I…"_ Jack's shoulders twitched. The coat around him quivered like a flag wound around a pole, flapping to get free.

_"I didn't want you to see."_

Ianto swallowed the lump so it wouldn't choke him, but it lodged in his throat and his eyes burned. "You didn't think I could handle it?"

Jack smiled tightly, his eyes devoid of light. Ianto quelled the shiver he felt up his spine at the hollowed look.

_"I was thinking more along the lines that I couldn't handle you seeing me…like…"_ Jack made a deprecating laugh. He took a deep breath and held it a beat before releasing it. Jack shook his head. His shoulders rounded forward around his ears.

_"I just didn't want you to see,"_ Jack said in a barely audible voice. 

"I don't need protecting. I just wanted to be there for you," Ianto murmured, "I-I…" Ianto sighed. It came out cracked. 

"I want to help."

_"You are,"_ Jack reassured him, _"by staying alive and helping the resistance, you're helping us up here."_

"I was talking about you, Jack." Ianto kept his gaze on Jack, silently willing, _pleading_ with Jack to meet his gaze, but Jack stayed shrouded in the shadows. "I was talking about helping _you_."

Jack's mouth twisted crookedly. He lifted his eyes and they crinkled with the tiny smile Jack mustered up. _"Yeah."_

Ianto sat up higher and for some reason, Jack retreated a step, ducking away from the hatchway. Jack cleared his throat.

_"Report."_

Ianto gaped at him. "That's it? You're just going to—"

_"What's happening down here?"_ Jack pressed. _"Ianto, I don't—"_ Jack hissed under his breath. He rolled back his shoulders. _"I don't know how long I can risk being down here with you. Please. There are bigger things to consider."_

Jack was right, of course. It seemed there were always bigger things, far more important things to prioritize before them. They couldn't afford to let it be about one person, not with possibly the universe at stake. But it didn't ease the bitter taste in his mouth when Ianto inhaled to recollect his thoughts.

"We've gotten word…Martha's coming," Ianto murmured. "Tomorrow at dusk, actually."

_"Martha Jones_ ," Jack breathed. There was a glimmer in his eyes again. _"How long has it been?"_

"A year nearly."

_"Only a year?"_ Jack sounded distant. He looked a little lost. _"Felt longer."_

Ianto silently agreed. "The resistance has found us a guide for her. Milligan. He's a doctor with the right credentials to allow him to travel openly by day and by car." Ianto leveled his gaze at Jack.

"She has all parts to the gun, Jack."

Jack nodded soberly. _"Hopefully it won't come to her using it."_

"Jack, the gun…from what Martha could tell us in the telegrams…even if she does, it's not going to be able to do anything more than…" Ianto chose his words carefully. "…annoy him."

Jack offered Ianto a crooked eyebrow that was so like him it ached to see.

_"That should be enough,"_ Jack quipped. _"In my experience, the Master—"_ Jack grimaced, " _gets annoyed easily."_

"I don't see how it can—"

_"Doesn't matter,"_ Jack interrupted. _"It's what the Doctor wants. He seems to think that's enough."_

"All right," Ianto mumbled, his brow furrowing nevertheless. 

_"We'll need to find a way to get her on the Valiant to use that thing, though,"_ Jack said, his voice wavering as he fidgeted, _"the Doctor seems to think that won't be a problem."_

"There's something else…when Martha was in South Africa, she came across something that might be useful going up against those beasts."

_"The Toclafane?"_

Ianto nodded. "Martha's going to meet up with Milligan and seek out a Professor Docherty first about this. See if we can replicate it."

_"Do you trust Docherty?"_

Ianto hesitated. "The resistance found out Docherty has been actively searching for her son's whereabouts. That could be bad. Martha doesn't seem to care though. She wouldn't say why. I'm guessing it's because of—"

_"The Doctor,"_ Jack sighed.

"Yup."

_"She'd been hanging around the Doctor too long,"_ Jack griped. 

The corners of his mouth upturned a little. "Seems to be thematic." Ianto studied Jack. Even though he knew it was an illusion, Ianto couldn't help his scrutiny.

"God, I miss you," Ianto blurted out, unable to help himself.

Jack smiled sadly. He opened his mouth as if to reply but then he jerked for some reason and his shoulders rounded. 

"Jack?" Ianto stared at Jack. 

The slow shake of the head didn't reassure him. Nor did the tiny step Jack tried to hide when Ianto swung his legs around to the edge of the bed.

There was a sick twisting in Ianto's gut. "Jack, what's going on up there? What's happening?"

Jack's mouth crooked and his hands went into his pockets _. "The Doctor tried to get me off the Valiant a few hours ago and no,"_ Jack added quickly when Ianto straightened, _"it didn't work."_

Ianto fell back against the wall of the camp bed. His eyes burned. "Oh," Ianto choked out. 

_"I told the Doctor it was a bad idea."_ Jack twitched and he shrugged. _"He was planning to change the plan, take me out of the equation."_ Jack scowled. _"I don't know what he thought he could do in his current condition—"_

Ianto's mouth ran dry. "Are you alone right now?"

Silent as a shadow, Jack didn't speak. It seemed like the light around Jack flickered and Jack's image wavered like a candle flame in a breeze.

"Jack?"

_"Now I know why the TARDIS did what she did."_ Jack huddled deeper into his greatcoat like burrowing into a blanket. _"I didn't want to be there anymore."_

Quickly, Ianto thought back to everything Jack didn't say and his insides twisted.

"Jack, is…is Saxon there?"

Jack stared past Ianto as if he hadn't heard him.

_"Came to tell me the Doctor had failed me. To gloat, to say I told you so, I'm not sure. Tried to tell me that the Doctor never really wanted me to escape, that he wouldn't have wanted to save me."_ Jack scoffed to himself. _"I almost believed him. Almost. There were so many times, I had believed him. But when he saw I didn't anymore, not even after he told me the Doctor failed, he…."_ Jack swallowed.

Ianto edged off the bunk, barely sitting on the edge. "Jack," Ianto whispered. He wished there was something he could say, but his mind was blank, his heart tight in his chest, so painful his eyes grew hot. 

Eyes still past Ianto, Jack's voice dropped to a tiny sound.

" _It's cold_."

Ianto couldn't bear it. Choking, Ianto grabbed, reached in some vain attempt to connect, Jack's name stuck in his throat.

His fingers unexpectedly wrapped around Jack's wrist.

On contact, Ianto jolted. Jack jerked back as if charged.

"What?" Ianto snatched his hand and clutched it to his chest. His fingers tingled. His heart raced. "Christ…I…was that…I _touched_ you." Ianto lifted his startled gaze up towards Jack. "Did I just imagine that?"

Jack gaped at his own hand as if he had never seen it before. _"No…I-I felt it too. How…"_ Jack lifted his eyes up towards the ceiling in wonder. _"The TARDIS must have enhanced the link somehow between us and with the rif—"_

It didn't matter. Ianto didn't _care_. He grabbed Jack by the arms and pulled Jack towards him. Jack, startled, made a surprised yelp as he tumbled forward, crashing into Ianto. The two fell back onto the bunk in a tangled sprawl.

Ianto clutched Jack—oh, the solid feel of him—to him. He didn't have anything to compare what he was feeling, this need to bury Jack deep within him: a prize, a child's favorite toy, a buoy, a life preserver, all the universe and its bright, shiny light that rivaled any sun—

"Jack," Ianto sobbed into Jack's hair. " _Jack_." 

Ianto could _feel_ silky strands grazing his cheek. Ianto crushed a speechless Jack to his chest, his arms wound so tight around the lean—God, thin, too thin—body that his arms ached with the strain but Ianto refused to let go. 

Jack was stock still in Ianto's embrace, his face smashed against Ianto's throat, his arms pinned to his sides, his legs and coat tails tangled with Ianto's legs. It felt oddly like how he used to wake up and in some ways, not. Jack was frozen in Ianto's hold instead of the usual wiggle and stir he used to do, as if he didn't know how to react.

" _Cariad_ ," Ianto murmured over Jack's temple. He couldn't think of anything else to say. "Jack," Ianto chanted as he squeezed Jack to him.

Ianto could feel the minute trembling in Jack's body. He hushed Jack every time something choked out against his throat. "I don't care how this is happening, I don't care what this will cost us. I'm not letting you go," he hissed into Jack's hair. " _Ever_."

Hands hesitantly settled around Ianto's middle.

" _Ianto_ ," Jack sighed against Ianto's throat. Suddenly the grip shrank around Ianto with a desperation that brought tears down Ianto's cheeks.

The trembling grew in earnest as well as the jerks and spasms Jack had tried to hide before. Ianto bore them, absorbed them into him.

Despite the solidity of Jack's body in his arms, there was no real weight crushing him. No warmth or scratchy texture of Jack's jaw brushed against him. Jack felt cool, airless, form without real shape, solid yet not entirely here.

Ianto told himself it was enough. It had to be. He was sure Jack was telling himself the same thing. Jack curled tighter towards him, his legs pulled in, his head now on Ianto's shoulder, his face pressed over Ianto's heart.

Each twitch Jack made, Ianto smoothed away with a hand swept down the length of Jack's back. Each muffled groan Ianto shushed with a kiss to the top of Jack's head. He'd tried to kiss Jack's temple once, but it felt like kissing chilled glass and it felt too cruel to them both to try again.

"You're not there," Ianto murmured, "you're here, with me, away, far away. Whatever is happening, just know my arms are around you, your arms around me. Nothing else matters. Nothing."

Jack, mute, merely curled his arms tighter around Ianto's middle.

_"Cold."_

Ianto blinked back the stinging in his eyes. His hand carded through hair that felt light as trickles of air against his skin. He pressed his lips on Jack's head. He let them linger for a moment. The absence of the mixture of spice and musk he associated with Jack was painful.

Ianto couldn't measure how long they laid tangled on the bunk, listening to each other breathe and pretending that the parody of their bodies rising and falling against each other was enough. It was a gift, yet a cruel present at best because it also served to remind them of what they were missing as well.

There was no powdery feel of wool under his palm as Ianto stroked, petted really, up and down Jack's spine. He could feel the chest expanding against him as Jack inhaled, but he couldn't feel the air rattling in the lean body. Despite the muted sensations, Ianto could feel Jack's heart, beating frantically with each invisible blow, rallying and enduring. Ianto never felt its beat so pronounced before. It now felt like physical blows rhythmically fluttering against him. It filled his ears and blocked everything else. Judging by how fervently Jack was pressed over his chest, Ianto suspected Jack could hear the same beating gently against his ears. 

_"There's so much…so much we need to do…"_ Jack sighed but he made no move to wiggle out of Ianto's embrace. _"I shouldn't be here."_ Jack absently rubbed small circles on Ianto's belly. 

"I'm not particularly feeling like I care right now," Ianto mumbled as his left hand traced the bony ridge of a shoulder blade he could feel under the greatcoat. Ianto marveled at the miracle of it all. "Jack, how is this possible?"

_"Do you want the techno-babble version or Owen's version?"_ Jack slurred against Ianto's throat.

Ianto found he couldn't stop stroking the rounded back huddled up against him as if seeking shelter. Ianto squirmed closer, looking for the same.

"Harper's edition if you please," Ianto kissed the searching hand that fumbled out from his back to stroke his jaw.

_"TARDIS."_

"You already said that." Ianto rolled his eyes and he felt the quiet rumble of Jack's chuckle. 

_"She did something."_

"A little more specific, please."

_"Picky."_

"Detail oriented."

_"Obsessive compulsive."_

"Passionate."

_"Yes."_ Jack nuzzled the crook of his neck. _"You are, Ianto Jones."_

Ianto smiled but it died quickly when Jack flinched against him.

_"I usually try to go into some sort of trance when he…Man doesn't like to be ignored. The TARDIS must have done something, stepped in when he started,"_ Jack muttered, _"but he'll get bored eventually and leave me alone. I might…I might not be here if he kills me though."_

Ianto nodded. The smile felt jagged on his face.

"Then we make the most of this. Tell me what I can do in the meantime," Ianto soothed as Jack flinched once more.

_"Just keep talking."_

The small request pricked at his eyes and crushed his heart, but Ianto nodded regardless. 

"I never thought of myself as loquacious before," Ianto remarked. 

_"Welsh vowels,"_ Jack mumbled.

Ianto cupped the back of Jack's head. He rested his cheek on Jack's temple. "You sound tired. Do you want to sleep?"

_"Just keep talking."_

The plea was undeniable. Ianto gulped and blinked rapidly. His fingers glided down Jack's spine as his mind sorted through his memories for something. He cleared his throat. In a haltering voice, Ianto reminisced about the things he saw during his university years. He spoke of the professor in basic chemistry who always called on him whether he was ready or not. Ianto spoke of the chip shop by the library and the matronly woman there who always gave him an extra piece of fish. He told Jack about the classes that bored him and the ones that didn't.

Ianto switched to Welsh at some point during his one-sided conversation, his voice low and slow, pacing with the hand Jack skimmed across his chest, painting invisible symbols Ianto didn't recognize.

Even when Jack stopped fidgeting and grimacing, Ianto kept going. He felt compelled; his voice never tired, never ached. Ianto feared that once he did stop talking, the spell that suspended them in fragile amber would shatter.

_"Ianto."_

His last syllable faltered and Ianto looked down at Jack. Blue eyes, clearer and brighter, gazed up at him with a sadness Ianto felt in his chest.

"Now?" Ianto croaked.

_"Something's happening. I can sense the TARDIS getting upset. We can't have her—"_

"Yeah," Ianto whispered. He brushed feather-light hairs away from Jack's forehead. It felt like caressing air. "We can't. She's done too much for us already."

_"We're nearly there. You get Martha up here and all the pieces will fall into place."_

Ianto nodded. He fought to hold back whatever he could feel pushing to get out.

It was too much though. Ianto huddled over Jack, burying his face into Jack's hair. He sucked in a loud, wet-sounding gulp of air.

"I don't want you to go." Ianto's voice cracked at the end.

Jack's arms went around Ianto, his cool fingers kneading his back.

_"I'm not looking forward to it either,"_ Jack admitted quietly into Ianto's ear. His embrace tightened. _"But, Ianto—"_

"Be there when I come for you," Ianto whispered. "We'll be coming up there with Martha. Be there."

The fingers on his back curled around the back of his neck.

_"Ianto,"_ Jack gently reminded him, _"I can't die."_

"I'm not talking about that, you daft sod," Ianto choked out.

Jack's eyes crinkled. _"Yeah."_

"Promise me, damn it."

_"So bossy."_ Jack rubbed a cool knuckle across Ianto's lower lip.

" _Promise_ ," Ianto repeated.

_"I promise."_ Jack rubbed his head over Ianto's heart. _"Close your eyes."_

"Why?"

_"Because I hate goodbyes."_

Ianto nodded and rested his chin on Jack's head. 

"See you later," Ianto whispered. 

Jack patted Ianto's mouth with the tips of his fingers. 

Ianto closed his eyes and took a shuddering breath. He looped his arms over Jack's shoulders. He felt Jack relax further into his hold.

"Jack, I lo—"

"Oi."

Ianto's eyes flew open. It was dark again, too dark, but what ripped his insides apart was the fact that he was lying flat on his back, his arms folded in front of him. Empty. 

"Jack?" No, no, no. He wasn't ready. Please, not yet. 

"No, mate."

The sputtering blue light from a kerosene lamp flickered on, revealing Owen's pinched face frowning down at him.

Ianto stared up at Owen until the light became too much.

"The light," Ianto muttered as tears brimmed and spilled down his face. Ianto looked away as the light was set down on the ground away from him. In the cloak of dim shadows, Ianto wiped a sleeve across his eyes.

"What happened?" Ianto's throat felt raw as if he had been talking for hours.

"What happened was you chose to piss me off after I just said I didn't need my stethoscope by passing out in front of the bloody Rift manipulator," Owen growled. He grumbled to himself as he fumbled for Ianto's wrist. 

"I passed out?" Ianto repeated. He grimaced as Owen's two fingers dug into the inside of his wrist for his pulse.

"Christ, you're ice cold and yes, you passed out. Like a girl, you did. Swooned like one out of those serials you'd probably watch. Face down on the ground. Can't even faint properly. Got your limbs all tangled up in the stupid cables like a spider web. Scared the shit out of PC Andy. He screamed like a girl. Thought for sure he was going to bring the whole fucking lot of Toclafane on us." Owen grunted. "Milligan was no help either. Did you know he was a bloody pediatrician? Not one bit of kit on him. Unbelievable." 

Ianto blinked at Owen's dark shape sitting on the bed. "How long I was out?"

"Like I have a watch on me," Owen shot back. He nudged Ianto to turn his head. His fingers probed Ianto's skull. "A couple of hours. Nearly dawn here."

Ianto endured Owen ordering him to squeeze his hands, raise his legs and track his finger under the light from the open hatchway. Ianto did everything without protest, his mind still trying to remember every detail of before. It still felt like he was holding Jack at times.

A tap on his cheek drew his attention back to Owen.

"Only reason why Gwen didn't panic was because it looked like you were just sleeping," Owen told him, quieter now. "Were you?"

Ianto swallowed but the lump in his throat wouldn't go away. "I think so."

"You think?" Owen turned his head, his back to Ianto. He scratched the goatee.

"You were calling out a name before," Owen said quietly, the irritation in his voice gone. "Uh…Did you—"

"Yes." Ianto pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. His head hurt. His throat hurt. His heart hurt. "Yes. I saw Jack."

The bunk creaked as Owen twisted back around. "What he say?"

Bitterness soured Ianto's throat. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing."

The confusion hung heavy in the air, but Owen said nothing.

Ianto sniffed. He didn't pull his hands away. 

"H-he said absolutely nothing. Just…he just couldn't be there anymore." It was getting hard to breathe. The lump in his throat kept pushing to come out. Ianto sniffed again. He dug the heels of his hands deeper into his burning eyes.

"He…I…there was nothing that needed—that could be done. Nothing." 

Owen was quiet, just sitting on the edge of the bunk.

"Light still bothering you?" Owen finally said. 

Ianto gulped, sniffled and then nodded. "Yeah," he managed hoarsely.

The light by the ground to his right was doused.

Ianto hastily wiped his sleeve across his eyes again. And again. For some reason, his sleeve was only getting wetter.

"I better let them know you're up. Three girls up there, fretting. I'm surrounded by a lot of ninnies, I am." Owen rose to his feet. 

"Owen," Ianto croaked.

Owen stopped with one foot on the bottom rung.

Ianto smiled, brittle and painful on his face. 

"Do you honestly need a stethoscope to know if we're alive and breathing?"

Owen grumbled and he climbed the ladder up loudly. "Piss off, Ms. Jones. Bring that light back up when you're ready."

Ianto nodded to himself. He could hear Owen talking to the others. Their voices were low although Gwen's did go up a little before the three men shushed her. Ianto chuckled or coughed. It sounded like both. 

In the dark, Ianto heard the hollow echo of Jack's voice. Somehow, he knew Jack was still out there. Still cold.

_"I promise."_

Ianto sniffled and sat up. "See you later," Ianto whispered. 

After a deep breath, Ianto steeled himself, grabbed the lamp on the floor and climbed up the ladder. 

 

**Valiant**

Francine held the tent folded up to her chest when the doors flew open again. Saxon sailed through them, two of his guards trailing behind him, dragging…

Francine gasped as the limp form of Jack Harkness was dragged, facedown, across the bridge. His head hung low, his shirt and trousers crusted with blood. One of the maids recoiled. One of the guards looked ill.

"I believe you two have already met," Saxon declared as he straightened out his sleeves. He snapped his fingers impatiently and a subdued Lucy Saxon, her face bruised, her lip cut, hurried forward to slip his suit jacket over his shoulders. 

The guards dumped Jack Harkness unceremoniously by the Doctor's feet. The captain groaned. He was, somehow, still alive.

"What have you done?" the Doctor rasped. His spotted hands shook as he settled them on Jack's shoulders.

Saxon crouched down in front of him.

"What haven't I done?" Saxon sneered. He leapt up and back when Jack weakly swiped at his legs. His arm missed and flopped to the floor.

"Easy, captain," the Doctor rasped, his hands cupped over the matted hair.

"D-doctor," Jack croaked as he lifted his head. "'ancy meeting you 'ere."

For some reason, Jack's response enraged Saxon. His face purpled and Lucy cringed.

"Look at him," Saxon hissed. His finger cut the air towards the Doctor like a saber. "Look at him! Old, withered, useless. And you still call him _Doctor_?"

Jack flipped himself around and Francine closed her eyes briefly. The front of his shirt and his t-shirt were brown with blood. Jack's chest heaved as he propped himself up on his elbows.

"I d-don't see anyone el'e 'ere who f-fits the d-description," Jack gasped, but his eyes, while glazed, were resolute.

The Master's fists shook by his side.

"H-harry," Lucy murmured. Her hand reached for his arm.

The Master spun around. His eyes were cool, the snarl that twisted his face smoothed out to something colder. "You lost the right to speak, dear, sweet Lucy. Do not test my affections for you at this time."

Lucy blanched. She nodded and stepped back.

"Look at him, Time Lord," Saxon demanded. "Look at her." He yanked Lucy back against him, crushing her to his side. "Look at them all. Weak human minds; falling for the charms of the _Doctor_. You are infallible in their eyes, even now, in your pathetic state."

The Doctor never removed his hands from Jack's shoulders. Francine thought she saw the corner of his right eye twitch. 

"You call me a villain, but you," Saxon waved at the Doctor and pushed Lucy away. "You are worse. You let them blindly fall into rank, armed with nothing but their fragile human bodies, charging blinded by their _faith_ in their beloved Doctor!"

Saxon spun around and he crooked a finger at his wife. "Look at him, my dear. _This_ is who you follow?"

"I was tricked," Lucy muttered, resentfully. She glowered at the Doctor under her lashes.

Saxon pretended to gasp, his hands to his chest. He pivoted around.

"Do you hear that? Tricked! How apt of a word! Tricked!" Saxon clapped his hands as he barked out, "Look at him, my captain. He can barely stand. He failed to save you. He failed to come back for you! Does he even deserve your loyalty?"

Jack said nothing.

Francine glanced back at Jack and tensed. She wasn't sure if she was relieved or scared to see Jack slumped back against the Doctor's lap, his head lolled to the side. From where she stood, she could see Jack's eyes, half-mast, dull, his face slack.

"What have you done?" the Master hissed, his arms lowering to his sides. 

The Doctor pulled his hands away from Jack's temples. He just stared up at Saxon, his mouth set.

"What have you done?" Saxon signaled the guards to haul Jack up to his feet and he gripped the captain's chin with a curled claw-like grip. He turned Jack's head left then right. He slapped one cheek hard enough that made Francine flinch.

"You can't reach him." The Doctor wore a little smile that made Francine shiver. "He is beyond you now, even in death."

"You sealed him." The Master grasped Jack's head with both hands now and stared intently at the slitted eyes. "You _sealed_ him!"

The Doctor made an odd, rough sounding laugh. He shrugged one shoulder. 

"Bring him back!" the Master snarled.

The Doctor just rasped another laugh.

Francine caught Lucy's tiny smile behind the hands she clasped over her mouth in posed shock.

"I order you to bring him back!" Saxon roared.

"Order?" Another papery, scratchy bark. "Your name may be Master, but it doesn't demand obedience from me. And since when did I ever follow _orders_?"

"Bring. Him. Back."

The Doctor never flinched. To his credit, he never even blinked. He smiled like a grandfather in a park and simply said, "No."

Francine fought the urge to smile as well. She hid hers behind the tent blanket she'd folded up. Saxon ranted some more, waved his fists, but the Doctor merely smiled at him with the kind of indulgent look a teacher would give a pupil.

When Saxon's tirade died down, he dismissed Lucy, dismissed Jack and stood by the Doctor on the floor.

"I will not be denied," Saxon seethed.

The Doctor cocked his head. "Odd. I think you just were."

"You will release him or I—"

"You'll what? What could you possibly do to him now? Anything, _anything_ else you do to him, he will merely sink deeper and deeper into the haven I provided him." The Doctor's eyes gleamed. "Then he'll be beyond even me."

Saxon scoffed. He crouched down by the Doctor's ear, whispered something and rocked back on his heels with a smirk. The Doctor stared at him. 

Then, as hard as he could, he slapped Saxon. 

The guards left on the bridge exploded into action around the pair. Saxon raised a hand, halting them, the other hand on his cheek. He chuckled as he rose back to his feet.

"Master," the Doctor hissed as he held his hand, surely broken by the way the wrist started to swell, "I _will_ stop you."

Eyes as dark as the night sky skewered Saxon. Francine's arms pimpled into goose bumps. She swallowed.

The Master's chuckles died down a little, his voice caught as he stared back. Then a shadow cast over his face.

"Not unless I stop you first," Saxon hissed. "It's my turn to dictate the terms." Saxon spread his arms open as his voice rose. 

"Revenge!" Saxon boomed. "Best served hot. And this time…" His sneer spread from ear to ear. "It's a message for Miss Jones."

Francine's mouth ran dry.

"Let's see if they will all fall for your charms now… _Doctor_."

 

**Somewhere Along the Shores of Britain**

It was cold, exhausting really, to cling to the rope that lined the raft. The inflatable boat bounced as waves crested, white froth spilling into the tiny vessel.

"Nearly there," someone murmured from the vicinity of the motor.

Martha Jones merely nodded. Too used to traveling alone for so long, it was hard to remember how to carry on a conversation again on the rare periods of company.

"If there's no one there," a soft voice to her left whispered by her ear. "We'll turn back."

One wave nearly upturned the raft. Martha curled her fingers tighter on the rope.

"No," Martha said, her mouth grim. "It's not like I've never been alone before."

"Jack would kill me if I just left you there."

Martha glanced over her shoulder at the bright blue eyes hidden under a messy fringe of hair and a black wool cap.

"No he wouldn't. He likes you," Martha smirked. She turned back towards the shore she could see expanding across the midnight horizon. 

"I see the signal," someone in the back of the raft reported.

Sure enough, a tiny light, the lantern they agreed on, swayed left then right before it blinked, then swayed once more.

"That's it," Martha sighed. She blinked rapidly.

"Good luck."

There were claps on her back, whispered well wishes, as Martha stepped out of the raft and into the cold water. Icy water lapped her calves.

Martha sloshed up a step then turned back to grin at blue eyes again.

"Better get back alive to him, Daniel, or Jack will have such a fit."

There was a sloppy salute, a chuckle from someone else and Martha waded up the last few inches to shore as the raft softly puttered away behind her.

Martha wanted to weep when her borrowed boots met hard sand but she just steeled herself and trotted up to the two men waiting for her.

There was a bit of hesitation when she saw it was two men, not one as she had discussed with Torchwood, but when they did nothing, Martha stiffened her back as she approached.

"What's your names, then?" Martha asked curtly.

The one with dark eyes and a scruffy beard spoke up first.

"Tom Milligan."

The other, thinner and paler, cleared his throat. "Andy Davidson, ma'am. The famous Martha Jones, I take it?" 

Martha grimaced. "Just Martha, please."

Milligan nodded. "All right, Just Martha. How long since you were last in Britain?"

Martha took a deep breath of salty air and felt a knot in her gut unclench.

"Three hundred sixty five days," Martha sighed. She stared beyond them at a sky once lit with tall buildings and buzzing with life.

"It's been a long year."

She was finally home.

 

**Act IV: _"Oh, but they broke your hearts, didn't they?" "_**

_"Space lane traffic is advised to stay away from Sol 3, also known as Earth. Pilots are warned that Sol 3 is now entering terminal extinction. Planet Earth is closed."_

_"Planet Earth is closed."_

_"Planet Earth is closed."_

 

**Valiant**

_"…safe here…"_

He found that he couldn't move yet that didn't alarm him. There were no chains on his wrists, no pipes surrounding him like a cage. The walls around him were snug, soft, warm and diffused with a light that glowed a color he couldn't identify.

The confines breathed with him and absently, he wondered if this was what people meant by being in the womb. Of course it wasn't the womb; it would be just too strange, too weird, too disconcerting although he remembered the species of bird-people who enjoyed an occasional group snuggle naked in a gel tank encased inside a synthetic eggsh—

…

Anyway, this wasn't a womb.

Wherever he was, it was quiet. A good quiet. No voices. No whipping sounds of sharp things whistling in the air. No clanging rattling of his chains as he arched his back in sheer agony. No whine of a laser screwdriver pressed hard to his belly, forcing—Don't think about. _Don't_. None of that was here with him. He was nestled in a haze of _not-pain_ , floating on a fog of lethargy he couldn't—or didn’t want to—shake.

_"…can't hurt you…any more…not here…"_

The last thing he remembered was pain. So much pain. Pain that burned ice cold. He constantly came back to his body, bereft, in agony and in despair.

_"…think back…find a memory…"_

It wasn't clear who or what the voice that surrounded him was. At one point, it sounded deep, then high, then soft. It changed as quickly as a thought. 

He remembered brown eyes that held the universe gazing down at him. They had held him as the monsters pounded at his door. Things began to dissolve the longer he kept their stare: the pain in his lower back, the heated line of agony up across his abdomen, the hot coil of torn flesh in places he would never ever think about. 

Transfixed, he stared and stared and stared at the universe churning in those brown eyes and felt hands on his face, a voice in his buzzing head. And suddenly everything faded and he began to sink. Mentally, he floundered.

_"It's all right,"_ a voice had intoned in his head. _"Sleep."_

He slept.

And he dreamed.

He dreamt of arms around him, of words rolling and wrapping around him. They held him, shielded him away from some dark thing he could no longer recall. 

_"…think back…find a memory…remember…"_

He…he remembered…

Ianto.

At the name, faint impressions of arms wrapped around him, a body so familiar to him it no longer needed a name settled against him and the tantalizing sense of moist breath peppered along the planes of his now untainted skin.

He remembered. He had promised. And for the first time, he fidgeted against the cottony wrappings around his mind, his body.

_"…Wait…be still…he can't find you if you're still…"_

He struggled regardless. He couldn't be hiding. He made a promise. 

_"…He's coming back for you…"_

_Promise?_

He cringed at the plaintive quality of his reply but the voice that wasn't quite a voice just nodded and the memory of Ianto's arms tightened around him. The voice shaped thoughts into words and like a caress, soothed him.

_"…He's coming back for you…wait for him…"_

So in the depths of his mind, cocooned from the outside, wrapped in ribbons of pain-free sleep, Jack Harkness burrowed deeper into the cradle of gossamer warmth.

And waited.

 

**Somewhere in Britain**

Martha welcomed the hard trek as the three of their shoes uniformly crunched up the shore to higher ground. She had turned back towards the water minutes before to watch the raft grow smaller and smaller in the horizon. She thought she saw a faraway shadow wave goodbye but she didn't dare wave back. So Martha just nodded even though she knew none of them would be able to see that.

Davidson and Milligan were observing her with open curiosity as they walked. It was something Martha had encountered many times in her travels as word spread through her, through the resistance and through Torchwood. In fact, some had already heard of her by the time she reached them. Different faces, different voices yet they all carry the same surreptitious glances when she shared shelter with them at night.

It didn't mean she was used to it though.

"What?" Martha snapped breathlessly. "What is it?" She didn't remember the incline ever being this steep. Before the divorce, the family used to all come here in the summer. A hermit crab bit Leo in the foot once. After that Tish never wanted to go into the water.

The two men exchanged a look, like boys caught past curfew. 

Milligan cleared his throat. "So what's the plan?"

Right down to business. Good. Maybe it was because she was home, but Martha discovered she had lost the patience she cradled to her across America. 

"This Professor Docherty," Martha said briskly. She fought the urge to pant. Now she knew why her old flat mate favored jogging up and down the beach instead of going to a gym. Martha was already sweating despite the night chill. 

"I need to see her. Can you get me there?"

Davidson cleared his throat. "She works in a repair shed, Nuclear Plant seven." 

"We can get you inside," Milligan added.

Martha gave them a frown. "That reminds me. We? I was under the impression I was going to have one escort not a royal guard."

"Not a royal guard," Davidson corrected. "They didn't have a bearskin cap my size." Davidson flicked a finger towards his hairline and he grinned. He looked remarkably younger when he did. Milligan grunted and shrugged with a wry smile.

Martha smirked. "Fair enough. What's with the double escorts then?"

"Resistance sighted Toclafane patrolling the shoreline later and later," Milligan reported.

Martha eyed the night sky with a frown. "Oh?" The corner of her eye twitched. It didn't help that the Toclafane were nearly the same color as the sky. Impossible to sight.

"Torchwood thought it might be safer with two," Davidson added. He made a sound. "Oh, nearly forgot." He fumbled around in the knapsack hanging off his right shoulder. He pulled out a battered thermos.

"Compliments of Ianto Jones."

Martha found herself grinning broadly as she accepted the thermos and the included note. The dented steel canister was warm, hot even and Martha savored the feeling of the heat nearly scalding her skin. There were too many times when it was the opposite. 

" _'Kept a kettle warm_ ,'" Martha read as she hugged the thermos. " _'Hope teabags are fine_.' Oh, Mr. Jones, I could kiss you."

Milligan breathed out sharply. He gestured towards himself and Davidson. "Look, what's all this for? What's so important about Docherty?"

The smile faded and Martha just pocketed the note. She still held the warm cylinder to her chest. She wished she could chance zipping down her vest to hug the thermos closer to her body.

"Sorry," Martha sighed. She was starting to sound like someone she missed dearly. "The more you know, the more you're at risk."

Unimpressed, Milligan grunted. Davidson shot her an apologetic look. 

"There's a lot of people depending on you," Milligan muttered. Whatever good nature that had been on his face had fizzled away. "You're a bit of a legend." 

Martha's mouth twisted. It almost sounded like an accusation. Maybe it was. "What does the legend say?"

"That you sailed the Atlantic, walked across America. That you're the only person who got out of Japan alive." 

Her stomach did a flip-flop. Martha's jaw clenched. "I wasn't the only one who got out of Japan alive," she said shortly. Crossing the Pacific, however, was a different matter. She could still smell the ships burning as she watched the decoys that guarded her ship sink. 

Milligan made a sound that was more a weary grunt. "‘Martha Jones', they say, ‘She's gonna save the world.'" Milligan glanced around him with sad eyes. "Bit late for that."

"No pressure or anything," Davidson muttered to her other ear.

Martha smiled bitterly. "Sure." 

Sand became gravel finally and the three, almost in unison, marched towards a worn road. It was eerie how the sky, normally lit from the city, was so dark now. Martha couldn't recall when she had ever seen the stars this bright before. 

Martha's eyes widened. A flatbed truck sat there in front of them, its engine idle, waiting. "How come you can drive? Don't you get stopped?" She settled a hand on the bonnet of the cab. Still warm.

"Medical staff," Milligan explained as he shoved his hands in his pockets for his keys. "Used to be in pediatrics back in the old days. But that gives me a license to travel so I can help out at the labor camps."

"Great," Martha muttered. The corner of her mouth tugged upwards. "I'm traveling with a doctor." She gave Davidson a wary look.

Davidson raised both hands. "Me? No, no, but Torchwood made my cover: former dentist so I can travel with him." He opened the passenger door and offered Martha a hand. 

"Just don't ask me to pull out any teeth," Davidson added as he climbed in behind her. "I don't accept most insurances."

Martha chuckled. "All right, thanks for the warning."

The driver side door creaked open. The truck jostled as Milligan climbed onboard.

Milligan studied her as if he wasn't sure if he wanted her in his vehicle or not. "Story goes, that you're the only person on Earth who can kill him." 

Martha bit back a sigh. She just nodded curtly as she sat between the two men.

"I didn't realize you were such a brilliant conversationalist, Milligan," Davidson muttered next to Martha.

Milligan ignored him as he studied Martha. There was hope in his eyes warring with months of witnessing the opposite. "People say you, and you alone, can kill the Master stone dead."

Martha stared at Milligan. There was a time she might have thought him cute, that his dogged determination might have made him that much more attractive. Now, Martha could only feel regret. Who might Milligan have been before Saxon? Or Davidson?

What a fucking waste.

Her hands curled tighter around the thermos and Martha tore her gaze away to look out front. "Let's just drive," she said flatly.

 

**Valiant**

The music blaring reminded Francine of the music Leo used to listen to before he married and moved away. She made a face as she set the tray down and set up the two place settings. God, it grated her hearing. It was a garbled mess of metal and shrill screaming about living and dying and heaven. It was piped throughout the ship early morning to announce the Master's arrival and like a starter pistol, the staff scurried to get breakfast and the satellite reports all ready and waiting.

The doors crashed open to announce Saxon.

"Last chance, Doctor!" Saxon declared as he strode in with his wife trailing behind him in a sleek red gown. Lucy stood out like a vivid fresh bloodstain. 

Francine grimaced to herself. She backed away from the head of the table with her tray as Saxon approached the front of the bridge. 

The Master stopped by the tent with its straw flooring and the large bowl marked 'Dog' that Francine wanted so to kick. 

"Hello, hello! Wakey, wakey, Doctor!" Saxon flapped his hand on the newly erected tent. The fragile material flapped madly under the onslaught. 

The Master pulled Lucy to his side and she leaned into him as if she wanted to curl around him like a serpent. Her smug face hid itself into Saxon's shoulder and the Master kissed the top of her long golden hair.

"Unseal him," the Master commanded in a low voice. "I'm asking one last time."

Again, as it had been for the past few hours, the reed thin floated out of the tent.

"No."

"Do you actually think hiding him in his own mind would ever stop me?" the Master mused, smiling as if a pet just sat up prettily for him. He stepped away from Lucy to approach the tent. 

"The vortex is denied to you now, isn't it?"

Francine winced at the taunt slithering out of the tent. She wondered if the Doctor would sound like that if he could see Saxon pale suddenly with rage. 

"That is of little concern," the Master dismissed but Francine could see his hand tremble as Saxon waved it off.

"No vortex, no power. Do you feel like you're growing smaller and smaller again, the universe expanding bigger around you?"

Lucy Saxon fidgeted. She wrapped her arms around herself and gave Saxon's back a wide-eyed look. 

"All those answers denied to you once more. How does it feel when it seems like you can do nothing?"

Doctor shut up, Francine pleaded as she stood by the table, her tray left forgotten now. She watched with huge eyes, ice growing in the pit of her stomach as Saxon shook. Even Lucy backed away a step.

Francine couldn't watch as Saxon tugged the old Doctor out of his shelter and dumped him in his wheelchair. With a whoop, Saxon pushed him around the bridge like a child with a toy cart. Round and round, faster and faster. When they finally stopped by one of the viewing windows, Francine could see the Doctor's hands clutching the armrests. Even Lucy Saxon leaned against the wall, breathless.

Saxon hunched over the Doctor.

"Nothing? Take a look, old friend. The new Time Lord Empire," the Master breathed as the trio gazed out the window. Francine could see the dots of Toclafane flying by.

"It's good, isn't it? Isn't it good?" Saxon clapped a hand hard on the Doctor's shoulder. 

"Anything?" the Master asked but he was ignored. "No? Anything?" 

The Doctor was silent, his head fixed towards the window. 

"Oh," the Master pretended to bemoan, "but they broke your hearts, didn't they?" Saxon shook his head and gave a dramatic sigh. "Those Toclafane, ever since you worked out what they really are." 

Francine stared out the window closest to her and frowned. What was Saxon talking about?

"Lucy despaired too when she realized, didn't you, darling?" 

The blood red shadow that stood behind the two men nodded. She hugged herself and said nothing.

"When did you realize, Doctor?" the Master clasped both hands on either side of the Doctor's shoulders.

"When did you first mourn for the Toclafane? When did you wish you could help them? When did you first realize what you left behind in _Jack_?"

Francine's brow knitted together. The Master sounded almost like he was asleep, entranced as he stared out the window.

"Unseal him, Doctor. Think of what can be done with all that power. It's wasted on an abomination like him."

" _You're_ the abomination," the Doctor snarled. He tried to push the Master's hands away, but Saxon pressed down on his shoulders. The Doctor grunted.

"We could feed on him together," the Master intoned.

Lucy made some sort of strangled noise.

"No." The Doctor sounded horrified.

"Imagine it, Doctor." The Master stared out the window. Francine was frozen by the table, her eyes on the two men by the window. 

"Imagine him writhing underneath you as we drain him together, every last drop of him and knowing all that glorious power will be waiting for you again in just a few hours."

"Harry," Lucy whispered. She sounded close to tears.

Saxon ignored her as he continued. "How could you not have tasted it? It bleeds out of him, begging to be taken, to be devoured, to be utilized in rejuvenating the Empire!"

"The Time Lords would have never wanted the Empire like this."

The Master scoffed. "And look how well they fared? Forgotten atoms in space now, save us."

"Master…" the Doctor growled.

"Unseal him!" The wheelchair rattled. "Unseal him and I'll show you. That weariness in your bones will be gone. You'll see. You'll see how we can revive the Empire. You won't have to be alone any more."

Francine shook when the Doctor didn't respond. She looked away, at the table. The empty plates and silverware mocked her. Her reflection warped into hundreds of tiny faces.

"You're old, Doctor. Long before I used Lazarus on you, you felt time stretched thin inside you, didn't you? I can show you how to make it all go away." 

Silent, the Doctor stared out the window.

Encouraged, Saxon went on. "Ever infinity, Doctor. We could reshape matter itself. Strip the freak of the vortex; that pitiful little human soul vainly trying to hold on to the vortex, as if such primitive forms can ever understand its majesty. If only you knew how it felt—feeling that spirit bucking under you, trying to fight, but oh, the _glory_ …unseal him, Doctor!"

Francine bit her lower lip. 

The Doctor finally turned away from the window and looked up at the Master.

"Do you still hear the drumming?" the Doctor rasped.

The Master snarled wordlessly and he pushed the wheelchair away. It rolled back past Lucy, past Francine before she could catch him and struck a wall. 

The Doctor merely cackled. 

The Master stalked over and slammed his hands to the wall on either side of the Doctor's head. He smirked.

"They say," the Master drawled, "Martha Jones has come back home."

Francine froze. Martha? 

"Now why would she do that?"

The Doctor stopped laughing. He narrowed his eyes. "Leave her alone."

"But you said something to her, didn't you? On the day I took control. What did you tell her?" the Master paused. "Wait, don't tell me. Let's not ruin the surprise." His mouth stretched thinly across his face. 

Francine set her hands on the table to brace herself. Everyone around her was paralyzed in his or her tracks. 

"I have one thing to say to you," the Doctor whispered. He met the Master's eyes with a defiance that made the Master's smile waver. "You know what it is."

The Master, for some reason, chuckled. 

"Actually, I do." Saxon sobered quickly and stepped away from the Doctor. "Do you want me to tell her what it is before I slit her throat on live telly? Or should you?"

The knife was in her hand before Francine realized it. Someone shouted. Lucy shouted, but Francine was already lunging for Saxon with the knife in her fist.

Saxon looked stunned, motionless as Francine charged, screaming. Her arm rose and sailed down towards his face.

Her wrist was caught mid-strike. 

Lucy Saxon stood nose to nose with her, face twisted, her delicate hands as red as her dress as she clutched the tip of the blade with both hands. 

Saxon stared coolly at her, not even blinking at the knife inches from his left eye or Lucy shaking in front of him.

"Well," Saxon drawled. "That certainly wasn't part of the script." 

"Leave Martha alone," Francine cried out. She tried to force her hand down but the guards came up from behind and wrenched her back. The blade scattered to the floor and Lucy pressed her hands to her chest. 

Saxon settled a hand on Lucy's back and he tsked at her cut hands.

"Sweet Lucy," Saxon murmured. He kissed her on her right cheek. "Ever loyal, dear Lucy."

Francine kicked towards Saxon as she was dragged away. Damn it! "You leave my daughter alone, Saxon, you miserable monster!"

"Do you see this, Doctor?" Saxon waved towards Francine. 

"Is this what you bring to all those lives you cross?" the Master asked as he draped his hand over Lucy's shoulders. His wife sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. Saxon pulled out his odd instrument and pointed it towards Francine.

"Master!"

A high-pitched whine sailed across and landed on her foot. Grazed her ankle, really. Francine dropped as fire raced up her leg.

"Say you're sorry," Saxon asked in a bored voice.

Francine glowered up at him.

"Maybe if we bring pretty Tish in here as well, you'll be sorry."

Francine caught the Doctor shaking his head at her behind Saxon. She gritted her teeth and bowed her head.

"Sorry," Francine bit out. She blinked rapidly at the marble floor. "Sorry."

The Master harrumphed. "I'd always wondered if you were sorry you tried or sorry you failed, Francine Jones."

Francine didn't know what Saxon was talking about. She kept her head down, her fists to her chest to try and will the tears brimming in her eyes not to spill. 

"Master, leave her alone."

"Fine," the Master sighed. He sounded bored. "I'm feeling a bit benevolent. One more time, Doctor. Unseal him."

The Doctor clamped his mouth shut but he cast a look over to Francine.

The Master snorted. "Her? Not worth torturing any of them to convince you. They're too fragile to last five minutes. Waste of the help. No…you will agree because of what I can show you, Doctor."

"I have no interest in the vortex," the Doctor muttered, but Francine saw his shoulders relaxing at the Master's remark. Francine swallowed as well. The guards needed to physically haul her up because her legs was all of the sudden too wobbly.

"He'll come out anyway," the Master decided. "He'll come out."

"Not for you."

Saxon's nostrils flared but then as quick as an eye blink, his face morphed to something akin to pleasant, like a stranger greeting someone on the street, except his eyes were feral.

"Perhaps you're right," the Master purred. He wiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb and sneered. "It is morning now. Many will be awake now. All those hopeful faces." He reached back a hand and Lucy Saxon grabbed it with such quick eagerness, it was pathetic to witness.

The Master looked at the guards holding Francine.

"Lock the whole Jones lot up. Set up monitors in their cell and the captain's as well." The Master clapped his hands together and Lucy hurried over to pull out his chair for him to sit.

Saxon swiveled in his chair until he faced the upper bridge deck.

"Let's make an announcement to my people. A broadcast from their Master! Hm…Twenty? No, no, better make it twenty one hundred. This will _definitely_ be post watershed content." Saxon spun back to face the Doctor.

"You may be right," Saxon announced. "He won't come out for me." He folded his hands together in mock prayer and touched his smiling mouth with his clasped hands.

"But maybe for you, _Doctor_." 

 

**Torchwood, Cardiff**

_"My people. Salutations on this, the eve of war. Lovely woman. But I know there's all sorts of whispers down there._

_Stories of a child, walking the Earth, giving you hope.”_ The Master walks to stand beside the Doctor.

_“But I ask you…how much hope has this man got? Say hello, Gandalf. Except he's not that old but he's an alien with a much greater lifespan than you stunted, little apes. What if it showed? What if I suspend your capacity to regenerate? All nine hundred years of your life, Doctor. What if we could see them?_

_Older and older and older._

_Down you go, Doctor. Down, down, down you go. Doctor._

_Received and understood, Miss Jones?"_

Gwen stared at the laptop, at the large-eyed creature shakily coming out of the mound of pinstripe wool. It suddenly seemed colder in the Hub. The dark was suffocating. Seeing the Doctor in his wheelchair was a shock already, but _this_?

"Nine hundred? Shit," Owen breathed from behind her. He huddled closed to her to gawk at the laptop. " _Shit_."

"God," Ianto murmured. He covered his mouth with a cupped hand.

Gwen could only stare as the transmission flickered and died.

What were they going to do now?

 

**Act V:** _"Know your enemy."_  
 **Nuclear Plant Seven**

Everyone was staring at the back of her head. Martha could sense it without looking.

"Sorry," Davidson murmured after the broadcast ended. Milligan did the same. They stirred restlessly behind her. They didn't know what else to say to her.

The old monitor looked like it was already a relic well before Saxon, garbled and unclear. The sound squawked and syllables were lost during the transmission.

But Martha saw all she needed.

"The Doctor's still alive," Martha said to herself. Her eyes burned mildly but the uncomfortable vise around her chest loosened. She hadn't been sure for the whole year. The telegrams weren't enough to ease her mind. Seeing him, even in his current state, made the aches lingering deep in her body go away. Martha smiled tightly to herself as she touched the tiny lump under her shirt.

Docherty lost all her sardonic attitude, stunned to docility by Saxon's broadcast. She had a face that must have been kind once but harsh living had carved her laugh lines deeper, making her more austere. Martha touched her own face. She hadn't looked at herself the whole year. She was afraid to. Now, looking at Docherty, Martha wanted to ask for a mirror.

Layers of worn clothing rustled as Docherty fidgeted and shuffled back to her mess of tools, her handmade sanctuary of blips and sparks.

"Obviously the Archangel Network would seem to be the Master's greatest weakness," Docherty reported shakily. Her hands hidden in fingerless gloves too big for her shook as she caressed her silent computer screen like a child. "Fifteen satellites all around Earth, still transmitting." 

"And here I thought reality shows would be our downfall," Davidson muttered to himself. "Thought for sure _Big Brother_ would ruin us all."

Docherty grunted. She waved a wrench towards Davidson like he was a gnat. "That's why there's so little resistance. It's broadcasting a telepathic signal that keeps people scared."

"We could just take them out," Milligan suggested.

Martha saw Docherty roll her eyes at him. "We could," she agreed in dry reply. "Fifteen ground-to-air missiles."

Davidson sighed. "I doubt Torchwood have any." He shot Martha a weak smirk. "Do you have any besides that invisible necklace with you?"

The weight of the crystal inside her shirt reassured her. It was the last thing the Doctor ever made, the last thing he touched. At mention, Martha's right hand automatically went for it.

"No, sorry." Martha brushed a finger on the inactive monitor. There was no glimpse of anyone from her family or Jack. She wondered if Torchwood was watching, too. 

"Torchwood?"

Damn it. Martha schooled a smile to Docherty. "Nothing," Martha said, careful to sound casual. She shot Davidson a warning look which he returned with a blank one. "Just a code name for one of the resistance groups."

Thankfully Docherty didn't appear to notice Davidson and Milligan's baffled looks to each other. Lord, boys can be so stupid sometimes.

"What about those rockets Saxon's building?" Martha asked quickly when Docherty frowned to herself. Sure enough, the woman rolled her eyes again.

"Not the kind of rockets we need," Docherty said. Annoyance crossed her face and Martha wondered if the Doctor ever looked like that when he received a daft question like that. 

"Besides," Docherty went on for the sake of trying to appear patient, "any military action, the Toclafane descend."

"They're not called Toclafane," Martha interrupted, her voice harsher than necessary. "That's a name the Master made up."

"Then what are they, then?" Docherty shot back, irritated. She looked like she wanted to swing the wrench back towards them again. Or maybe throw it at them. 

The familiar mixture of challenge and doubt stared back at Martha. Martha resisted the urge to smile, not that it was funny. She knew, expected, it would take some convincing. It was ironic she was going against her own legend: the great Martha Jones.

"That's why I came to find you," Martha said carefully. "Know your enemy." Martha pulled out the CD she slept with close to her heart since South Africa. "I've got this." 

It was with reluctance after weeks of safeguarding it that she gave the disc to Davidson to pass on to Docherty. Martha automatically took a step closer to the woman, her eyes glued to the shiny circle.

"No one's been able to look at a sphere close up," Martha explained. She stayed by the professor's right as the woman pulled wires and yanked out a keyboard. The look on the woman's face changed to one of piqued interest. Martha fought the temptation to call her 'Professor'. That title had too many reminders attached to it. 

"They can't even be damaged. Except once." Martha folded her arms in front of her. She still remembered the survivors of the lab who made the discovery. 

"A lightning strike in South Africa brought one of them down. Just by chance." Martha nodded towards the CD Docherty held up for inspection. "I've got the readings on this."

"And why didn't you ask the ones who made the readings?" Davidson wanted to know.

Martha set her mouth. "Because I couldn't." She had wanted so much to bring them back to Britain with her. Martha rubbed her left palm on her thigh. The shovel she used to dig their graves had cut into her hand. The scar was hidden under the fingerless gloves Daniel had given her but it still itched at the memory of dry dirt surrounding her like a dust cloud each time she stuck the shovel into the ground.

Whatever Davidson saw gave him the answer. His mouth snapped shut and he stared at her with large eyes.

Docherty chose not to question as well and she slipped the CD into the tray of her computer. Her computer swallowed it up and her monitor hummed. Then it squawked.

"Stupid…" Docherty gave her computer a few good whacks on the monitor before a logo appeared.

"Oh, whoever thought we'd miss Bill Gates."

"Actually, I prefer Macintosh," Davidson muttered but his eyes were glued to the screen.

Milligan chewed his lower lip, his brow furrowed.

"So is that why you traveled the world?" Milligan pointed towards the screen. "To find a disc?"

"No." Martha shrugged. "Just got lucky." Martha averted her gaze. She was the one who always got lucky. 

Docherty glanced over her shoulder at Martha. "I heard stories that you walked the Earth to find a way to build a weapon."

Martha smiled to herself. It could be called that.

"There!" Docherty jabbed a finger at her streaked monitor. "A current of 58.5 kilo amperes transferred charge of five hundred and ten megajoules precisely.

Milligan crowded Martha and the professor. "Can you recreate that?" he asked, his eyes brighter now.

Still staring at the computer, Docherty nodded. "I think so. Easily, yes."

Martha wished she could feel what the two men were feeling—their faces' shadows receded quickly—but after seeing the Doctor was still alive, frankly, Martha couldn't feel anything else. It was too exhausting to go from one emotion to the next. It had been generally a state of _left foot, right foot_ all year and that spark of elation Martha felt seeing the Doctor was tempered by the sheer exhaustion that made smiling a chore. She still recognized what the CD promised though; she forced herself to grin at the hope that melted the years off the men's faces and clap Milligan by the arm.

"All right then, Dr Milligan, we're gonna get us a sphere."

 

**Torchwood, Cardiff**

After the telegraph stopped clicking, Ianto checked the message he had written down again. The ledger pad sat by his crossed legs on the cool, damp ground, barely legible by the dying kerosene lamp.

' _MJ on shore_.'

Ianto sighed. Martha was finally here and hopefully on her way, if not already, to Professor Docherty's with Andy and Tom. But the flutter in his belly was no longer for Martha's arrival, but for what he just saw minutes before.

"Nine hundred," Ianto murmured to himself. He covered his face with both hands. He didn't know what was the normal lifespan of a Time Lord but it looked like according to Saxon, nine hundred was pretty close to the end.

"Christ." The word whooshed out heavily. Ianto knew Gwen and Owen were still in shock, puttering around in the Hub aimlessly because until they heard from Martha, there was nothing else they could do. What could Martha possibly be thinking right now after that transmission? Or Tosh? Or— _God_ —or Jack?

"Jack," Ianto whispered. His face crumbled then smoothed out as he fought for composure. His hands curled harshly on his face and he breathed sharply through his teeth before it felt safe to look up again. 

When Ianto lowered his hands, Ianto spied a tiny shadow by the telegraph. It quivered in the dark, too small to be of anything worth being alarmed over. It would easily fit in his palm if Ianto were to reach over and snatch it. Not that he would. He'd seen enough of them scurry about down in the vaults to deem them harmless. 

The kerosene lamp by the telegraph flickered brighter as it struggled to burn what little fuel was left. The room lightened, confirming Ianto's suspicions.

"I'm afraid there's not much food here," Ianto told the small house mouse that stood on its hind legs, its front paws bent and tucked under its chin and silvery white whiskers.

It was a rather healthy looking mouse with its dark brown short fur that reminded Ianto of shiny coffee beans, large petal shaped ears folded back to its head and a white furred belly that gleamed almost blue in the lamplight. It tilted its head and its whiskers quivered. Its huge brown eyes blinked at Ianto. 

"Don't worry," Ianto murmured when its tail curled close to itself at his voice, "I won't hurt you. There are bigger things to fear out there. I think humanity is the last thing you need to worry about right now."

The tail flicked away from its body, the ears perked up and the creature scampered forward into the light.

"Hello," Ianto rasped when it approached closer to his right foot.

_"Hello,"_ the mouse replied pleasantly enough.

"Shit!" Ianto yelped, kicking out his right foot and it went zipping through the spot where the mouse stood. Ianto scrambled backwards, sliding on his bum a few inches before he stopped.

The mouse was still there only now it was curled up into a tight ball of fluffed fur the size of a golf ball, its front paws over its eyes, ears flat over its head, tail wound tightly around itself.

And it was still talking.

_"…stupid apes! Always promising you are harmless then you go lashing out at every life form that tries to offer salutations with such brute manners. Very contradictory to what your deep space probe Xavier V was promising that you're a peaceful race. Although you humans really should have programmed it better because it crashed into my TARDIS just when I was having my tea and my ship was so very cross with me for forgetting her shields again, she brewed the most horrid smelling herbal tea all mon—"_

"D-doctor?" Ianto gasped. It was slightly higher pitched but the voice, or at least the rambling, was unmistakable.

The ranting stopped. The tail unfurled and the paws lowered from its chocolate brown eyes.

_"Are you going to kick me again?"_ the Doctor asked warily. The furry pink nose wiggled. _"Although I should expect no less. You did punch me once."_

Ianto stared. It was unnerving to see comprehensible words coming out of the tiny mouth. Every other word came out in a whistled lisp due to tiny teeth in a mouth meant to nibble, not converse. Thankfully, the mouse, or Doctor or whatever didn't come closer.

"T-that didn't hurt you. It couldn't have," Ianto managed. He looked around the quarters but there was no other shadow. He swallowed back the lump in his throat. "I'm asleep again, aren't I? You're just a mental projection—granted, a very odd mental projection—so that didn't hurt you."

The whiskers vibrated in uncanny human annoyance. 

_"And how would you react if you're only two point four three centimeters tall and a size forty-six shoe comes thundering down on top of you?"_

Good point but Ianto still protested feebly. "M-my shoe size isn't forty-six."

_"Are you cross because I underestimated or overestimated? You do know that it's only a myth that a human male's shoe size is relative to the size of his—"_

"Doctor!" Ianto yelped again, his ears burning. There was an urge to kick the Doctor again, regardless of what the Time Lord had said. 

The furry head cocked to consider him, its ears perked up in a very mousy fashion.

_"Yes?"_

Ianto waved towards the current, short and very furry, Doctor. Good Lord. To think he was going to offer it a treat!

"Why…how…I thought Jack was the only one who had a connection with…with…" Ianto couldn't finish.

_"Normally that's true, but your vicinity to the Rift has left you receptive to numerous types of psychic communications. It gave me the perfect opportunity to borrow your current link with Jack to piggyback an alpha wave back to you telepathically."_

Ianto understood enough of it to scowl at the creature. "So, what you're saying is you _hacked_ into our link?" He wasn't sure how he should feel about that.

The mouse did a little jig and clapped with its front paws. _"Yes, yes! That's a very good word! That's exactly I did! I hacked!"_

Laughing mice were truly disturbing to witness. Its fur quivered as if at any moment the mouse would spring up and plaster itself onto his face. Ianto edged away from the mouse-Doctor hybrid an inch more. Just in case.

"Okay, so you… _hacked_ into our link," Ianto said when it looked like the mouse, er, the Doctor was going to launch into an anecdote on whatever this bizarre turn of events reminded him of. 

"Why me and why… _that_?" Ianto gestured towards the creature by his knee. Only a projection, Ianto told himself. You didn't fall down a rabbit hole. Don't swat the Time Lord away. Only a projection. Only a projection.

The soft ears did a funny wiggle and the mouse uncurled back into its tiny sleek form. With a light and almost bouncy stride, the mouse/Doctor approached until it got to Ianto's left knee.

_"I couldn't manage a full biological projection without compromising our connection through my TARDIS because of my current downgraded physical state. So I substituted the neurological template for a smaller facsimile that was native to your environment so if we were detected, I would be dismissed as part of the surroundings."_

The Doctor finished with a final squeaked syllable and the mouse sat down on all fours and lifted its round brown eyes up expectedly at Ianto as if waiting for applause.

Ianto's mouth snapped shut. "Oh…I see." He did. Sort of. Maybe. "Because you're nine hundred years old now?"

The pointy snout wrinkled and little front paws flapped at him in a shooing fashion.

_"Really, weren't you taught it was rude to mention one's age?"_

"Saxon broadcast it everywhere," Ianto pointed out.

The whiskers drooped a little. _"Yes. Can't be helped, I'm afraid. He wanted all of you, including Martha to see."_ The mouse raised its head.

_"She's here, isn't she?"_

"Yes, landed just a few hours ago so she would have seen the broadcast."

Ianto regretted saying anything. He felt like a heel when the mouse shivered. He ran the tip of his tongue across his lower lip. "Um…Are…are you all right?"

_"Hm? Me? Oh yes—well, the Master has me in a birdcage, but aside from some age acceleration, I am well. Nothing's changed. The plan still goes as planned."_

"Nothing's _changed_?" Ianto choked. "You're…Doctor, you're a _rat_."

Its fur stood on end. The mouse stood up on two feet like a prairie dog. _"I am most certainly not! The rat is a completely different genus! I'm not part of Rattus! Mus musculus is what I am! I'm of healthy weight, sleek fur, quite clean, pleasing fur coloration, male and oh—hold on."_

Ianto raised an eyebrow as the Doctor's thin tail curled up in the air and the Doctor twisted his head around. The mouse/Doctor made a tiny and very mouse-like squeak, tail shooting up like an antenna and whiskers bristling straight.

_"I can't believe it! She did it to me again!"_ The mouse chattered in a rapid-fire of squeaks as it waved its front paws in the air as if it was berating something. 

"Uh…Doctor?"

A mouse sighing was just as strange to behold. It looked like a ball of lint that just shrank. 

_"Oh, never mind. Yes, nothing's changed despite this. Once Martha's with you, I need you three and Martha to go get Jack—"_

Ianto leaned forward. "Wait. Have you seen him? Is he all right?"

The whiskers sagged to the ground now.

"Doctor?" Ianto bit his lower lip. "Is Jack okay?"

_"No,"_ the Doctor sighed. _"Not really. But he is where Saxon can't hurt him now."_

"I…I don't understand."

_"I sent Jack deep within his own mind."_

Ianto screwed up his face. "Pardon? He's asleep?"

The mouse shook its head.

"Is it like before? A mental block?"

_"Not really."_ The mouse looked ridiculous when it folded its short, fat front legs across its chest in a gesture of deep thought. _"A…how would you call it? Ah yes…coma is what I think this century calls it."_

"A _coma_?"

_"Oh, no, no, no, not really, but sort of. Not quite. Similar. Close."_

Ianto thought for sure his chest was going to burst. "So Jack's aware of his surroundings?"

_"Not really."_

"Can he move?"

_"Not at the moment. Not on his own, no."_

"Can he talk to us?"

_"Hmm, doubtful."_

Ianto glared at the mouse. "That fits within the parameters of a coma, sir." He wondered how bad it would be really to indulge in one good stomp. Mental projection, right?

The mouse's whiskers whipped back up and brown eyes squinted at Ianto as if it had read Ianto's mind. Ianto swallowed and wiggled back another inch away from it.

_"Look, he's…he's in a sort of trance. In his state, Saxon can't do anything to him at this point."_

Ianto averted his gaze. "He still can…physically." 

_"He's left Jack alone, Ianto Jones."_

Ianto couldn't look at the mouse. He blinked until his vision cleared before he faced forward.

Whiskers drooped again. The mouse's chin nearly touched the ground.

_"I've done all I can."_

Ianto took a deep breath. "Yes, of course. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply…" Ianto dropped his head. "Jack was here before. He told me you tried to get him off the ship. Is that why Saxon…"

_"The Master is a bit miffed at me. That was part of the reason, yes. I thought if I adopted a more conciliatory tone with Lucy Saxon, I could get her to help us."_ The mouse skipped closer. It craned its neck to look up at Ianto with intense warm eyes.

"Saxon's wife?" Brow furrowing, Ianto folded his arms. "You choose the strangest allies, sir."

_"Yes, well, I had to try."_ The mouse sat down into a puff of fur. The ears pulled back. _"Saxon and his wife are far too gone. They've dissevered themselves from logic and reason. The vortex has been feeding on the dark spots in their minds. The Master's blinded by his own narcissism that what he's doing is right. Madness. Absolute pure madness."_ Fur ruffled as the mouse shivered. 

Ianto couldn't find an ounce of sympathy for the pair and the sympathetic tone the Doctor wore made his lips press into a thin line.

"You're still thinking about saving Saxon."

The mouse looked up unblinking. _"I want to try."_

"After all he's done, after everything he has put Jack through—"

_"I said I wanted to try, Ianto Jones."_ The high-pitched quality vanished and it felt like the Doctor's voice echoed everywhere. _"Try. If all else fails…I don't give second chances."_

Ianto gulped and nodded wordlessly.

Tiny paws paced silently on the concrete floor as the mouse walked around in a circle before it stopped.

Ianto cleared his throat carefully.

"Doctor?"

The mouse stopped and stared at Ianto with an unnerving bright-eyed intensity.

"Before…we…you suggested that Jack's timeline had been tampered with. Changed, you mean?"

The tiny nod made his insides knot.

"Do you think…" Ianto found it hard to speak. "Do you think Jack was never suppose to be here… with m—us?"

The eyes were unusually dark and warm. The mouse lightly trotted closer to him.

_"I'm sorry, but I just don't know. I would…usually, but the Master's corrupted the timeline so much, everything's clouded…I…I just don't know."_

"Oh." Ianto looked down at the frayed hem of his jeans. Gwen had patched up the knees as the material wore thin but it was getting clear the denim was barely staying together. He couldn't bring himself to bin it though.

The mouse exhaled low. It sounded sad. The thin tail wound around its body.

_"I've found in all my years that the universe, in all its intricacies and follies, has a brilliant way of sorting out its timelines and conclusions."_

Ianto frowned at the Doctor.

Tiny paws rubbed at its soft face before the mouse looked up and clarified. 

_"Things have a way of working themselves out."_

Ianto gave the Doctor a wan smile and nodded. "Are you going to try and get Jack out again?" Ianto asked after a moment's hesitation. He lowered his eyes when the small furry head shook a negative. "Oh."

_"Lucy Saxon will not listen to me any more. We're nearly there though. With Martha here and the rockets near completion, our deadline is down to hours now instead of days or weeks."_

Ianto could only nod again. He could hear the pounding in his ears. Ianto rubbed his palms on his trousers.

"So we sneak into the Valiant, find Jack and…" Ianto bit his lower lip. "We were planning to destroy the satellites then kill…" He clamped his mouth shut.

The mouse's eyes were almost black. _"Leave Saxon and the Archangel network to me."_

Ianto stared. "Not trying to be rude, sir, but you're _nine hundred_ years old. You can't expect—"

_"Leave Saxon to me."_

The tone was once again pure Time Lord and its sonorous tone reverberated inside Ianto's head. Ianto's mouth was partially opened as he stared at eyes that were as dark and endless as the dying Utopian night sky.

"What…what about the satellites?"

_"Your Toshiko Sato will be handling that."_

Tosh? A chill danced up his arms. "How?"

_"I can not say."_

"And what about you?"

_"Jack will see to me."_

"How? You said he was in a coma."

_"That's why I need you up there with Martha. Find Jack. Find Toshiko Sato. I'll be all right."_

There were so many questions Ianto wanted to ask. He opened his mouth to ask when the mouse gave a full body shiver.

"Doctor?"

The mouse's fur seemed to gray in front of him.

_"The TARDIS can't keep this up. Time, like me, is currently short. No more questions. I need you to pay very close attention, Ianto Jones. Everyone on the Valiant has a part. When the time comes, I need you to get Jack. He'll know what to do next."_

Ianto met the tiny face's solemn gaze. He nodded then he paused.

"How will I know when the time comes?"

The mouse merely stared.

Ianto rolled his eyes. "Let me guess. I'll know."

Little paws clapped and the urge to flick at it made Ianto's fingers twitch.

_"Now, you still have his wrist strap, yes? Good, that's good. Now remember these instructions and memorize the coordinates. Pay attention now…"_

Ianto wasn't sure how long it took. The Doctor made him recite the directions over and over again and he was still repeating them when he woke up an indefinable time later and found his head pillowed by his bent right arm by the telegraph. Owen sat across from him cross legged on the floor with the kerosene lamp in-between them, wearing a scowl on his face.

Ianto gazed up at him with bleary eyes. "Oh," he mumbled and sat up. He checked the floor. No mouse. No Jack either.

"I'm calling you narcolepsy boy from now on," Owen declared. He didn't move from his seated position. He narrowed his eyes, tracking Ianto as he sat up. "You're lucky you didn't hit your head." 

Ianto ignored him. As soon as he sighted the ledger pad he scribbled the telegrams on, Ianto tore a clean page out of it and frantically wrote down everything he could remember. Done, Ianto squinted myopically at his handwriting and read it in a mumble to test how it sounded in his ear. Satisfied, Ianto thrust it at Owen's face.

"I don't want no stinking love letter from you," Owen griped but he took it anyway. He held the paper to his nose. His eyes widened. Owen lowered the paper and stared at Ianto.

"Jack?"

He wished. Ianto shook his head. "The Doctor actually."

"The _Doctor_? What are you? A two legged IM? Should I call you Ping boy instead?"

Ianto glared at him. "It's difficult to explain."

Owen held up a hand. "Then I don't want to hear it." He looked at the paper in his hand again. "So…h-he's all right then? Nine hundred years old, short as a gnome and he can still—"

"Yeah," Ianto murmured. He spied Owen's shoulders relaxing.

"Well…fuck," Owen breathed. He unfolded his legs and stood up. There was a smirk on his face when he met Ianto's eyes. "Better hold on to this, narco boy."

Ianto scowled but took care not to tear the paper. "I think I liked Jonesy better, Harper."

"Tough," was Owen's reply. He still appeared in a bit of shock. Owen rubbed the back of his neck.

"This is good." Owen phrased it almost as if he was afraid to make it a question.

Ianto just nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Owen folded his arms together. He pursed his mouth in thought.

"This is good," Owen repeated. It looked like he was testing how it sounded.

"I think Gwen would want to know," Ianto suggested, his own mouth curving when Owen's mirrored in response, "this isn't over yet."

"In fact, I think we're just getting started."

 

**Valiant**

"I'm gonna kill him."

Toshiko tore her eyes away from the dark monitor that hung from the ceiling outside their cells. It was pointless to stare at it. Nothing more would be broadcast. She should be grateful for that. Toshiko flicked away the stubborn moisture out of the corners of her eyes.

"If I have to wait a hundred years, I'm going to kill the Master."

Toshiko drew closer to the fence that stood between her and the Jones family. She winced as she watched Clive bandage Francine's ankle with fresh gauze. 

"One day he'll let his guard down." Francine hissed and her foot jerked in Clive's careful grasp. Clive rubbed his palm on the heel of her foot in apology. "One day," Francine swore. Tosh wasn't sure if her voice was rough because of the pain or something else. Morbidly, Toshiko hoped it was the pain.

"And I'll be there." Francine bunched a fist and pressed it to her chest.

Toshiko turned around to sit against the fence. She blinked rapidly at the empty screen.

"No," Clive spoke up, "that's my job." He got up and sat down heavily next to Francine, behind Toshiko. "I swear to you. I'll shoot that man stone dead."

Toshiko smiled to herself when she heard Clive give Francine a kiss. Francine sighed deeply and huddled against Clive.

"I'll get him," Tish suddenly said after being silent for so long. The bed she sat on creaked. Her voice was still wispy with shock. "Even if it kills me."

"Don't say that," Toshiko murmured. She closed her eyes. It was strange, but hearing Tish made her feel so old." You don't mean that."

The fence vibrated when Tish leaned against it next to Francine, back to back with Toshiko. She sniffed.

"I mean it," Tish declared. Another sniff. "That man made us stand on deck and watch Japan burn. Millions of peo—"

" _Tish_!" Francine hissed.

There was a stunned silence before Tish gasped.

"Oh God, I-I'm sorry! I—"

"It's all right," Toshiko interrupted, her voice hoarse. It wasn't all right. Not really. 

The fence gave again when Tish slumped back against it.

Toshiko felt a finger poke through the fence to gingerly stroke her right shoulder.

"I'm fine, Francine," Toshiko murmured and Francine scoffed. 

"Child, none of us have been fine all these months…" Francine paused. "How long has it been now?"

"A year," Toshiko whispered, her eyes filling. She stared at the tick marks on the wall she had made with the tines of her fork when the guards brought in their meals. She wondered if the others on Earth did that, if they had meals everyday to mark time. She knew Jack didn't have that.

"God's strength," Clive swore. 

Toshiko stared hard at the floor and waited for the blurring to go away.

"The Doctor…" Francine began in a whisper. Toshiko checked the doors but the guard wasn't watching them. 

"It's done. I was to get that thing to Jack and go to the computer room, get into the Archangel controls again," Toshiko hushed, her mouth pressed to the fence. "This changes nothing." At Francine's disbelieving look, Toshiko amended, "Okay, maybe a little, but Jack—"

"Love, from what I saw of Jack Harkness," Francine interrupted, her eyes crinkled at her through the fence, "I don't know what it'll do to give that to him. Maybe we should—"

Toshiko shook her head. Her stomach churned at what Francine had described before. God, Jack. "It's good for only one shot. Just one. So it needs to count. And the Doctor thinks it will count…if I give it to Jack. Remember his messages? The Doctor said no matter what happens; make sure it gets to Jack. He'll know what to do."

Francine didn't agree or refute her. Her dark eyes shone through the fence at Toshiko, assessing, deciding. After a moment, Francine nodded even when it looked like she didn't want to.

"All right," Francine murmured, "we'll try it his way but if it doesn't work…I'm not standing by and letting Saxon put his filthy hands on my Martha."

"He won't get that chance, I promise you," Clive uttered darkly.

Toshiko observed Francine's determination that set her mouth into a hard thin line. She nodded.

"I swear to you, he's dead," Tish muttered to her mother in half-hearted defiance. 

Francine merely exhaled and guided her daughter's head into her lap. Weary, worn, Francine didn't argue and stroked her daughter's hair.

"He'll pay, mum. He has to." Tish sniffled and press her wet face to Francine's thigh.

Toshiko stared at the dark monitor outside her cell and thought about the Doctor, her friends and what Francine told her about Jack. Toshiko thought about the device finished and hidden in the lavatories across from the server room. 

"Don't worry," Toshiko said, more to herself. Just one more thing to do. One more.

"He _will_ pay."

 

**Act VI:** _"I'm a Time Lord. I have that right."_  
 **Valiant**

The Doctor looked pathetic all shriveled and small in his cage, just large enough for him to curl up on his side to sleep. The rusty cage hung above the banister that led to the upper deck of the bridge. 

Harry was sick and tired of all the people milling about, the constant reports of satellites drifting, work progress and weather updates. He dismissed them all from the bridge and as a joke, threw a rag over the cage like he would a songbird.

Harry patted Lucy’s arm tucked into the crook of his left elbow. He walked as if he was running and he shot her an impatient frown every time Lucy tripped in the hall. It was hard to see. Her left eye still burned vaguely from where Harry had struck her for her betrayal. He forgave her afterwards though and stayed with her through the night, murmuring in the dark how it would soon all be better.

The red gown Harry said suited her was too long and Lucy kept stepping on her own hem. But Harry wanted her to dress up nice for their meal. Dinner theater, Harry announced and they had dined as they watched their Toclafane gleefully chase seagulls into the _Valiant's_ engines.

Lucy said nothing as Harry steered her towards the bridge. She felt the tremors going up and down his arm. It echoed hers although the chills that plagued her, the extra sharp clarity that lingered after every feed had faded to memory by now. 

Harry stayed with her after his broadcast, but it was an empty victory as she watched her husband, her Master, pace their chambers until she fell asleep. Because she woke up with him on their bed besides her, Lucy said nothing and just pressed her face to his back until Harry roused and drowsily shooed her off.

"Tomorrow, they launch," Harry announced as he slapped the doors to the bridge open. He strode into the bridge with Lucy in tow. 

"We're opening up a rift in the Braccatolian space." Harry leaned closer to the cage. The dark rag was off the cage and on the floor next to his food dish. "They won't see us coming." 

Lucy imagined rockets like glittering birds sailing across the rift. Her arms pimpled with an odd cold/hot rush as she imagined the storm changing the face of her universe. It was like standing above a shattered canister of blue, timeless energy as it wafted up into her bones. Oh, the energy of the universe, the energy of being _right_. Lucy swayed when Harry let go of her arm.

"Kinda scary." Harry pretended to shiver as he stalked closer to the Doctor. He took great glee as he spoke, smiling as if he knew a secret he wanted so desperately to share.

Lucy watched the diminutive Doctor hobble with great difficulty towards the bars and he curled dark, age spotted fingers around his prison. 

"Then stop," the Doctor said in a voice wispier than before. She frowned at herself. Her belly stirred at how weak the Doctor sounded.

"Once the empire is established and there's a new Gallifrey in the heavens, maybe then… " Lucy watched her Master's eyes dull and the slick smile he bestowed the Doctor faltered, "it stops."

Lucy's throat worked when the Doctor glanced over to her over Harry's bowed head.

_It will never stop._

Lucy wasn't sure if the voice in her head was the Doctor's or her own. Lucy stiffened and glowered at the diminished Time Lord. She wouldn't be fooled into betraying Harry again. 

"The drumming," Harry murmured, his eyes staring past the Doctor. Lucy longed to reach out to the figure in black. Harry seemed to be farther and farther away with every passing minute.

Harry's face twisted, contorted; he looked nothing like the man who had rescued her far away in the TARDIS from her monotonous, senseless life. 

"The never-ending drumbeat." Harry staggered back to the large table. Harry shrugged Lucy's tentative hand away. He sat down at the edge of the table.

"Ever since I was a child." His fingers hammered lightly on the wood. _One-two-three-four. One-two-three-four._ Lucy's hands spasmed against her sides as she watched Harry's right hand stretched by his side. Tapping. Always tapping. 

"I looked into the vortex." Harry inhaled and it almost came out broken. "That's when it chose me." 

Fingers on the table grew louder. 

"The drumming, the call to war." 

Lucy tried to copy the beat but after a few repetitions, her fingers lost track.

Harry's feet were starting to mimic his fingers' _One-two-three-four_.

"Can't you hear it?" Harry breathed, his eyes bright with an almost wide-eyed innocence as he raised his gaze, "Listen…

Lucy tilted her head towards the table, her fingers twitching but failing to imitate perfectly.

"It's there now." Fingers began to sound like short barks of gunfire, mocking her failure. "Right now."

Lucy bit her lower lip as her fingers missed a beat of the tempo. She wanted to scream. Instead, she listened. Her eyes glazed over and she tried to let it consume her but it always stayed out of reach just along the edge of her consciousness. 

"Tell me you can hear it, Doctor."

I hear it, Lucy wanted to weep to her Master. I promise, I do. I hear it. 

"Tell me." It almost sounded like a plea.

The Doctor with his bald head and large eyes studied Harry before he said very carefully, "It's only you."

Harry stared at the Doctor. His hand came up to the cage.

"Not just me," her Master whispered.

"He can't hear it anymore," the Doctor replied. His voice no longer held the deep tenor that echoed in the bridge before. 

"But he heard it once."

Lucy averted her gaze at the strained voice.

"He heard it only because you made him hear it." The cage swayed as the Doctor gripped the bars. "It means nothing."

The Master stroked a hand on the cage.

"You look pathetic, old friend. How thin you must be feeling right now. A fragile thread ready to snap." Harry's mouth curved. "All those years. They can go away easily if—"

"No."

Lucy jumped when Harry roared wordlessly and shook the cage. She lost sight of the Doctor for a moment as he fell. Harry started and yanked his arms back.

"See what you've made me do?" Harry said with an unsteady voice. He tugged his jacket straight. His hands shook when he wiped his mouth with the back of his left hand. Harry took a deep breath and when he spoke again, his voice was calmer. "Why must you be so obstinate?" 

Lucy held her breath until the Doctor got up again. Trembling fingers caught the bars and with effort, the Doctor pulled himself up to stand. 

"I've made you do nothing," the Doctor returned breathlessly. "Your own desperation is unraveling your mind."

"Desperation?" Harry stuck his face nose to nose with the Time Lord. "I'm not desperate. You were. Using my poor, impressionable Lucy."

The Doctor spared her a glance that made her bristle. She wanted to knock the cage off its perch, wipe that pitying look off his face.

"It seems to be a habit of yours," Harry decided. He straightened and rejoined Lucy by the table. He surprised Lucy by dropping an arm over her shoulders and pulled her close.

"Using them." Lucy shivered at Harry's even words. "You do that a lot, don't you? Using your Companions until they're all spent, husked shells of their humanity."

"It was never my intention."

Lucy sighed as she rested her head on Harry's shoulder and felt a kiss on her temple. She smiled to herself.

"No," Harry agreed, "perhaps not, but it doesn't change the fact that you do; you use them, discard them, abandon them—"

"I'd never—"

"You did!" Harry stepped away from Lucy. He stood ramrod straight in front of the Doctor. 

"Didn't you ever wonder why our captain was so willing to accept me? Why it was inconceivable for him to think that I might not be…you?"

Lucy smirked when the Doctor fell silent.

"And that is why he's _my_ Companion."

Lucy's smile faded.

"You forfeited that right on a space station far into the future."

"I never meant—"

"But you did!" The Master spread his arms wide. "You did, Doctor, and as justified as you may feel or how hard you try to convince yourself of the contrary, you did. Left our Jack in a hollow metal grave simply because you feared the temptation of the vortex. Wrong, you called him. Wrong." Harry tapped a finger to his lower lip. 

The Doctor studied Harry carefully, like an artifact. Wizened, shriveled up to something non-threatening, the Doctor showed no fear when Harry approached closer.

"Nothing to say now, _Doctor_?" her Master taunted the Time Lord. Lucy bit back a snicker.

The Doctor met Harry's gaze.

"You called him Jack."

Lucy's chuckle died in her throat.

Harry's face was immovable. "So?" he returned with a deliberately casual tone.

"You never called him Jack before."

Something flitted across Harry's expression and he straightened abruptly. 

"You are mistaken, old friend." Harry sat on the table again next to Lucy, his arm stiff around her waist.

"I think not."

"What?" Harry's laugh was strange. "Nothing better to do than obsess over my lexis now?"

"You never took an interest in calling him by nam—"

Harry thrust his face at the cage. Lucy cringed but the Doctor held his ground.

"I shall call him whatever I like," Harry snarled. He slapped the cage lightly before he pivoted around to rejoin Lucy.

The Doctor tottered before he righted himself by holding the bars tight.

"But why call him Jack now? He hasn't called you Doctor, has he?"

There was no inflection in the Doctor's voice but there was something about it, that knowing tone that asked Harry yet never expected an answer because the Doctor already knew. Lucy wanted to smack the cage. She wanted to smack it hard. She wanted to smack the guards she knew were listening in outside, smack the creature strung up in the engine rooms who dared deny Harry, captured his attention and…and…

Lucy bunched her left hand into a fist and let the sharp bite of blood her nails drew bring her back to what she needed to focus on. Mustn't wander, Lucy told herself. Harry would be cross.

"Harry," Lucy murmured but she choked at whatever she was going to say when Harry's arm tightened around her.

Behind them, the door opened and Lucy heard the hum of one of their children floating over to them. 

_"Tomorrow, the war. Tomorrow we rise. Never to fall."_

Lucy shared a smile with her Harry. Tomorrow. Yes, it will be better tomorrow just like Harry promised.

"You see?" Harry swept his free arm towards the Toclafane with a broad arc. "I'm doing it for them! You should be grateful! After all, you love them. So very, very much."

The Doctor merely stared at the globe, his eyes dull as if in grief.

Harry chuckled as he hugged Lucy closer. "I took Lucy to Utopia, you know. A Time Lord and his human Companion."

Lucy's throat worked. Not Companion. His _wife_ , she wanted to say, but the words stuck in her throat. She merely rested her body against him, careful not to lean all her weight on him.

"I took her to see the stars. Isn't that right, sweetheart?"

Lucy whimpered to herself. She didn't want to remember the endless fall into despair. It was cold. It was a forever she couldn't bear to contemplate.

Harry's fingers dug into her side. Lucy flinched.

"Tell him, sweetheart," Harry hissed into her ear.

"Trillions of years into the future," Lucy found herself saying, "to the end of the universe." Oh, horrible, horrible end.

Harry kissed her cheek. "Go on," he encouraged. "Tell him what you saw."

Lucy drifted back to when she was curled on the floor of the TARDIS, when Harry took her into the safe confines of his mind. She had been screaming for hours until Harry saved her and peeled layers of Utopia away from her mind, until their intensity dimmed into fleeting memory.

"Dying," Lucy said dreamily. Harry's voice that day had pulled her out of the endless wailing and weeping. "Everything dying. The whole of creation was falling apart." Lucy blinked and Harry brushed his lips across her cheek, a God's promise. "And I thought…there's no point. No point to anything. Not ever."

"And it's all your fault," Harry concluded harshly.

Yes. It was the Doctor's fault. Lucy slipped one arm around Harry's back and dropped her head onto a strong shoulder. Spinning, spinning. She could feel herself spinning as she fell and there was a hunger to be one with the universe again, to know all the answers. In that moment, she instantly understood Harry's hunger for filthy Jack Harkness and his vortex. Her teeth ached as if they wanted to suck the marrow out of the beast's bones and drain him of a power he wasn't worthy of. Lucy licked her teeth and swallowed hard.

"All that human invention that had sustained them across the eons. It all turned inwards. They cannibalized themselves."

_"We made ourselves so pretty,"_ the Toclafane sang.

There were a few canisters left. Harry refused to leech the vortex from them. Maybe…maybe she could…

"Regressing into children." Harry's laugh was like knives pricking her ears. "Human race. Greatest monster of them all. But it didn't work. The universe was collapsing around them."

Lucy pressed her face into Harry's shoulder. Their eyes. Their eyes had watered when they reached Utopia and the truth of humanity's fate. They had ripped their eyes out first and wired their sight to a hive of machines that only fed them numbers and light so they wouldn't despair.

"My masterpiece, Doctor." Harry petted Lucy's hair when she shivered. "A living TARDIS, strong enough to hold the paradox in place, allowing the past and the future to collide in infinite majesty."

"But you're changing history," the Doctor protested in his reed-thin voice. His admonishment sounded ridiculous in his diminished body. "Not just Earth, the entire universe."

No, no, Lucy wanted to correct the defeated Time Lord. Not changing. _Fixing_.

"I'm a Time Lord. I have that right."

Lucy nodded to herself and interlaced her fingers with the hand stroking her. Harry drew up her hand to his lips and kissed their clasped hands.

"My Master," Lucy whispered and Harry kissed her knuckles again.

"But even then, why come all this way just to destroy?" the Doctor asked.

_"We've come backwards in time to build a brand new empire lasting a hundred trillion years."_ The Toclafane bobbed merrily in the air around them.

"With me as their master and my Lucy as their queen. Time Lord and humans combined." Harry chuckled. "Haven't you always dreamt of that, Doctor?"

The Doctor stared up at him with wide eyes, like a frightened child finally seeing the monster in the closet.

"Not like this," the Doctor whispered. "No. Never this way."

Harry sneered. "Good. I hate to think my idea wasn't original."

"You're fixing us, Harry," Lucy added. She found she could smirk at the Doctor now without flinching when he stared back.

Harry's chest rumbled underneath her. He drew her up and spun her around in a twirl from a waltz. Her reward was the brilliant smile he gave her.

"Yes. Yes, I am." Harry nodded towards her as he leveled his eyes on the cage. 

"Where you have spent them, Doctor, I will have saved them. I think we misnamed ourselves… _Doctor._ "

The Toclafane giggled madly above the cage. It kept muttering " _Doctor_ " to itself in a mocking chant. 

"Night-night," Harry offered in a light, almost exuberant voice. He looped an arm around Lucy again. Her skin tingled where he stroked the red silk. She followed her Master out the door, the Doctor's eyes on her as they exited. Lucy never looked back. When the doors shut though, she couldn't help but shiver as the wood thumped closed like the lid of a coffin.

 

**Nuclear Plant Seven**

Martha covered her mouth with her hand. She could hear Davidson's harsh breathing behind her. Milligan was barely breathing at all as he stood with his pistol still pointing at the remains of the dissected Toclafane.

"Christ," Davidson choked out. "Are you telling me those t-things are _us_?"

"Not us." Docherty stared at the remains. She didn't wipe the blood splatter from her face. For some reason, Martha was glad the blood wasn't red. It was green, almost oily looking, like machinery lubricant.

Martha gulped and looked away. "Not us," she agreed with Docherty, "from the future."

"Oh yes, that makes a world of difference, thank you," Davidson snapped. "Christmas dinner should be interesting from now on."

Milligan finally lowered his gun. "If they're from the future," Milligan spoke up in a shaky voice, "does that mean I killed one of our descendants?” 

"Who cares?" Davidson exclaimed.

Martha smiled tightly when Milligan breathed out sharply through his teeth.

"Paradox machine," Martha said.

"What?" Milligan asked, appearing as though he wasn't sure if he was disgusted with the remains or his gun or both.

"They may be from the future, but they're existing here. That way when they kill us, one of their possible ancestors, they won't get wiped out."

"Well, convenient if someone wants to commit genocide," Davidson muttered to himself.

"I think it's time we had the truth, Miss Jones." Docherty recovered enough to wipe her face clean and push the globe away from her. "The legend says you've traveled the world to find a way of killing the Master. Tell us, is it true?"

Martha could feel the others staring. She took a deep breath. "Just before I escaped, the Doctor told me…" She stared at Docherty, who was watching her with fascination. Martha glanced over at the other two.

"The Doctor gave me a plan," Martha said finally. It was the closest to the truth she could allow. The words ran in her head as she recited her script. "The Doctor and the Master, they've been coming to Earth for years. And they've been watched." 

Martha prayed her hands didn't tremble too much when she pulled a small handle-less attaché case from her pack. Don't shake it, Martha. Don't stir the chemicals. Careful, girl. 

"There's UNIT and Torchwood, all studying Time Lords in secret. And they made this." Martha took great care in opening the case. The three colored tubes from the pharmacy in Texas sloshed gently in their slots. The three the Doctor somehow found a way to instruct Torchwood to adjust, to fiddle with into not the poison Owen first telegraphed to her, but into something she now couldn't understand. Damn the Doctor and all his secrets.

"The ultimate defense," Martha whispered before she closed the case again. Weapon or not now, she loathed exposing it to too many people. 

Milligan had leaned over her shoulder to look at it. He grunted, unimpressed.

"All you need to do is get close. I can shoot the Master dead with this." Milligan brandished his gun in the air.

"Well, don't shoot it now, he isn't here," Davidson griped as he edged back from Milligan.

Docherty gave Milligan a foul look. "Actually, you can put that down now, thank you very much."

Martha bit back a smile. Milligan looked like a boy waving his toy pistol. The weapon looked ill fitted in his grasp. "Point is," Martha cut in before Davidson could confiscate it from Milligan, "it's not so easy to kill a Time Lord. They can regenerate; literally bring themselves back to life."

There was a twisted look that crossed Docherty's face, as if hope had died. "Ah, the Master's immortal," Docherty mumbled. Her hands twitched as she looked away to the side. "Wonderful."

Even if it was a lie, Martha forced herself to smile encouragingly. She reopened the case again. "Except for this." Martha picked up the gun by the grip. The metal felt cool and too light in her hand. 

"Four chemicals," Martha counted as she indicated the three holes and the other that was welded shut, "slotted into the gun, inject him…kills a Time Lord permanently."

Milligan's brow knitted together. "Four chemicals? You've only got three," he pointed out.

Martha made sure Docherty was watching her as she nodded. "Still need the last one ‘cause the components of this gun were kept safe, scattered across the world." Martha hefted the gun in her hand. It still felt light. Would it be too light to be believed genuine? Martha curled her hand around the handle. "I found them. San Diego, Beijing, Budapest and London." Lies, all lies. It was unfair how good she was getting at this. 

The rejuvenated eager faces on Davidson and Milligan nearly made Martha cringe.

"Then where is it?" Milligan demanded.

It was easier to look at Docherty's thoughtful face when Martha responded. "There's an old UNIT base, north London. I've found the access codes." 

Davidson hopped to his feet. "We can get you there."

Martha's heart sank. She couldn't tell the two men no in front of Docherty, or to head back to Torchwood where she knew Ianto and the others were waiting. She forced herself to smile her thanks.

Milligan nodded in agreement. He checked the ammo in his gun. "We can't go across London in the dark. It's full of wild dogs; we'd get eaten alive."

"Oh and I thought those floating ball things were bad," Davidson muttered as he gathered up their things. 

"We can wait till the morning," Milligan continued, "then go with the medical convoy."

"You can spend the night here, if you like," Docherty offered.

Before Martha could decide if it would be safer for her escorts to wait there, Milligan shook his head.

"No, we can get halfway, stay at the slave quarters in Bexley." Milligan reached over and to Martha's amusement, shook Docherty's hand. End of the world and still a gentleman, Martha mused. 

"Professor, thank you," Davidson copied Milligan, his handshake more excited.

Docherty smiled tightly. She shook her hand slightly when Davidson released it before she looked over at Martha. Her tired eyes drifted to Martha's pack then to her face.

"Good luck." Docherty sounded almost wistful.

Martha wished she could tell her she understood; that if offered her brother Leo's whereabouts, she might be tempted to do what she suspected Docherty would do as soon as Martha left. Martha wished she could tell Docherty that her hope was well founded; that her son was alive and well. But Martha couldn't. She didn't know. Too many loved ones were displaced and scattered across the Earth, too many were buried in unmarked graves.

Instead, Martha leaned forward and kissed Docherty lightly on her cheek. The older woman started and stared at Martha.

"Thanks," Martha said softly. She smiled and wished she could apologize or tell the woman that it was going to be okay. Martha didn't know if it was true. The case was heavy in her pack and Martha was acutely aware of the fact that two men were willing to follow her into unknown danger simply because of who she was. Martha wondered if this was how the Doctor felt when she traveled with him. Or did he ever give it a thought? 

Martha turned away before her face betrayed her. She began to follow Davidson and Milligan out.

"Martha." 

Martha paused and turned back towards the curious expression on Docherty's face.

"Could you do it?" Docherty murmured as she studied Martha. "Could you actually kill him?"

Yes, Martha wanted to say. Maybe it would convince Docherty, but she saw something behind the beaten spirit Martha saw all over the world.

Fear.

Martha shrugged. No words from one person alone could sway a yearlong embedded fear.

"Got no choice," Martha whispered so Davidson and Milligan wouldn't hear.

There was disappointment in the woman's eyes. Martha mourned the dimming of the defiance Docherty showed before in the Toclafane's capture. Archangel was far more convincing than the legend of Martha Jones.

"You might be many things," Docherty concluded sadly, "but you don't look like a killer to me."

Martha silently agreed with Docherty. She smiled tightly, turned around and walked away.

 

**Torchwood, Cardiff**

Owen eyed Ianto from his perch by the sofa in Jack's office. Ianto was dutifully ignoring him as he typed in the calculations the Doctor had given him for the Rift Manipulator. Coupled with Tosh's past equations, the chance of accuracy looked frighteningly promising now.

Gwen could be heard inside Jack's quarters, the telegraph ticking away. The members of the resistance were positioning themselves in the various rocket bases, disguised as slaves, armed with the bundles of explosives. Not that it would help, Owen scowled to himself. There were too few resistance fighters against millions of scared slaves. The very people they were trying to help could stop them if they tried to tamper with the rockets.

The goatee was bothering him again and Owen scratched at it idly as he watched Ianto frown at the screen when the laptop beeped. Owen didn't know what the point was in opening the Rift up like a melon. Didn't Jack tell them last time that it was a bad idea? Course, none of them listened and look how well that turned out. They ended up letting out some big, stinky, naked monster to go stomp-stomp all over bloody Cardiff. 

"Stop that."

Owen raised an eyebrow. "Stop what?"

Ianto huffed and shot him an annoyed look.

"Stop looking at me like I'm going to fall asleep again."

Owen rolled his eyes. "Fine. Don't come whinging to me if you hit your head though, narco boy."

A rather impolite snort made Owen smirk.

"I doubt it'll happen again. The Doctor indicated it would be the only communication he dared try." Ianto waved towards the laptop. A patch of light flickered dully on his face. 

"So how are we supposed to know when to use that?" Owen pointed out. He gestured towards the laptop. "Bloody Saxon made the announcement he's launching those rockets tomorrow. We do what the Doctor told you, we don't know what it'll do, but for sure, Saxon's gonna know we're here."

"The Doctor seems to think when the time comes, I'll know."

Owen rolled his eyes again. "Brilliant." He paused, his eyes flicking back towards Ianto's bowed head.

"No chance Jack might…you know…call?" Owen asked quietly. He regretted asking when Ianto's shoulders slumped. 

"No." Ianto scrubbed his face with both his hands. Maybe it would be best if Jonesy fell asleep right then, after all. 

Owen rubbed the back of his neck. "Right. So we rig the Rift Manipulator then what?"

Ianto took a deep breath, his eyes fixed on the laptop. "Then…we wait."

 

**Valiant**

Lucy stirred when she felt the bed give.

"Harry?" she mumbled. "Where—"

"Have to dash off, sweet Lucy." Harry's lips brushed across her forehead. "A date…with an old friend."

Lucy squinted in the dark at Harry as he tiptoed around the remains of the canisters littered all over the floor of their chambers. Together, they'd shattered the canisters and waltzed around as the vapors swirled about their ankles before their skin absorbed the sweet tang of the vortex. Lucy writhed with Harry on their bed as the universe shrank over them and became so much clearer. Lucy had seen her husband by her side, their children out on the battlefield, a prince to lead them all. She saw her useless and now powerless father bowed over the rubble of a mine. Oh, it had made perfect sense. Such perfect sense that when Harry cried out another name, all Lucy could feel was joy that her Master was with her.

There was a little click when Harry checked his stopwatch. The red ring on his finger glittered in the dark; the ring Harry said she—not the other Lucy, but _her_ —had given him. It had saved him, Harry said as he sank into her one glorious night in the TARDIS. By transitive leaps, Lucy knew it meant _she_ had saved _Harry_.

"Old friend?" Lucy murmured, not feeling particularly alarmed right now.

Harry sat at the edge of the bed. His smile was as brilliant and mysterious as when she had first met him. His pupil-less eyes, still saturated with the vortex, glowed almost pale blue in the dark like Lucy knew hers did currently.

"Martha Jones." Harry checked his fob watch again. "She should be crossing into Bexley very soon."

A thrill wiggled up her belly. "She's here?"

"Has been for some time. Tried to catch her before. Slippery little bitch. No matter. I remember where she would be next."

"Hm," Lucy hummed as she sat up to help straighten Harry's tie, "my clever, clever Harry."

Harry's white eyes were fading back to his normal gray ones as he looked at Lucy with a fondness Lucy hadn't seen since he invited her into his TARDIS. 

"It will be better this time," Harry promised. "The universe will bow as it should and our empire will rise."

"And the drumming?" Lucy twirled the ends of his tie around her fingers. 

Harry's smile crinkled. He pulled her head towards him and kissed the top of her head.

"I am sorry, sweetheart."

Lucy's fingers stilled. She lowered her gaze. 

"Only Jack and I can hear it, but no matter. He is _our_ Companion, I promise you."

It didn't get rid of the lump in her throat completely but Lucy nodded. She rested her head on Harry's left shoulder.

"The children," Lucy whispered.

"Yes," Harry breathed. "They may not be of your flesh, Lucy, but they will be our children and no one else's."

Good enough. Lucy lifted her head and kissed Harry hard on the mouth and tried to imagine the vortex twisting inside her slithering into her Master. When Lucy pulled back, Harry looked stunned.

"Well then," Harry started. He levered off the bed and straightened his jacket. "Mustn't keep Miss Jones waiting. I'm sure her family and the Doctor are very anxious to see her."

Lucy dropped back on the bed and watched Harry head for the door. 

"Oh." Harry stopped in his tracks and pivoted gracefully around on his heel. Harry smirked. 

"A Professor Docherty will be calling soon with what she thinks is some valuable information. Tell my men to relay it to me. It could be good for laughs." Harry pointed at a corner next to their bed. 

"In the armoire, there's a black hatbox. It's for Docherty." Harry chuckled. "She's been looking for that. Send it down to Nuclear Plant Seven with my compliments. Make sure they film her reaction when she opens it. I'm sure she'll be thrilled to get that back."

Harry blew her a kiss and left.

Curiosity got the better of her and Lucy padded across to the piece of furniture they had stripped out of Buckingham. Lucy had mentioned she admired it once and Harry presented it to her after the first month anniversary of the Toclafane's arrival.

Lucy ignored the glass that cut her bare feet as she walked. She pulled the surprisingly heavy box out. It was a hatbox like Harry said, black with a garishly bright red bow bigger than the box itself affixed on the lid. After a moment's hesitation, Lucy lifted up the lid and peered inside.

When she saw the permanently horrified eyes staring back up at her, Lucy laughed and laughed, tears running down her face, hysteria squirming cold in her belly. She kept laughing until the guards came to tell her a transmission was coming in for her Master.

 

**Act VII**   
**Slave Quarters No. 361**   
**Bexley, Kent**

Bexley looked like every other town Martha had come across: stone streets swept clean of people, windows all boarded up and dark, the village silent as a cemetery. 

Martha, her back against the outside wall of an abandoned church, her hands around a cup of tea from the thermos, watched the guards pace back and forth. Whatever Davidson had planned, hopefully it would be soon. Martha didn't like being out in the open for too long, necklace or not.

A quiet shuffle and the click of a tongue told Martha it was friend not foe approaching. She didn't move from her spot but did extend her mug to the newcomer. 

"This used to be a street of nightclubs and restaurants," Milligan whispered. He sighed softly as he drank the last of the tea in her mug. He capped the thermos. Its dwindling contents sloshed in the battered container.

"Right there," Milligan nodded towards a short building with a tattered blue awning. "Best Greek I ever had."

"Oh," Martha muttered as she stared at the canvas flapping listlessly in the breeze. Se could make out a café table settled on its side, stripped of its metal legs. "I liked Greek food." She spared Milligan a brief smile. It felt too exhausting to try something broader. "Too bad."

Milligan gazed back at her, unblinking. Then he swallowed and looked away.

"Yeah," he murmured, "too bad."

A soft whistle drew their attention away from the street. Davidson, his face purposefully smudged with soot, hair covered in a black wool cap, smirked at them. 

"Well?" Milligan asked. He passed the thermos to Davidson. "Still hot."

Davidson brightened and skips the mug when Martha nodded her head. Carefully, even when it looked like he wanted to slurp, Davidson drank.

" _Well_?" Milligan repeated impatiently.

Davidson, still drinking, held up his left hand. His thumb went down. Then his index. His middle. When he folded his pinky, completing the fist, a muffled explosion boomed in the distance. Suddenly guards, shouting and pointing, were running towards a distant plume of dark smoke.

"Okay," Davidson smacked his lips quietly as he lowered the thermos and handed it back to Martha with a crooked grin, "we can go in now."

Martha chuckled as Milligan gaped.

"How did—"

"Explosives." Davidson held up some frayed wires. He grinned. "Courtesy of Torchwood."

Milligan clapped Davidson on the shoulder. "Come on then," Milligan said as he nodded to the buildings across the street. "No Greek food, but I can at least get you two a bed."

Davidson scoffed as he trotted across the abandoned street. Martha merely shook her head and followed the two.

 

**Valiant**

Toshiko knew she shouldn't be doing this. This was stupid. Absolutely stupid. 

The hallways were deserted due to the late night shift. Toshiko held the mop in her hand, dragging the bucket of soapy water behind her. She checked over her shoulder at every doorway she stopped in front of but so far the few soldiers left were too busy changing shifts. There were guards by the engine room, by the computer room and by the runaway. Everyone else had gone. Everyone else, with Saxon boarded a plane.

The plane left the _Valiant_ just a few minutes ago.

Toshiko, while she was down on her knees, scrubbing the lavatories across the computers room, had heard the murmuring. There was a mix of pride from the recruited youth and defeat from the UNIT soldiers forced to work under Saxon. Both sets of voices were higher, faster in the face of the latest news.

Saxon had found Martha Jones.

The mop nearly clattered to the tiled floor when she had heard, but she held the handle tight to her face as she listened to the guards' young quavering voices outside the door. 

Toshiko glanced to her left and right, but the changing of the guards hasn't happened yet for this floor. If she was going to do this, she needed to do this now.

With a deep breath, Toshiko wrapped her hand around the doorknob and turned it. She flinched at the quiet _click_. Heart hammering, Toshiko yanked the door open and darted quickly inside, cursing as her bucket sloshed loudly as it rolled in behind her. 

The bridge was dark and quiet. Autopilot whirred timidly in the back of the room. All the lights were dim.

Toshiko scanned the room quickly but the tent Francine once described wasn't there. Just the conference table, the chairs, the stairs—

Oh.

Toshiko swallowed when she sighted the covered birdcage by the banister. She took a few steps towards it.

A scrap of brown rag was draped over the cage but she could hear stirring inside, rustling from something definitely larger than a bird. Toshiko reached for the cover, but drew her hand back. Toshiko held her right hand as she stared at the cage. 

Toshiko _really_ didn't want to pull the rag off. It was ridiculous though. She'd watched as Saxon turned that device on the Time Lord. She had seen what had been done. Toshiko bit her lower lip and reached for the cage again.

Only to jerk her hand back. 

Damn, damn, damn. What was wrong with her? Come on, Sato. Chin up.

"It's all right."

Muffled, the tinny voice sounded like a sigh but even if it had lost the jubilant bass of before, Toshiko recognized it all the same.

"If it makes you feel better," the tiny voice spoke up again, "you can leave it on, Toshiko Sato. I don't mind."

Toshiko smiled sadly at the cloaked cage. She almost wished the knot in her throat didn't loosen at that. "Sorry. How did you know it was me?"

"You rushed in here like you didn't want to get caught and your mop bucket rattled." There was a tiny lilt of the confident Doctor still evident in his explanation. "You shouldn't be here, but since you are, I'm assuming there's an important reason for it."

"Saxon's gone to get Martha Jones!" Damn, she hadn't meant to say it like that.

There was a soft intake of breath inside and Toshiko suddenly had the irrational fear that she just given the nine hundred year old alien a heart attack.

"I see," the Doctor said hoarsely. "The device. Have you finished it?"

"It's done. I hid it—"

"Don't tell me. The fewer people who know, the better." The cage swayed, as there was more movement inside. "He's been waiting all this time. He knew where she would be. Just as I thought. He will bring her up here then."

Toshiko knitted her brow. "Doctor?"

"Saxon will want to bring Maratha here…to execute her on the telly...and in front of me."

Toshiko stiffened. "I'll find a way to contact my friends right now. The guards are all scattered, most of them are with Saxon. I—"

"Wait."

The voice was firm and stronger than before. Toshiko halted in her tracks.

"Let him bring her up here."

Toshiko spun around to the cage. "But—"

"It'll be all right. He'll wait until the rockets' countdown." There was a short laugh. "The Master has a thing about clocks."

Toshiko shifted from foot to foot. "What about the others?"

"Ianto Jones knows when to be here, not to worry," the Doctor assured her. "Don't concern yourself with that. I trust his instincts. Get up to those controls behind me. It's easier than trying to open the satellites system from the other room."

Toshiko found herself all the way up the stairs before the Doctor finished. She stared at the inactive terminal in dismay. Her hands fluttered weakly in the air in front of the console. "But I don't know the passwords for this terminal," she protested.

"I do." The Doctor gave a weary short laugh inside his prison. "All I hear is them clicking away up there everyday. Things tend to stick after a year of it."

"A year," Toshiko murmured as she sat down. She flexed her fingers and was startled to find her hands aching from months of hard labor. Has it really been a year?

The Doctor recited the password quickly to her then the lines of code once Toshiko hacked into the appropriate systems. In the empty bridge, Toshiko was very aware of time crawling on her skin like a snake coiling up her body. She kept checking the doors, kept jumping every time the ship trembled. 

Hair on the back of her neck stuck to her collar as Toshiko typed as fast as she could. Her fingers kept missing the keys and she swore as she found herself slower than before.

"That's it?" Toshiko said skeptically when done. She stared at the console, feeling like she'd forgotten something. 

"That's it."

"Just open up the Archangel network to also transmit to the ship?" It didn't make any sense. "I could try shutting down the signal to Earth or try to find Archangel's self-destruct."

The cage shook. "No, they would discover it too quickly. The Master has encrypted the systems so they can only send data, not receive. I've been trying to tune myself into the psychic network and integrate with its matrices but the Master has them blocked. He knew I would try. Any attempt and he'll know."

Toshiko stared at the terminal in dismay. She wanted to smash it to bits, damn what would happen to her.

"So…the people down there won't fight him then? All those people he enslaved?"

"Don't discount humanity yet. As powerful as the Master may seem to be, even a Time Lord, he is only just one," the Doctor said. The cage bobbed on its perch. "We can not destroy the satellites but with your equation and Jack, we're going to turn the Master's weapon to our favor." 

Toshiko frowned. "Jack? But Francine said—"

"Never mind that. Just get that thing to Jack."

"But—"

"It'll be fine, Toshiko Sato."

The Doctor's voice had deepened to a syrupy lilt. Toshiko found herself nodding before she realized it. She reset the terminal to look like no one had been there and with a hurried step, she descended the stairs. Toshiko retrieved her mop, her bucket and was by the door when she paused. Toshiko glanced back to the cage. She took a step back towards the cage.

"Go," the Doctor said as if he could see her.

"Good luck," Toshiko whispered. It didn't feel strange to say it to him. She didn't wait for a reply and slipped out the door.

Toshiko was breathing heavily when she closed the door behind her. She straightened up and she gripped the mop firmly with shaky hands.

"Oi! What were you doing coming out of there?"

_Bollocks_.

Toshiko turned around slowly. Her heart sank when she saw it was one of the young men Saxon had recruited during his stint as minister. They tended to be too entrenched in their Master's spell to expect any help from them.

Eyes narrowed as they studied Toshiko then the door she had come out from. The assault rifle he held rose higher.

"No one's allowed in there," the soldier muttered. He looked at Toshiko up and down. 

Toshiko gripped her mop tightly. "I went in by mistake." She tried to raise her voice to a quaver but the youth wasn't convinced.

"You're one of them Torchwood people, aren't you? The computer one?" The muzzle pointed at her heart now. "What were you—"

_Thump_.

Toshiko started and took a step back just as the soldier dropped face first to the floor, revealing a very stern looking Francine behind him, a dented tea tray in her hands high above her head.

"Francine!" Toshiko sighed in relief. She felt boneless now. "How'd you—"

"I heard about Martha. I was going to find the Doctor myself." Francine stared down at the body. "Good thing I did." She shot Toshiko an exasperated look.

"That was a foolish thing you did, child."

"Probably," Toshiko said meekly.

Francine rolled her eyes. She tucked the tray under her arm. 

"Come on. You take his head, I'll grab his legs and you can tell me what the Doctor told you on the way to stuffing this lad in the laundry room. Hurry up before he wakes up. I didn't hit him that hard."

"Yes, ma'am," Toshiko squeaked before she grabbed the soldier's head and followed Francine down the hall, leaving her mop and bucket behind.

 

**Slave Quarters No. 361**   
**Bexley, Kent**

Martha smiled tiredly at the dirty faces, trying very hard not to stare. There were far too many hungry looks here. The tea she drank now bubbled uncomfortably in her belly. How long had it been since any of these people had a warm cup of tea?

Her escort, Milligan, was doing rounds in his own fashion and reminded Martha of another doctor back in the hospital she had worked in. Milligan talked quietly among the adults, smiled kindly to the children and appeared more relaxed playing "doctor" than he was soldier. 

"Davidson found a telegraph in the basement. The resistance must have used this place before," Milligan reported as he dropped down next to her on the stairs everyone was using as the sleeping area. "Thought he'd alert Torchwood about the lightning and where we are."

"Heard back from them?"

Milligan smirked. "Well, someone over there had a few choice words with Davidson about heading off to Bexley without them."

Martha chuckled.

"Said I would meet up with them after Docherty," Martha murmured. Something inside her twinged; she'd promised Ianto they would go up to the _Valiant_ together.

"Why didn't you?"

Martha shrugged. "I need to do this by myself," she said. Martha picked a loose thread along the hem of her pants. 

"Sounds lonely," Milligan commented.

Her shoulders rose and dropped again. "Safer this way."

"For who?"

Surprised, Martha looked over to Milligan. "Who do you think?"

Now Milligan shrugged. "I lost a lot of friends during all this. A lot of people I had to leave behind. There were times…it felt like it was better if I went alone. No more dying."

Martha blinked at Milligan and in an odd moment, it struck her that his eyes looked exceptionally kind despite everything around him. Martha tore her gaze away.

"So long as Saxon's here," Martha sighed. "I'm afraid there will always be dying."

Milligan kicked at the floor with a well-worn heel of his right boot. "True," Milligan exhaled.

Martha said nothing. She watched a little dark-haired boy curled under the arm of his mother as she coaxed him to drink from her ration cup of water. Even from here, Martha could see he had the brightest blue eyes when he looked up at his mother. It made her think of Jack all of the sudden. And that made her think about her family and the Doctor. She swallowed. 

"So this Doctor…" Milligan began. "You ah…you two were very close, I take it?"

Martha's mouth quirked. "He offered to show me the world once." Time and space, actually. "I didn't think he meant literally though."

It seemed so long ago when it all sounded like a grand, sparkling adventure. Life in her flat, working in the hospital had felt so directionless and mundane then. 

"No," Milligan agreed, "but he sounds like quite a…uh…well, a man? An alien?"

Martha shot him a smirk. "Alien. Does that bother you?"

"A little," Milligan admitted as he scratched his jaw, "I mean, Saxon's an alien too and he…" Milligan shook his head. "And you love this Doctor? Really?"

Admittedly, it wasn't what she had meant to say and probably silly of her to say, but after Texas, after all those bodies in South Africa, her recount of the Doctor became more personal. It felt like he was still with her that way. It made the nights easier to walk. It made sleeping during the day dreamless. 

Martha grimaced and tried not to think about how disappointed Milligan looked.

"When's a good time to head out there?" Martha nodded towards the door.

After a moment of surprised silence, Milligan replied. "Four hours from now. That's when all the slaves are rounded up, all medical goes on the next convoy. In between, we can slip out unnoticed."

Martha tried to remember the layout of the village. "And then I head—What? North? West?"

"West. It'll probably take—" Milligan stopped. A look crossed his face. His eyes widened slightly.

"You're going out there. Alone."

Martha couldn't bring herself to lie to him. She turned back to the mother with her son. She thought about Leo now. Was he still with his family?

The soft curse by her ear made her look back.

"No point trying to stop you then?"

Martha smiled grimly. "Not really. And you won't impress me by trying either so save your breath, Milligan."

"Impress?" Milligan muttered. He scuffed his toe on the step. "Man took you to space. What's to impress?"

It took a lot to make her smile these days, but Martha's mouth twitched at Milligan's sullen expression that oddly reminded her of the Doctor. Martha nudged him with an elbow.

"I like Greek food though," Martha reminded him.

Milligan stared at her for a moment. To Martha's surprise, his ears pinked.

"Yeah," Milligan agreed as he grinned. He turned back to look at the hallways crowded with people. "There is that, I suppose."

Martha leaned against the railing and watched the people making bedding with worn coats and shirts. The resemblance to the silo was making her stomach clench. Martha thought about all those hopeful faces.

"You two should head back to Torchwood," Martha said suddenly when Creet's cheerful young face popped into her head. "They'll be needing help."

"They're not the only ones."

Martha gave him a sideways look. "I'll be fine. I'm Martha Jones, remember?"

Before Milligan could answer, there was a gasp that traveled all the way to the back of the stairs. Martha sat up higher as a woman stumbled through the crowd of people, her face white.

"It's him! It's him! Oh my God, it's him! It's the Master! He's here!"

Damn. Not here. Not with all these people.

The boy who was curled up against his mother hugged her arm.

"But he never comes to Earth!" another child cried out. "He never walks upon the ground!"

Martha gritted her teeth. Damn Docherty. Martha had hoped Saxon would meet her on the base, not here. Not with all these people here.

"Hide her!"

Others were agreeing, a rumble of fear, but for Martha this time, not for themselves. Hands nudged her higher up on the staircase.

Milligan was already pulling out his weapon, telling someone else to get Davidson. "Use this!"

A rough blanket was thrown over her as bodies huddled around her. Martha felt the trembling of many bodies pressed against her. She barely made out Milligan and Davidson by the door. They squatted by the door's mail slot.

"He walks among us," someone whimpered, "our lord and master."

"Martha. Martha _Jones_."

There he was. Martha gritted her teeth. The bastard.

"Sorry, I'm late! The air traffic has been horrendous!" Saxon sang out. "Out you come, little girl. Come and meet your master."

"Don't speak," a tiny voice advised. A little hand crept forward under the blanket to wrap around Martha's right hand. The hand was too small, it could only wrap around Martha's index and middle fingers.

"We'll protect you," the same little voice promised.

Martha squeezed the hand.

"Anybody? Nobody? No? Nothing?"

Martha tensed. 

"Don't!" another voice pleaded. 

"Positions! I'll give the order unless you surrender."

Under the bodies and blanket, she could see Davidson and Milligan shaking their heads towards her direction.

"Surely you're not going to hide? The heroic Martha Jones?"

Martha narrowed her eyes.

"I'll slaughter everyone. _Everyone_."

Martha clenched her fists and bit her lower lip. There were arms, frightened faces in front of her as Martha struggled to sit up.

"Stay here," someone whispered.

"Don't get up."

There was a sneer in Saxon's words that made her want to hit something.

"Ask yourself, young Martha Jones…what would the Doctor do?"

Martha shrugged off the blanket amidst the frantic whispering. She pulled the necklace that had guarded her for so long over her head. It didn't come off easily, catching on her hair as it looped over.

"What are you doing?"

"Don't go out there."

"Don't do it."

Martha touched everyone she could as she walked towards the door: a finger on a cheek, a stroke on a child's hair. 

"Don't forget," Martha murmured as she passed and she was heartened to see them nod tearfully.

"Don't," Martha warned when Davidson and Milligan opened their mouths. 

"Tell Torchwood," Martha told Davidson and it looked like he wanted to protest but at the last second, his mouth snapped shut and he nodded.

"Now," Martha stressed. At Davidson's shocked look, Martha added, "They need to know this now."

"Go," Milligan advised, throwing in a shove to Davidson's back until he reluctantly headed back for the basement.

Left standing with Milligan, Martha nodded at him, her mouth curved in a weak attempt to smile.

Milligan just handed her a gun.

"Close as I can get to him," Martha chuckled but there was little humor in it. She dropped the necklace in his hand. "Don't worry and don't try to—"

"Impress you, I know," Milligan interrupted. Then as if he was afraid of changing his mind, he leaned in and kissed Martha on the lips.

Martha blinked. 

"Well…" It was the only thing Martha could think to say. She nodded again, glanced over her shoulder to the others and nodded to them as well before she slipped out the door.

Under the shadow of the other buildings, Martha was hidden from Saxon's view. He was seated on a chair, teacup in his hand, but Saxon wasn't drinking it. His cool eyes searched the dark until he spotted her.

"Oh, yes!" Porcelain shattered as Saxon shot up on his feet. He clapped and the armed guards around him gave him looks.

"Oh, very well done! Good girl! He trained you well." Saxon crooked a finger and bade her to come closer. Saxon eyed what she was carrying. He smirked.

"Now how did it go last time? Oh yes!" Saxon snapped his fingers at Martha. "Bag. Give me the bag." 

The gun Milligan gave her weighed heavy in her vest. She took a step closer. 

"No, stay there." Saxon took a step back. He pointed vaguely to the ground by him. "Just throw it."

Martha clenched her teeth. The guns pointed around her cocked loudly. She slowly, carefully slipped her pack off her shoulders then, without sudden moves, she threw the bag by his feet. Martha kept her eyes on the bag. She relaxed when it landed and she didn't hear the glass shatter.

Saxon stood there, his arms folded. He studied the bag with a tilt of his head. 

Saxon smirked.

"A gun in four parts?" Saxon drawled. "Oh, but just short one more, child."

Ice settled in the pit of her stomach. What the hell?

"Any souvenirs?" Saxon unzipped her bag and with his screwdriver, rifled through everything. "No? Not even a wobbly hula girl dancer? Pity."

Martha held her breath as Saxon pulled out the case and tested the weight in his hand.

Not yet, Martha thought. Not yet.

"Well," Saxon said in a bright voice, "we won't be needing this." He tossed her pack away from him and shot it into bits with his laser screwdriver with a hard whine that made Martha flinch.

She didn't see Milligan dashing across the street, her necklace glimmering around his throat, a gun in his fist.

"No!" Milligan cried out just as he took aim for Saxon.

"Stop!" Martha wasn't sure if she was asking Milligan or Saxon, but another high-pitched whine and Milligan dropped without another sound.

Saxon chuckled. "Ah time…so predictable." Saxon crouched by Milligan's prone body. He tsked as he lifted the necklace off his body with the tip of his screwdriver.

"Did you neglect to tell him the perception filter doesn't work on me?"

Martha could only glare. Fury was lodged in her throat like a bone, choking her. She breathed heavily as the guards grabbed her by the arms, holding her back.

Gray eyes studied Martha. "Ah, there's a look I haven't seen before. Oh, the Doctor taught all of his Companions well." 

With exaggeratedly slow steps, Saxon came up to her.

"Ooh. As you humans like to say: if looks could kill." Saxon nodded to the guards. "Search her." His eyebrow rose at the gun, but his eyes narrowed when there was nothing else.

"Your teleport device," Saxon demanded. He jabbed the screwdriver to her right shoulder. "Where is it?"

Martha clamped her mouth and looked past his shoulder.

"You had it with you before," Saxon muttered. "Why don't you have it now?"

Martha tensed. What was he talking about?

A look crossed Saxon's face. His eyes widened a little as he remembered something.

"She heard you mention Torchwood," Saxon murmured. He gave Martha a look.

Oh God, no, no, no, no, no!

The smirk Saxon wore made her ill. "So, they're here." Saxon shook his head. 

Her heart was hammering, but Martha fought to not react.

"Children," Saxon called out loudly.

Three Toclafane blinked to float around them.

"Cardiff," Saxon commanded. 

Without a word, the three winked out.

Martha twisted in the guards' hold.

"Oh, that got a reaction this time," Saxon sneered. He looked over to the other soldiers.

"Docherty said there were three of them. There's still one more in there."

"He already left!" Martha cried out as the armed men marched towards the building she had been in. "All they did was house me, give me a place to sleep!"

"While you told them about the Doctor?" Saxon snarled.

Martha froze.

"Kill them," Saxon snapped when he saw his guards hesitate. "Kill them all!"

"No!" Martha cried out as the door was kicked down.

The screaming. Oh God, the screaming.

"Saxon, you monster!" Martha kicked at him but the Master stepped neatly away.

"Not to worry, my dear," Saxon chuckled as he wagged his screwdriver at her. "You'll have your turn…But you…when you die, the Doctor should be witness, hm?" Saxon inhaled deeply. He tapped his fingers against his hip. 

"Almost dawn, Martha," Saxon murmured to himself. "Soon, it'll be over for you and me. And planet Earth marches to war."

 

**Torchwood, Cardiff**

"Write faster," Gwen urged as the telegraph started up again. "Sack…no…Saxon! That's an X, you daft sod!"

"Stop yelling at me," Owen griped as he wrote out the letters. "I'm trying to concentrate. Lift that lamp higher."

"Timer's been set," Ianto reported as he climbed down the ladder. His lamp bobbed once as he steered for them.

"We're getting another message," Gwen said over her shoulder.

Gwen squinted when Ianto was suddenly there and the light hit her eyes. She blinked a few times.

"Again? So soon? What's Andy say? What's he say?"

" _'Saxon her…her?'_ No, _'here. Saxon here'_ ," Owen spelled out. He stiffened. "Shit."

"Damn," Gwen muttered. "Tell Andy to get Martha out of there—"

The telegraph was ticking again.

" _'MJ went_ '—damn it!" Owen growled as he scribbled everything down as fast as he could.

"What?" Ianto asked tersely. "Owen, what is it?"

"Martha went out to Saxon," Owen replied, his words clipped as his hand continued to write.

" _What_?" Gwen grabbed Owen by the shoulder. "Why on earth—"

"' _Get out_ '," Owen muttered.

"What did you say?" Gwen exclaimed.

Owen pointed to the telegraph. 

" _'Get out'_ ," Owen read. " _'Saxon knows about you. Get out now. Ge—_ '"

The telegraph silenced.

Gwen felt something sharp clawing up in her throat. "Owen?"

"What does it say?" Ianto pressed closer next to Gwen.

Bleak, Owen turned towards them both, his face white in the glow of the kerosene lamps.

"Nothing. It…it just stopped."

Suddenly, six of their perimeter alarms down in the vaults area _screamed_.

"Weevils?" Gwen said sharply. Whatever tears she was going to shed dried at the klaxons.

"Not unless it's a convention," Ianto muttered. He looked strange as he pulled back his sleeve to reveal Jack's wrist strap. "This is it. It has to be."

"Ianto?" Gwen tried to grab for Ianto when he bolted for the ladder. "Ianto!" 

Gwen ignored the alarms as she ran up the ladder after him, Owen close behind. They reached the surface just in time to catch their packs being thrown at them. 

"Now?" Owen said as he shrugged on one of the packs they made in preparation for the _Valiant_.

"Now?" Gwen nearly dropped the guns Owen shoved into her arms. "You…you mean up to the ship? _Now?_ "

"Unless you want to stay here!" Ianto just said as he opened the laptop and began typing rapidly.

Gwen was grabbing a few more guns now, passing ammo clips to Owen. Her head was spinning. She thought they had more time. "What are you doing?"

"Five hundred ten megajoules. Andy said it was five hundred ten," Ianto muttered. "If I can bring up our maintenance systems up…"

"The Rift Manipulator," Gwen pointed at the column and the new thick cables coiled around it and into it.

"Timer should still be safe," Ianto shouted back. He needed to as the water sculpture began to flicker to life, lights glimmering faintly on the cracked mirror panels. The air crackled, making a growing high pitch noise.

"How the hell are you doing this?" Owen shouted. Owen upturned Jack's desk and together with Gwen shoved it to the door.

"Making a lightning rod! If I can just channel the residuals to a short burst of—"

"Oi! Too technical!" Owen exclaimed. "Just do it!"

" _Jesus_!" Gwen shrieked as what glass was left above in the hothouse exploded and a swarm of black zipped out from it and down from the water sculpture ruins. 

"Those boards!" Owen ordered as he blocked the glass with the metal debris they used to hide the cables and laptops.

Gwen doubted it would work and already, as soon as they placed one up, something crashed into the thin corrugated metal, leaving a round dent and nearly sending Gwen to the floor. 

"Four hundred!" Ianto declared.

That was an inhuman wail and more hollow metal thumps could be heard dropping to concrete. 

"If we're leaving," Owen ground out as he shook where he stood, propping the boards up. "I suggest we do it right no—Shit!"

Spikes cut right through the board, barely missing Owen's eye.

"Owen!" Ianto said sharply.

"I'm okay."

Gwen could hear more sparks outside and more globes dropped.

"Switching on the Vortex Manipulator! Get over here!" Ianto shouted. "Four hundred forty megajoules!"

Mechanical shrieks mixed with the thundering of spiking electricity. 

"Christ, it sounds like the place will blow," Owen swore. He grabbed Gwen by the shoulder as they joined Ianto by the couch. Already, the air was crackling around them. Gwen swore her hair was starting to stand on end.

"It will…sort of," Ianto said as he shouldered his pack. His wrist strap started wailing.

" _What_?"

"An EMP pulse! Except it could also affect…uh…living flesh, too."

"Where the hell did you get a _stupid_ idea like that?"

"It was in Tosh's folder!"

"Guys!" Gwen gritted her teeth as she watched the metal barriers ripple and bubble with every collision. "Ianto, please tell me that thing is working!"

The boards burst as hundreds of globes exploded through metal and glass and wood. Gwen screamed. Owen shouted. Glass scored tiny lines of fire on Gwen's arms when she threw them up to shield her face. She felt Owen grab her left shoulder and Ianto clutched her right.

The laptop on the floor beeped. Five hundred ten.

There was a hum that grew louder and louder. Her skin buzzed, she saw blue sparks raining outside and a rain of black pearls just as the air split open behind them into a wide and red fiery yawn to swallow them up.

It was dark. Just long enough for Gwen to think she was dead. Long enough to wonder if it meant the others were dead, too.

Then…

It wasn't dark anymore.

"Not this again!"

Owen's outraged yelp was the first thing Gwen registered. The second thing was landing on something, no, _someone_.

An elbow poked her in the face.

"Get off. Get off," Owen muffled. "All you had were protein bars, how the bloody hell do you still weigh so much? Off."

Gwen rolled off and squinted at the metal all around her. This looked familiar. At least they didn't land on some occupied space.

Ianto groaned to her right. "I think one of your bony knees just stabbed me."

"Shut up, narco boy."

"You're lucky Gwen and I didn't snap your scrawny body in two—Oh God."

Gwen heard Ianto's voice cut into a strangled gasp. She raised her head, her hand waving in front of her as steam shot in front of her. When the haze cleared a little, Gwen gasped as well.

"Jack!"

 

**Act VIII:** _"Citizens of Earth, rejoice and observe."_  
 **Valiant**

The Doctor had told Ianto that the wrist strap's coordinates he had given Ianto would take him directly to Jack. Sheltered within the confines of his own mind, Jack had been left alone, unguarded, and unharmed.

"Jack!"

Behind him, Ianto could hear Gwen's horror but his eyes were on the limp form hanging on the chains like a marionette. Ianto was still on his knees, his pack hanging off one shoulder and digging painfully into his back. But he…he couldn't move.

Owen was already by Jack, slouching under his left arm to brace Jack higher so his shoulders wouldn't pop from the strain.

"I have a pulse," Owen reported curtly after he counted the beat he felt with his two fingers under Jack's jaw. "Fifty seven. Not brilliant, but not dead at least."

Christ, Jack's clothes were _shredded_ , bloodstained as if red paint had been spilled over Jack from above. The tattered trousers that hung loosely over his hips were soiled, and his shirttails pulled out and stuck to Jack's torso like the mottled red skin of a shedding snake.

"Is there…" Ianto found it harder to speak.

Owen had a shrewd look to him when he turned back to Ianto. The hard gleam in his eyes eased a fraction when he looked at him.

"No visible wounds. Must have healed already."

"Oh…g-good." Ianto swallowed.

"Ianto." Gwen's shaky voice reached him just as a hand lightly settled on his back. She rubbed his back up and down a stroke until he turned to look at her. Gwen looked like she had just been crying and what killed him was the realization of just how many things Gwen could be crying over.

"Sweetheart, we need to figure a way to get him down. Saxon's sure to be on his way back up here with Martha."

"If he hasn't killed her already," Owen bit out as he pressed his fingers over Jack's shoulders.

"No," Ianto found himself saying, "he…he would want to kill Martha in front of the Doctor so he could see it."

"How considerate," Owen grated out as his fingers followed the chains to the wall. He swore. "Okay, they must have reinforced these. There's no way I can dig those chains out with what I packed."

Ianto got up off the floor. He gave Gwen a short—and what he hoped was a reassuring—nod. Ianto tried to make it look like he was steady, but his feet kept stepping over each other as he approached Jack. He was afraid to touch him. Healed or not, it looked like anything could hurt Jack right now.

"I…uh…acid, would that work?" Ianto murmured as he gingerly settled his hands on a spot he hoped wouldn't hurt Jack. Ridiculous, Ianto tried to tell himself. Owen just said Jack was healed, didn't he? Ianto gulped as he felt the crusted, blood sodden fabric. 

Owen grunted. "Yeah, acid would probably eat through these. You wouldn't happen to have any?"

"Actually…yes." Ianto fought the urge to be ill when flakes of dark red… _something_ —don't think about it—fluttered to the floor.

"Uh…say that again, mate?" 

Ianto cupped Jack's face. His heart sank at the half-mast eyes staring blankly at him. His thumbs rubbed circles under Jack's lashes to coax a reaction. There was none.

"Oi." Owen reached over and poked him not unkindly.

"Hm?" Ianto looked up, wondering why Owen was looking peeved. He shuffled closer, ducking under Jack's right arm. The weight of Jack's body against him made Ianto feel a little better. 

"The acid," Owen exaggerated each syllable. "Are you telling me you're carrying _acid_ in your pack?"

Ianto shot him an annoyed look. "Are you mad? Acid in my bag? Of course not." 

"Then why did you sa—"

"It's in _your_ bag," Ianto finished as he waved towards Owen's pack on the floor.

" _What_?"

"Owen!" Gwen shushed. "Keep your voice down!"

Owen gestured wordlessly towards Ianto, his pack and then back to Ianto, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. Finally, at Gwen's stern posture, her hands folded in front of her chest, Owen gave up and stooped down to gingerly rummage through the rucksack.

"Of all the…" Owen grumbled as he carefully pulled out the bundle wrapped with thick rubber gloves. 

Ianto watched as Owen put on the gloves and pulled out the Pyrex glass container the resistance had found along with the acid compound Owen had had in the shambles of his morgue. There hadn't been much left to salvage out of the broken bottle. Ianto held his breath as Owen carefully applied it on the link closest to the manacles.

"Hold him steady," Owen said tightly, "Don't want him firing me because I accidentally burnt off a bit of him."

Owen didn't, of course. The moment the chains snapped and shattered, Jack collapsed, his body folding into a slack slump. And for a few seconds, time stood still. All Ianto could feel was Jack against him, his arms dropped to his sides, his head resting on Ianto's shoulder.

"Jack," Ianto murmured as he curled his arms tighter around Jack. He could feel the knobby ridges of Jack's spine under his clothes, the bony edge of a hip under his trousers. Ianto shouldn't, but he pressed his face into Jack's throat and held him until Owen quietly cleared his throat.

With Gwen and Owen's help, Ianto eased Jack to the floor, Jack's head cradled to his chest, Jack's body curled over his lap. Not that Jack was heavy. He was alarmingly light right now; enough so that Ianto was afraid to hold him too tightly.

Owen checked Jack's eyes and Gwen stayed by the doors to make sure no one was coming. But Jack never reacted as Owen peeled back an eyelid and tapped over his splayed hand pressed onto his belly.

"Jack," Ianto tried again as Owen continued his examinations, "we're here. I'm here." He brushed back hair stuck together in iron-smelling clumps. Jack's head lolled back and Ianto shrugged to get Jack to roll back against him.

"Pulse is still around fifty," Owen reported. He held a cupped hand over Jack's nose and held it there for a beat. "Shallow respiration." Owen scowled. He held Jack's left wrist on his lap and counted. "I thought you said that the Doctor told you Jack was expecting us?"

Ianto stroked a knuckle down the right side of Jack's face. He wanted to crush Jack to him. His skin was cool, almost waxy. "He's cold." Ianto murmured something in Welsh to Jack's ear but nothing.

"Ianto."

Ianto looked up at Owen's serious face. 

"He uh…the Doctor said he put Jack in a trance so Saxon would leave him alone." Ianto hugged Jack closer to him. He bit his lower lip. It felt like Jack wasn't there at all.

"Well, how are we supposed to wake him up?" Owen scowled as something occurred to him. "I'm not kissing him. You do that, Kirk."

Ianto glowered past Jack's head to Owen. "I doubt that's how Jack is supposed to come out of this."

"How long do we wait then?" Owen demanded.

"I don't know," Ianto snapped.

"Boys!" Gwen snapped from her post. She gripped her gun with two hands as she stared narrow-eyed at the door. "If you both don't lower your voices, I'll put you two in a trance!"

The two clamped their mouths shut.

Ianto studied Jack's thin face. Even now, Jack was still clean-shaven, his face smooth. Sort of. Ianto could feel dried tracks all over Jack's cheeks.

Ianto pulled Jack closer so he could whisper into Jack's ear and because he couldn't think of anything else, brushed his lips across Jack's slack mouth.

Nothing.

Owen wasn't laughing or smirking when Ianto looked up. 

"Owen," Ianto whispered. He glanced over to Gwen by the door. His voice dropped even lower. Owen leaned in closer.

"Is there…I mean, is there any way to tell if…if Saxon…all this blood…" Ianto's throat closed up.

Owen's expression darkened. Owen pulled back and frowned. "Mate, for both your sakes, I'm gonna pretend you never asked what I think you were going to ask." Owen held the slack hand, his fingers still listening, his eyes minutely moving with a mental count. "Do you really need to know everything?"

Ianto stared at Owen for a minute before he lowered his eyes and nodded.

"You're right of course," Ianto murmured as he cupped Jack's jaw, his thumb rubbing a gentle line across his lower lip.

Owen gave him a light slap on the knee. "Of course I am. I'm a fucking genius."

The corner of Ianto's mouth upturned, but it faded when Owen sighed and pulled his fingers away from the inside of Jack's wrist.

"Look, I don't think we can chance waiting for Jack. If Saxon is on his way up here with Martha Jones then we gotta do something now," Owen sighed. "We—"

Suddenly the hand Owen held curled tight around his wrist. 

"Shit!" Owen yelped and let go of Jack's hand.

"Owen!" Gwen ran over and clamped a hand over Owen's mouth. "Do the words 'we have to be quiet' mean anything to you?"

"Jack?" Ianto whispered, hope filling his chest. He touched the hand Owen had pulled off and gently uncurled it. He squeezed the cool fingers. " _Cariad_?"

"Now I know how you feel," Owen grumbled to Gwen as he shook his hand in the air.

"What?"

"When Jack came back to life," Owen reminded her. He snickered. "You screamed like a girl."

"That's because she _is_ a girl," came a hoarse reply. Jack stirred against Ianto and he opened his now clear blue eyes wider. Bloodstained teeth flashed a weak smile at them. "What was _your_ excuse, Owen?"

"Jack!" Gwen nearly knocked all of them over when she threw herself around Ianto in an attempt to hug Jack. At his muffled groan, she sat back hastily.

"Sorry." Gwen wiped at her eyes.

Owen grunted. "About time, Captain. I was just telling narco boy here we should just stuff you in a broom closet if you didn't wake up soon."

Ianto was a bit speechless when Jack turned back towards him. Ianto swallowed his suddenly dry mouth. He didn't close his eyes when Jack lifted a shaky hand to touch his hair, his jaw, his throat. Jack's eyes—God, were they this blue before—were overly bright and fixed on Ianto's face.

"No hat?" Jack rasped. 

The laugh that choked out, _hurt_. 

"No hat," Ianto sputtered out, but it must have come out wrong or funny because suddenly Owen was giving him a light punch in the arm, muttering "Jonesy" and Gwen settled a hand on his lower back. 

"W-we…" Ianto took a deep breath and tried again. "We didn't have time to change. We were sort of in a rush."

It seemed like the conversation was already tiring Jack out. His eyes lost focus for a moment and fluttered closed before he made a visible effort to open them again. He scanned their faces.

"Martha," Jack croaked. 

Ianto could feel Jack tensing as if to get up and he couldn't help it, his hold tightened and he pulled Jack closer to his chest.

"Saxon has her, Jack," Gwen said, not noticing how Jack was suddenly stiff in Ianto's hold.

Ianto could feel Jack recoiling as if he was about to push Ianto away. Ianto loosened his hold and that dark, cornered look lurking behind Jack's eyes retreated.

Jack fidgeted as he wiggled off Ianto's lap to sit to the left of him. He reared back a little when Owen moved to brace him when he swayed sitting up.

"Steady," Owen muttered when Jack fidgeted away from his hand as well, "you're a bit clumsy right now. Probably dehydrated, most likely malnourished, too." He gave Ianto a look Ianto was afraid to interpret. 

"I am a little thirsty," Jack coughed. He looked up at the three again.

"Where's Tosh?"

Owen shared a frown with Gwen. "We just got here. We haven't—"

"Get Tosh." Jack's voice was stronger after a sip from a bottle of water from Gwen's bag. "She has something for me. We need that."

Gwen was already standing up and yanking out the maid's uniform out of her backpack. 

"I'll get her," Gwen volunteered as she shrugged out of her worn jacket, stripped off her holsters. "I still have my uniform and I know the layout better than you two." 

Ianto averted his eyes as Gwen wiggled out of her jeans. Owen was still staring until Gwen's shirt smacked him on the face.

"Like I'd never seen you naked before," Owen muttered as he pulled off the shirt and turned away.

Gwen's trainers whacked him on the back of his head.

Jack was smiling faintly as he sat there cross-legged on the floor, but surprisingly, his eyes were averted as well. The water bottle Owen gave him was already empty and he was staring at the bottom of it. The plastic crunched as he squeezed the bottle.

"Here." Owen shoved a new water bottle into Jack's hands. "I would give you a protein bar too but you might get sick."

"Not hungry," Jack muttered before he struggled to open the cap. His hands shook too much.

"I got it—" Ianto offered.

Jack shrank back a little before he paused as if waking up from a dream. Jack closed his eyes briefly before he handed it off to Ianto.

Owen began muttering quietly to Jack about everything that happened so far with Martha, the Hub and the resistance. Jack listened, one ear tilted towards Owen, his eyes on Ianto with an apology Ianto hated to see.

"Drink slow," Ianto said quietly and was rewarded with a shadow of Jack's smile.

Jack made an effort but even so, by the time Gwen called back their attention, the bottle was empty.

"Well?" Gwen spread her arms wide for inspection. She was back in her maid uniform, her black skirt hitched up so she could strap a gun to her upper thigh.

Owen blinked.

"You look like a star in a bad porn film."

This time, Gwen's bra snapped across and hit him in the face.

"Christ, you took that off too, woman?"

"The shirt wouldn't fit with it!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Ianto caught Jack smiling at them in a way that reminded Ianto of his father and made his chest ache. He hadn't thought about his family in a while. He couldn't dare. It would have paralyzed him. 

Ianto edged closer to Jack, heartened when Jack didn't move away.

"Thank you," Ianto murmured to Jack, "for keeping your promise."

Startled, Jack glanced over to Ianto.

"You promised to be here when I come back for you," Ianto added.

Something shifted in Jack's face. A hand crept over and hesitantly hovered over Ianto's left hand. Ianto made sure his hand didn't even twitch. He smiled at Jack's suddenly blurry face.

"Thank you for coming back," Jack whispered in return.

Jack's fingers curled to capture three of Ianto's fingers. Ianto tentatively gave Jack's hand a squeeze and when Jack's hand returned the gesture, Ianto felt a warmth returning to his limbs. He felt Jack pull his hand to his mouth and gave Ianto's fingers an airless kiss before he turned back to the others.

"Gwen." Jack's voice seemed stronger now. "Get Tosh. She'll know what to do next then get her back here. No matter what. Even if you see Martha."

"But—"

"No buts." Jack was firm. "Martha has a job to do now and so do we. I need you guys to deal with the paradox machine and I…" Shadows crossed Jack's features. "And I have to deal with the Doctor."

"Jack…" Ianto started. His throat tightened when Jack turned towards him. "Saxon…he…he used his device to…" Ianto wasn't sure how to say it.

"The Doctor's nine hundred years old now, Jack," Owen finished.

Jack's breath visibly caught. "W-when?" Jack managed after a moment of shock.

"Not long. A day?" Gwen checked with the others. "More or less."

Jack took a deep breath. "How does he look?"

"He looks like a bald, wrinkly gnome."

"Owen!" Gwen hissed as she spun towards him.

"What? He does!"

"Jack," Ianto called for Jack's attention. "Afterwards, the Doctor contacted me using our…well…" Ianto gestured towards Jack then himself.

"It's how we knew how to use your wrist thing to get up here," Owen added. "Told us a bunch of things."

There was a long exhale. "At least he was able to do that." Jack's shoulders relaxed. 

"He had us set up a timer on the Rift Manipulator. A short energy burst directed at one of the satellites orbiting above us, right on the countdown," Ianto continued. Jack looked at him with little reaction. Ianto stilled. "You're not surprised."

"No." Jack grimaced. "I have a feeling I know what it's for." Jack studied all three of them. "There's no turning back now. Gwen, bring Tosh back here. No detours. Understand?"

Gwen stared at him for a long moment before her mouth hardened. She nodded, pulled out her necklace to check it was there. She relaxed at the sight of the key twirling on a chain in her hand. The shoelace had rotted off months ago. 

"Good luck," Ianto bade her. Owen merely grunted. Gwen gave them all a smile and a wave over her shoulder before she slipped out of the door. Ianto stared at the door for a second before turning back towards Jack. He cleared his throat.

"Um…I've taken the liberty of bringing some clothes." Ianto shrugged at Jack's wide eyes. "Thought you might want some clean shirts."

There was a glimpse of his Jack when his mouth quirked and suddenly, Ianto had the strongest feeling that everything would be okay.

"Oi! You packed clothes in your pack and acid in _mine_?"

 

Toshiko was suddenly wishing she were seven years old again. At least short enough to fit between the loo and the wall.

"Well, your Master wants the loos cleaned," Francine argued with the guard who surprised her just as they were entering the lavatory. Francine began talking loudly, blocking the door as Toshiko crammed herself into the stall.

"…piss all over the floor. Didn't your mother ever teach you to…"

Toshiko flinched. Who knew Francine had such a vocabulary? Owen should meet her. 

"…like a bloody cess pit…"

Eek. Toshiko pressed her body into the stall partition. She sat on the loo, her feet on the opposite wall, her arms stretched out to brace herself on the loo itself, trying to keep her feet off the floor, her shadow as small as possible.

Hurry, Toshiko pleaded to Francine in her head. Her arms were shaking.

"Look," the guard barked. "Woman, look—stop yelling for a moment. I'm under orders to bring you to the bridge."

"What? The Master wants his tea already? It's barely morning! I—"

"Our Master just wants _you_ there! Now." There was a smirk in the guard's voice that Toshiko was tempted to box out of him. 

"There's someone he wants you to meet." The sneer in the next words made Toshiko's insides twist.

"Martha Jones. I believe you're acquainted with her? By order of our Master, you are cordially _requested_ to come to the bridge for the countdown."

Francine fell silent.

"I see," Francine said evenly. Toshiko could see Francine straightening up. "Let's go since we're on a schedule." Her voice rose higher. "Mustn't stop then."

Toshiko bit her lower lip. Her head dropped back to the stall wall. She nodded to Francine's words.

The tentative footstep into the lavatory made her tense. Toshiko held her breath as the heel of a military boot clicked on tilted floor.

"You vomit from the stench, I'm not cleaning it up," Francine snapped.

The footsteps halted.

Toshiko's legs shook as she tried to keep them up above the floor; her arms trembled with the strain. 

Her right leg, which was supporting her left, cramped. Toshiko shut her eyes and tried to think of all the decimal numerals for pi. When her foot skidded down a little on the wall, her eyes flew open. Shit. _Shit_.

Toshiko could hear the guard breathe as he stood there by the doorway. God, why wouldn't he leave? Toshiko's eyes watered as she fought not to gasp. 

What felt like a long time, the guard made a noise of disgust and the footsteps started again, this time—thank God—away from the lavatory.

"Come on, Jones," the guard snarled.

"Stop pushing," Francine growled back. "Can't you see I'm moving already?"

Toshiko waited until she could no longer hear Francine, who was complaining loud enough to echo down the hall. When distance swallowed up even the echoes, Toshiko lowered her legs finally and dropped her arms. 

When she tried to stand though, her legs cramped and she dropped to the floor. She sat there, her arms straight out to prop herself up, her feet tucked underneath her. 

"Come on, come on," Toshiko whispered to herself. She shook uncontrollably. "Breathe, Sato, breathe. Don't stop now." It took a few deep gulps of air before the spots before her eyes disappeared. She round her shoulders back and twisted around to the toilet.

Toshiko grimaced as she wormed her arm in-between the wall and the porcelain bowl. She panicked at first when she counted the tiles and couldn't find the loosened ones. Toshiko nearly wept when her fingers brushed a square ceramic that wobbled.

It was hard to not let the tile just drop to the floor. Toshiko pried out the tiles and set them down carefully instead. 

Maybe it was because her arms were still shaking, maybe because the area somehow had swollen from the moisture, but it took a few twists of her torso before Toshiko could wiggle the package out of the hidden alcove.

Toshiko held the elongated package in her hands. The length spanned two palms across, thick enough to barely wrap her fist around. Clive had wrapped it in scraps of canvas and snips of plastic tarp to keep the moisture out. 

"Please work," Toshiko whispered, "please, please, _please_ work." She pulled it to her chest and squeezed it tight. 

Toshiko opened the door a crack to check before stepping out. She stared at the doorway.

"Hang in there, Francine," Toshiko murmured as she slipped the package into her apron. She eyed the area. She needed to be carrying something to hide this. She was going to find Jack, give him this then save Francine. 

A hand slipped over to cover her mouth. Toshiko shrieked behind the hand.

"Sh, Tosh, it's me."

Toshiko's eyes widened and as soon as the hand released her, Toshiko spun around and threw her arms around Gwen Cooper.

"Hello," Gwen gasped as she staggered back. Her arms went up as well and hugged Toshiko. Hard.

"Oh, you!" Toshiko exclaimed breathlessly. She buried her face into Gwen's shoulder. Gwen sniffled loudly above her and Toshiko felt a kiss on her hair. 

Toshiko's head shot up. All of the sudden the room was spinning as her words spilled out tripping over each other. "When did you get up here? Are you alone? Did you know about Ma—"

"All right, okay," Gwen shushed Toshiko. Her hands settled on Toshiko's shoulders.

"We just got up here and yes, we know about Martha. Jack told me to—"

Toshiko startled Gwen when she grabbed her upper arms.

"Jack?" Toshiko gaped at her. "He's awake then?"

Gwen grinned and nodded. "He…" Her eyes widened at the package tucked into the hem of Toshiko's apron. 

"Is that it? What Jack is waiting for?"

Toshiko pulled it out. "It is. You still wearing the perception filter?"

Gwen pulled out a key on a chain. She winked.

"Here, you take it then. Just in case I get caught."

"They'll have to get through me to get you," Gwen swore. She pulled up her skirt to reveal a Glock strapped to each of her upper thighs.

Toshiko's right eyebrow rose. "Goodness, Cooper. I think I _like_ this look."

"Whatever butters your parsnips, love." Gwen nudged her gently out the lavatory. "Hush now. Let's go see Jack."

 

Owen eyed his rucksack warily. Despite Ianto's reassurances there weren't any more bottles of acid or nasties lurking in his pack, Owen poked a finger through the bags before he pulled anything out.

The bundles of dynamite were taken from mining conveys. Saxon didn't care if they could be old or unstable, just that they were powerful enough to blow up bedrock.

Sticks of three were tied tightly together with wire, all connected with some of the shittiest watches Owen had ever seen. He made a face but made the attachments all the same. Owen balanced them on his lap, periodically looking up to check on the other two.

It was nauseating how those two were going at it like an old married couple. Jonesy commented how Jack looked a bit thin. Harkness pointed out to Ianto he'd also lost some weight and fussed when Ianto coughed. Then they were touching each other's hair and face and arms and Christ, he thought he saw them holding hands at one point. 

Despite that silly display equivalent to Gwen and Tosh gushing over a wet puppy though—at least these two didn't gush—Owen did note the hesitation in their body language. He was a doctor, after all.

Ianto kept pausing before reaching over to touch Jack, offering to unbutton Jack's shirt—Jesus, Jonesy, he isn't a child—or passing a clean flannel so Jack could wipe the blood off him. It had bled through all his clothes. The bloke would turn around, pause as if his mind said, _"Oi, you prat, maybe that isn't such a good idea"_ before doing it anyway. Owen wanted to handcuff those two together. That should solve the problem all nice and proper.

Their captain, on the other hand, acted like any minute, someone was going to leap at him with something sharp. Owen couldn't blame him though. Shit, let's see…he was shot by his own people, namely Owen, treated like shit by his ex-boyfriend—only the psycho wasn't really—and kept prisoner on the _Valiant_ for the sake of what? _Boredom_? No, Owen couldn't blame Jack so watching the man twitch and step back didn't bother Owen. It hurt to see but no, it didn't annoy him. Just narco boy. Idiot had to get himself shot, a permanent chest cold, a stiff right shoulder and to top it off? He apparently had become an antenna for the Time Lord psychic network and had the nerve to nod off everywhere on the spot! Didn't matter if there was cranium-unfriendly glass or concrete nearby either. Oh yeah, very annoying. Bloody hell, yea.

Owen just about decided everything including the sad, bristly state of his goatee was Jonesy's fault when he heard the jinx clear his throat.

"Your stomach," Ianto blurted out.

Owen turned just in time to see Jonesy's mouth snap shut and Jack, who was pulling a white undershirt over his head, freeze.

Owen squinted at the spot Ianto nearly touched before something in Jack's face made him snatch his hand back.

"What's this?" Owen grumbled as he stood up and shuffled over. He was surprised when Ianto stepped back to let him through. Huh. Thought for sure Jack's guard dog was going to nip his ankles.

Jack's head popped through the shirt's neckline and the crisp white cotton was tugged down quickly. It was too slow though to conceal the thin, white scar that went right down Jack's navel and disappeared into his trousers.

"Scar," Jack said shortly as he shrugged into a dark blue shirt. No braces. Ianto couldn't find any.

Ianto was all big-eyed looking at Jack. It reminded Owen of that cat in _Shrek_. Wait. One or two? Bollocks, now that was going to bother him all day.

"I thought you…you don't scar," Ianto whispered. 

"Usually I don't." Jack's stiff posture told them that the matter was now closed.

"Any pain?" Owen asked when Ianto looked over at him all buggy eyed, too. Christ, he hates that.

Jack gave a funny laugh. "No, not any more. Not after the third time."

Owen's eyes narrowed. He didn't like that answer. "I need to take a closer look."

"No."

"Jack, I need to make sure—"

"I said _no_. Damn it, can't no be enough any more?"

Oh, Owen didn't like the feeling in the pit of his stomach and he _really_ didn't like how Jonesy was looking like he was about to have another 'narco boy' spell here. Bloke was white as a sheet. Owen shook his head at Ianto when he saw Ianto opened his mouth to say something. 

"Yeah, okay." Owen lifted his hands up because Jack seriously looked like he wanted to punch someone and since Jonesy was his favorite, guess who was left?

Jack's eyes flitted over to him and the corner of his eye twitched. His hands loosened and he took a deep breath.

"We don't have time for this," Jack said flatly. He nodded towards the three packs Owen had collected to the side. Jack paused at the bundles Owen was making. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Jack—"

Shit, Jonesy, not now. Let's not upset the captain and have him go around punching Harper, mate.

Jack glanced back over his shoulder at Ianto and whatever he read on Jonesy's face, made him turn around again to Ianto. Jack sighed.

"Can we discuss this later?"

Owen grimaced at the unspoken "please".

Ianto deflated. "Yes, of course. Sorry."

Lines furrowed as Jack grimaced as if he was in pain.

"No…I am," Jack murmured. He pinched a bit of Ianto's sleeve before he let go quickly. Ianto stared at Jack like he was going to do something really embarrassing like fling his arms around Jack or something.

"Sure, later. Whatever you say," Owen cut in before things got unbearably maudlin. Owen jerked his thumb towards the pile he was making.

"We got enough here to blow up this ship over the Atlantic."

"We distributed the rest to the resistance. They promised to try, but I don't know…" Ianto's Adam's apple bobbed. "Jack, I'm not sure they can help us."

"Too little resistance, too many slaves. It's not enough. We may be alone in this, Jack," Owen added soberly. He squashed down the bitterness in his mouth. Even now, it pissed him off. "What we do up here. This is it. This plan the Doctor has. It better work. I don't fucking plan on coming back up here again."

"Shouldn't be a problem," Ianto muttered, "we'll probably be dead if this fails."

"Well, you're bloody chipper," Owen snarled.

"The Doctor's plan will work," Jack told them but he was staring at Ianto. 

"What is his plan then?" Owen insisted.

Jack flashed him a smile and it was gruesome to look at with the bloodstained teeth. They should have packed a toothbrush, too.

"Actually, I don't know," Jack confessed. He caught Owen's look and quickly added, "just our part."

"Which is?" Owen folded his arms again.

Jack nodded at the bundles of dynamite Owen was preparing. "You're going to find the paradox machine and blow it sky high."

"But the TARDIS," Ianto protested. 

Jack smiled at him. "She’ll be fine."

Owen rolled his eyes. She? Oh, for crying out loud.

"What's that going to do?"

Jack's smile faded. "Send all of those things back."

Okay, good plan then. Owen grunted. He could live with that. "And you? You said something about the Doctor? Jack, is he going to be able to help us? What’s he going to do? He's nine hundred years old now. Bite Saxon in the ankles?"

Jack appeared distracted as he checked the door. "Let me worry about that." He glanced back to both of them. "And no one's going to be dead. Not today. We're not failing."

Jack sounded so sure that the knot Owen had been trying to ignore the whole time loosened in his chest. 

Ianto nodded and rested his head gingerly on Jack's shoulder. Jack stiffened but before Ianto could realize his mistake and pull away, Jack dropped his right arm around Ianto's shoulders. Ianto exhaled and pulled both his arms around Jack's middle.

Jack's left hand lifted up and gestured at Owen.

Owen folded his arms in front of him. "No way I'm getting near you again," Owen declared, "I remember what happened last time. You can do your kissing with narco boy there but leave me out of it. I don't want you slobbering all over me again."

Jack frowned over Ianto's head. "I don't slobber."

"You do, too. A Saint Bernard would be drier."

Before Jack could defend himself, the door opened. Too many nights driving a truck to the resistance made Ianto and Owen whip out their guns before the girls' faces registered.

"Okay," Jack commented behind Ianto, " _that_ was very impressive."

Owen lowered his gun.

"Hey," Owen greeted in a funny voice because he suddenly couldn't think of anything to say. Tosh was in her maid outfit still and her face coming right up at him kept flashing behind his eyes. He tried not to think about it, but her lips had been soft that day… 

Tosh's face shone when she entered and as her eyes focused, a huge grin broke out and she ran towards—

"Jack!" Tosh flung herself at Jack.

Yeah, well, all right. It's been a while for Sato.

Jack froze for a moment before he dropped his hands on her shoulders.

"Okay, okay," Jack murmured. "It's going to be all right."

"Sorry," Tosh sniffled before she untangled herself and gave Ianto a fierce hug, too. And before Owen could react, Tosh wrapped her arms around him.

"Harper," Tosh muffled in his shoulder.

"Sato," Owen returned gruffly. Tosh felt small in Owen's arms and he couldn't help but wonder if meals were missed. 

"That goatee looks awful by the way," Tosh added. "You look like a pirate."

"I wasn't going to say anything," Jack commented. Ianto snickered. Owen glared.

Tosh pulled back. She faced Jack again, her eyes urgent.

"Jack," Tosh said, her voice low and hurried, "Martha's on this ship. A guard just took Francine to the bridge."

"Most likely the rest of the Jones family, too," Jack concluded. His mouth set into a hard line. 

"Jack." Gwen pulled out something from under her apron.

Jack's head whipped back to Tosh. "It's finished?"

Tosh fidgeted. "Yes, but Jack, it's never been tested. I'm still not quite sure what it does. And I think there's only enough power for one good shot—"

"One shot is all we need," Jack said as he took the tightly wrapped bundle in his hands. He handled it like it was glass. "Oh, Toshiko Sato, the Doctor was right. You _were_ the only one who could pull this off," Jack breathed as he unwrapped it.

"What is it?" Owen craned his neck to see Jack reveal a rod, long and thicker than a cigar but one end had a crude glass point like a pen tip about a centimeter long. It looked like a chunk of quartz. Its cylindrical body was patched with all sorts of gold, silver and brown. Jack hefted it like it was heavy despite its size. There were bits of turned up corners where the welding couldn't smooth it out. Basically, it looked like _shit_.

"What's that supposed to do?" Owen grumbled. Only one shot?

"This," Jack whispered like it was some relic, "is how we're going to get our Doctor back." Jack curled a fist carefully around one end. Hold on. Owen squinted. It looked familiar…

Ianto squinted at it as well and his eyes grew huge again. He gaped at it.

"Is that…" Ianto stammered. "T-that's…"

Jack nodded and damn, if he didn't look smug.

"Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce to you this century's first sonic screwdriver?"

 

**Act IX:** _"Faith and hope?"_

Gwen looped an arm around Tosh's shoulders and pulled her in for a one-sided hug.

"Incredible," Ianto breathed as he stared at it in Jack's grasp.

"Okay," Owen grumbled, "I'm impressed."

"Ooh, you brilliant woman. We should be calling _you_ Doctor!" Gwen enthused.

"Ma'am or Miss Sato will do just fine, thank you," Tosh quipped with a smirk. She tugged her apron straight with a snap before she returned Gwen's embrace before she turned to Jack. Her smile wavered.

"I suspected," Tosh confessed, "but I wasn't sure…"

"You did great," Jack assured her.

Jack looked loads better with a new shirt and trousers. He still carried a worn air about him but at least the blood was gone. Gwen suspected she knew where the new clothes had come from. She'd seen Ianto holding one of Jack's service shirts one night, just holding it like cherished childhood toy, stroking the collars with a reverence that brought tears to her eyes. She wondered if that's what she looked like holding her mobile, which was still in her pocket like a talisman.

"Are we using this to kill Saxon then?" Gwen asked when she found her throat thick with grief again. God, she was going to be useless if she went on like this.

The steam in the pipes whistled, drowning out the answer. But when Jack shook his head as well, Gwen's stomach plummeted.

"There's not enough ionic charge to create a fully concentrated beam," Tosh murmured. Her shoulders slumped. "I tried, but without the right materials, I couldn't chance binning it."

"It'll be enough to do what we need it to do." Jack held up a hand, halting her apology. He seemed to have understood perfectly what Tosh was trying to say.

"So what do we need it to do?" Owen asked but the brash tones seemed to have fizzled out of his voice. Even he stared at it with a bit of awe. 

" _I'll_ need it to bridge a link," Jack said as he tucked it into his waistband. "Tosh?"

"I set up a link. Archangel network is open to receive transmissions from the _Valiant_ now as well," Tosh confirmed.

"Transmission?" Owen raised a brow. "What you planning to do? Sing a song?"

"The Doctor was going to use the Archangel system by merging with it to create a sort of telepathic shield," Jack explained, "except the system has been blocked so we have to send him another energy source to revive him."

"If he does that regeneration like you said," Owen said slowly. "Why don't we just kill him and let him start over?"

"Owen!" Ianto and Tosh both hissed. They both started and turned guiltily to the doors. 

Gwen blinked at how quickly they responded. Even Jack looked surprised.

Owen rolled his eyes. "Fine," he griped. "We'll do it the hard way. Just seem like a lot of fuss, is all."

"Wait," Toshiko spoke up. "The only way you can send data in any form is either through the bridge or through their computer room." She scowled in memory. "I've been trying for months to get in."

"Any system wired into this ship that's running a current will do," Jack patted the screwdriver by his hip. "This will create a connection to your link and create a loop to make sure whatever we send through will boomerang back."

Gwen winced. Owen was right—it did seem like a lot of fuss. She shifted from foot to foot. Gwen wanted to get out of this room. It still smelled too strongly of blood.

"How you gonna make sure the Doctor gets it?" Owen wanted to know, "We can't stick an antenna in him."

Jack gave him a grim smile. "That's up to Martha."

Gwen gave Tosh a baffled look. Martha?

"So," Tosh said slowly, "Martha was supposed to be here, with Saxon?"

"Not until she had everything in place." Jack patted the screwdriver by his hip again, as if reassuring himself of its presence. "Not until we were all ready."

It made Gwen dizzy how all the pieces had fallen into place. If anything, her insides knotted more than loosened. 

Ianto's brow furrowed. "Where are you going to find another room then or another energy source?"

Gwen's stomach churned when Jack wouldn't look at Ianto. "The fourth level has some rooms I can easily access—"

"Jack!" Tosh burst out. "You can't!"

"Sh!" Owen hissed. His eyes darted back to the door then to Jack.

"What's she talking about, Jack?" Gwen asked, her voice lower, but her eyes were glued to Jack's face, still too gray, too much like after Abbadon. 

"Jack?" Ianto whispered. He took a step closer but Jack never acknowledged him. 

"That's what you're planning to do, isn't it?" Tosh accused, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "That's why the satellites, that screwdriver. This energy source you're not telling us about is _you_."

Jack grabbed her by the forearms and gave her a gentle shake. Tosh stared up at him, her lower lip trembling.

"Hey," Jack murmured. "Hey, now. There's no other way."

Gwen had been watching Jack and Tosh like it was Wimbledon, her eyes going from Tosh to Jack's face. All the while, her mind was piecing things together but she wasn't sure of the picture she was getting.

"All right." Owen gave up trying to figure it out. "Will someone tell me what's going on?"

"You're going to tap into your vortex," Ianto suddenly said. Understanding dawned on his face and slowly mutated to horror. "That's what you're planning to do." Ianto inhaled sharply. He looked sick.

"You're planning to drain yourself and somehow transfer that to the Doctor."

When Jack would neither confirm nor deny, Gwen felt her skin shrink around her, her lungs turned to stone. No more air would draw in.

"Jesus, Jack," Gwen gasped. "After what Saxon's—"

"There's no other way to get the Doctor back," Jack cut her off. He studied Tosh, his hands flexing carefully on her forearms. "Do you understand me? The satellites are locked out for him. There's no other way."

"That's why the Rift," Ianto said, his voice rough and unsteady. "The Doctor had me rig a timer to release a short burst of rift energy."

Jack nodded. "Vortex energy is naturally attracted to other temporal ions. Once I…siphon off the energy, it'll be a beacon for the satellite and it'll go right to it—"

"Then my command code for the satellite will send it straight back to the _Valiant_ ," Tosh finished. She moved her hands up to clasp Jack's wrists. "It might work." She sighed. "It's brilliant actually."

"It will work," Jack corrected her. "The Doctor had the whole year to figure it out."

Gwen spied Ianto swallowing as if he was fighting not to be ill. She turned to Jack. Something jabbed hard in her chest when she worked her mouth.

"W-what do you want us to do?"

"Take out the paradox machine," Jack replied without hesitation. "The TARDIS is stored in the lowest level of this ship." He gestured to the explosives Owen must have been working on before. "Get these into the main chamber. That's where the paradox machine is. Blow it."

Gwen hesitated. "Just like that?"

"She's sturdy. The paradox machine isn't." Jack dropped his hands from Tosh and stepped back. "Set the timers to give yourself enough leeway to get clear."

"Right." Owen shrugged his rucksack back over his shoulder. "I got the firecrackers," he reported. "We gonna to do this or what?"

Gwen glanced over to Ianto and when she caught his attention, tilted her head towards Jack. Ianto nodded. Satisfied, Gwen slipped her necklace off and tossed it to Jack, who caught it neatly.

"I can move around like this with Tosh," Gwen explained. "You boys are too scruffy-looking to slip past anyone."

"Oi, I'm not scruffy looking. I'm rugged," Owen griped. 

It somehow made her feel a lot better to see Tosh roll her eyes at Owen.

"Don't get yourselves killed out there," Jack said quietly. "Get it set up and get the hell out of the way."

"You too," Tosh said. She tiptoed up and kissed Jack on the cheek. "See you later, Captain."

Gwen did the same but said nothing. She was worried what she might say. 

Jack merely smiled down at her. He nodded.

Gwen looked at Owen, who looked at Tosh, who looked at Ianto. There should be something they should say, something profound, something encouraging but her mind was blank. They just all stared at each other as if no one wanted to be first to suggest leaving.

"Well," Owen finally said in a gruff voice, "Let's do this."

 

Jack was still trying to figure out what to say to Ianto when the door creaked and he looked up in time to see Gwen's back disappear behind the door. He stared at the door, feeling a bit like the walls were closing in around him before he realized he wasn't alone. He turned to his right.

Ianto stood there, his hands in his pockets, the TARDIS key bright against his throat.

"No," Ianto said before Jack could say anything. His eyes were dark, his mouth grim.

"Ianto, it's the only way to revive the Doc—"

"I'm not denying that," Ianto interrupted. "But you're daft if you think I'm letting you do this alone." His smile was a poor one. "Besides, I've done this before in London, the…experience might be useful." 

Jack averted his eyes. "It's just…I didn't want you to see that."

"I wish you would stop deciding things for me." Ianto took Gwen's necklace and carefully looped it over Jack's head. 

"Are we doing this or not?" Ianto asked hoarsely. Ianto stood in front of him, so real, so solid, Jack couldn't speak for a moment.

"Yeah," Jack managed, "let's go save the world…again." He took great care in walking over to the door, his legs still feeling like they didn't belong to him. He stared at the door handle before him. How many times had he stared at it alone? It looked so much bigger. 

Jack reached out and nearly wept when the handle gave easily in his grasp.

"Honestly," Ianto whispered behind Jack as he followed him out, "after this is over, I wish to renegotiate my salary."

Jack couldn't respond but as they slipped out of the room, Ianto reached forward and snagged the end of his service shirt. It anchored Jack as they navigated through the maze of pipes that seem to lunge towards Jack to prevent his escape. There were times when a doorway looked more like a mouth full of fire, yawning open towards them. Jack's feet stuttered to a halt many times, but Ianto just twisted his fingers tighter when Jack went the wrong way. 

Ianto never let go until they were finally out of the engine room.

 

"Citizens of Earth, rejoice and observe."

Francine felt Clive's hand on her back, Tish clutching her left hand with both her hands as the doors opened.

The room was filled with people again, guards lined up against the walls. Francine could see the Doctor in his shrunken form, standing hunched inside his wretched cage. He was staring at the door.

The doors opened soundlessly, nothing like the way Saxon usually liked to storm in. Guards, all too stoic to be human, entered. A pair of them as tall as she knew Jack Harkness was. 

And in-between them…

"Martha," Tish whimpered when she saw Martha entering the room slowly.

No one talked. Even the guards who were murmuring before fell silent. The constant electrical noises from the bridge upper deck quieted. The footsteps were subdued as if everyone was taking great care not to make a sound.

Francine wanted to scream.

Do something! Do something, Francine wanted to rage at the small figure in the cage by the stairs. He took Martha away from her for so long; made her travel the world alone and hunted. Francine was torn between screaming and staring at the first glimpse she had of her daughter in such a long time. A year. It's been a whole bloody year.

Martha walked tall and easy unlike the way she did when she graduated from the university. She had had a very odd left foot, right foot stride to her then when she walked up the podium as if she was afraid she would fall off the stage. Martha had confessed then she was afraid to look at all those people. Tish had teased her for weeks.

As Martha passed them, she turned her head and it was a woman Francine had never seen before who looked at them with dark yet calm eyes. There was a faint smile, like she was trying to tell them something. Her eyes visibly lightened when they landed on Francine and her mouth twitched.

It was quick. Martha looked away barely a second later, but it stole Francine's breath away.

Martha looked like the Doctor.

The Master stood at the top of the stairs with that damn smug look on his face. He held up a small black case. He bounced it in his hand as he waited for Martha to approach.

"Pity you didn't have your teleport device," Saxon boomed. He held up a small disk shaped device. "Could have had a pair." He turned to his right where Lucy Saxon stood in her red silk gown. She was staring at Martha with a frown.

"She's so…human, Harry," Lucy murmured. Her face screwed up in disgust.

"Yes well, aren't they all, my darling?" Saxon took a step down.

"Kneel, Martha Jones."

Clive growled low under his breath behind Francine but when a guard jabbed Tish with his rifle, Clive fell silent at their daughter's yelp.

Martha looked over her shoulder at Tish's cry. Her eyes glinted and Francine thought Martha's eyes drifted over to her before she faced Saxon again and slowly dropped to her knees without any protest.

Francine gritted her teeth at Saxon's smirk.

"Right on cue," he murmured strangely. "Down below, the fleet is ready to launch." Saxon spread his arms wide open. "Two hundred thousand ships set to burn across the universe." He bounded back up the steps to one of the console and grabbed a microphone.

"Are we ready?"

_"The fleet awaits your signal,"_ a voice crisply answered out of the speakers that surrounded them. _"Rejoice!"_

Saxon clapped his hands. He stretched out his right and Lucy Saxon sashayed over to him. He wrapped an arm around her waist.

"Five minutes to align the black hole converters," Saxon murmured as they swayed. Lucy beamed up at him with her bruised face, white with too much makeup. He hummed as they did a short circuit on the deck. Then he grew bored and shooed Lucy off. "Counting down!" He snapped his fingers.

A clock nailed above him and the consoles beeped and with old-fashioned flaps started at three hundred. After another beep, the digit flipped down and now it was 299.

Saxon leaned forward against the rail on the upper deck and stared at the counter with open fascination. He barked a laugh, thumped the rail with his palms and grinned.

"I never _ever_ could resist a ticking clock. A quirk of mine," Saxon told Lucy. 

"My children," Saxon shouted out into the air, "are you ready?"

_"We will fly and blaze and slice! We will fly and blaze and slice!"_

"God," Clive muttered. Francine shivered. The Toclafane answered in do many voices yet so perfectly as one.

"At zero, to mark this day, the child, Martha Jones, will die." Saxon leaned against the stairway. He paused. His hand twirled lazily in the air by his head. 

"Blah, blah, blah, blah—Really, this is a waste of time," Saxon suddenly huffed. "Here I ask if you have any last words, you of course have none, then I go on and on in a seemingly self-absorbed monologue. Couldn't you just save us the trouble and interrupt me right now?"

"What?" Francine muttered as Saxon directed his last question at Martha.

Martha tilted her head and looked at him.

Saxon shook the case at her. "This? The gun?" The Master shook his head and descended the stairs until he was next to the Doctor's cage. 

"Such a disappointment, this one," Saxon leaned against the cage. "What did I say before? Ah, yes. Days of old, Doctor, you had companions who could absorb the time vortex. This one's useless!"

The Doctor said nothing. He gripped the bars with his small hands.

Saxon beamed down at the Doctor. "Should I tell her? Or should you?" He checked the counter above him. "Oh, you'll just prattle on, I'll tell her old friend." Saxon turned neatly to her, his teeth gleaming white as he bared them at her like a wolf in the dark.

"A gun, Martha Jones?" Saxon shook the case again before he dropped it in front of her. "Oh look, I dropped our last hope against the evil Master!" Saxon folded his arms. He tsked. "Poor quality, this weapon. Made in some sweatshop factory, I suppose. No more useful than a toy."

Francine saw Martha's shoulders stiffen.

"Yes," Saxon chuckled. "This was where you're supposed to start telling me about how clever you were, pretending to look for a gun." He turned to look at his wife over his shoulder. "In four parts, no less."

Lucy smiled hesitantly but she looked confused.

"Questions?" Saxon beckoned her. "Come. Come here, my child." He looped an arm around Lucy and leaned into her.

"You see," Saxon pretended to whisper into Lucy's ear.

"The gun doesn't work."

Francine's body grew cold when Martha reacted with a jerk she couldn't suppress.

The smile was oily and twisted. "The Doctor would never have wanted you to kill. The gun, nice idea, poorly executed. You humans are such creatures of habit."

"How did you know?" Martha was barely audible.

Saxon merely smiled. There was a look of pity in his eyes as he cocked his head.

"A gun in four parts scattered across the world?" Saxon shook his head. "You asked me once if I really believed that?" Saxon stroked a knuckle down Lucy's cheek. "I did before, but unlike your species, I learned to break out of the cycle of history."

Saxon sighed dramatically. "Here, you're thinking, realizing, that everything you've done has been for nothing. All those plans." Saxon waved a hand towards the cage. "He can't get into Archangel. He wasn't able to get into the matrices."

"Mum?" Tish whimpered to Francine's ear. "What's he talking about?"

Saxon clasped his hands together in mock prayer. "What do you think will happen when all those dirty, fragile humans gather together when this counts to zero, all chanting 'Doctor'?" The Master clapped and tapped his clasped hands to his lower lip. 

"Fifteen satellites floating high above while they all chant to a nine hundred year old Time Lord? Hm? _Hm_?"

The Doctor in his cage pressed closer to the bars.

"I ask you, Martha Jones. You have traveled the Earth on foot for a whole year because your precious Doctor told you to use the countdown. What did you think _would happen_?"

Martha said nothing for a moment. Francine's eyes burned. God, what will come now? Martha's shoulders were slumped and she could tell from where she stood that Martha was staring across at the Doctor.

"Don't look to him for answers, Martha Jones," Saxon seethed. "He has none."

Martha turned back towards him.

"How does it feel now?" Saxon purred as he slowly climbed up the steps backwards until he was on top again. "How does it feel to know that all your beloved Doctor's plans have failed, have failed you?"

"How does it feel?" Martha repeated in a thick voice. She kneeled there, very still, until she tilted her head up towards him.

"Actually, not too bad."

Martha tilted her head back and laughed.

 

Owen counted the bundles again one more time. 

"It was eight before, it'll still be eight now," Tosh whispered. She crouched down under the steam pipe next to him. "They're not magic dynamite, they won't multiply." 

"Just checking," Owen grumbled. He tried to ignore the fact her skirt was hiked halfway up her thigh.

"Christ, did you use too much hot water?"

Tosh blinked, glanced down and smoothly grabbed the hem and tugged it down. It didn't help.

"Saxon likes us wearing short skirts," Tosh grumbled. She jerked at the hem again without any success. 

Owen grunted. He checked the watches strapped with the dynamite again.

"Are you sure those things will work?" Tosh tapped at one cracked face. "Did you check the batteries?" Her right knee bounced nervously in front of him and her skirt slipped up again.

"Of course, I did," Owen snorted. He stared at his lap. He did, didn't he? Bollocks.

The two fell silent again.

The hollow echoes of steam rumbling in pipes vibrated against his back. They sounded like laughter from an old fart sneering at them. Owen grimaced.

"What was that?" Owen hushed, more to hear his own voice than the pipes.

Tosh shot him a baffled look. 

"Before," Owen prodded. "You know… _before_. When we were first up here—"

Tosh wrinkled her nose. "When they took us up here to be executed?"

Argh. "No, no, after that."

Tosh frowned. "But that was our first time up here," she reminded him.

If it wouldn't bung the entire mission, Owen would have ranted right now. He clenched his teeth and gritted out, "Never mind. Forget I said anything." He slumped back against the pipe. Where the hell was Cooper anyway?

Tosh, unfortunately, was the kind of clever woman who didn't let go easily. Owen, without looking up, could sense Tosh frowning and making faces to herself. She made a tiny noise and touched her own lips.

"Ooh." Tosh drew out her response long and low. Her eyes widened. " _That_."

Owen's mouth twisted. He wasn't sure if he was glad she remembered or irked that she had forgotten in the first place.

"It was for luck," Tosh whispered. She huddled closer until her hip was warm against his leg. 

"For luck?" Owen repeated. He gave her a wary glance. His eyes narrowed. "That's all?"

"Sure because of the heat of the moment." Tosh shrugged. "I mean, it was pretty tense…"

"Yeah, we were about to—"

"And I didn't know when we would see—"

"Exactly," Owen threw in. He stared at Tosh.

"So…" Owen said slowly. He tested the words in his head. "For luck?"

Tosh brushed her hand across her lap. "Of course." Her knee bounced again in place. "…What did you think it was?"

The quiet footsteps stalled whatever Owen was going to say. Not that he knew what his answer was going to be.

"All right," Gwen reported as she squeezed into the space the two large pipes created. She handed Owen back his key, which Owen took back gratefully. It felt weird and very exposed without that stupid piece of metal hanging off his neck. 

"No guards."

Owen sighed. "Good."

"But there's three Toclafane guarding it," Gwen finished.

Owen glared at Gwen. "I think mentioning that first would have been better."

Gwen just shrugged. She tugged a strand of her hair behind her ear. Getting to be a bad habit of hers. Owen had been tempted many times before to snip it off when she slept on her shift.

"What we need is lightning," Owen muttered.

"What?" Tosh gave him a look. 

"Before we left, the Toclafane found out where we were," Gwen explained, "but Ianto used a program he found in your folder."

"Martha found out lightning took down one of those things," Owen added. He jerked his head towards the direction of the room where the TARDIS was. "Sparked the whole lot. Some sort of EMP pulse thing."

"The electromagnetic echo field?" Tosh beamed. "I hadn't had a chance to test it. It worked?"

Owen's mouth dropped open. "You…you hadn't tested it yet?" he stammered.

Tosh waved a hand in a pish-posh fashion. "I was going to last Christmas but then we got so busy." Tosh frowned at Owen. "What's that look for? You just said it worked."

Owen exchanged a look with Gwen. Cooper looked like Tosh just declared her devotion to her. She looked like she was going to pitch forward in a faint.

"W-well…um…" Gwen fumbled. "Love, did…d-did Ianto know this?"

Tosh smiled to herself in memory. "Oh yes, I was ratty about it for days. I was about to have a row with Jack when he had to cut its testing budget. I must have complained every morning to poor Ianto."

"I'll kill him," Owen muttered to himself. "Gwen, you'll distract Jack and I'll take narco boy somewhere and beat him silly with my shoe."

"Narco boy?"

"Don't get him started," Gwen warned Tosh.

Tosh narrowed her eyes at Owen. She shook her head. "Never mind then. Do you remember the voltage? Wattage?" 

Owen was sure his face appeared as blank as Gwen's. 

"Joules?" Tosh pressed.

"Joules?" Gwen brightened. "Yes, megajoules. It was…four hundred?" Gwen glanced over to Owen.

"Five hundred," Owen corrected. "About five hundred and ten." At Tosh's speculative look at the ceiling, Owen added in a drawl, "Why?"

Tosh didn't answer at first. She stared at the ceiling above her. Gwen tipped her head back and squinted at the bulb above her.

"Gwen?" Tosh asked absently. She dropped her gaze back down to them and her smile was blazing.

"Were there any lights in there?"

 

Jack could understand Ianto's reluctance to come any closer to the dais. Jack was finding he needed to force his feet to take another step to approach it the minute they entered the room. 

Because of Martha's arrival, most of the guards were concentrated three levels above them, on the bridge. The hallway had been empty but the door they needed seemed to stretch further and further away as they crept up to it. 

Jack avoided looking at the other half of the room when they entered. Instead, he focused on the left side where the coral grew into a partition of golden rock. The dais sat in the center of this half, machinery lined up on the wall parallel to it. Jack grimaced at the canisters that lined up the back, stacked neatly like cans on a Tesco wall. God, he just wanted to take one of Owen's explosives and blow the whole thing out of the sky. His insides churned with both revulsion and rage. It made standing upright a bit of a feat.

" _Jack_."

Ianto sounded like he couldn't breathe so Jack spun around. Then, _Jack_ couldn't breathe when he realized Ianto was staring at the bed that Jack had been kept in at the beginning.

"Over here." Jack forced the words out. He felt sucker punched and it was hard to get the words out. He took a step into Ianto's view.

Ianto blinked and after gaping blankly at Jack's chest blocking his view, Ianto finally looked up at him with shattered eyes.

Jack wordlessly took a fist of Ianto's right sleeve and steered him towards the other side of the room. Ianto made no comment when Jack tugged harder than necessary to get him to move. 

Cotton slipped out of his fingers and Jack staggered deeper into the left half of the room without Ianto. He set his fists on the dais, hung his head and breathed heavily through his mouth. He felt dizzy. He felt like he just woke up after Abbadon. 

"His taste in décor hasn't changed."

Jack glanced over his shoulder. Ianto stood at the foot of the platform, staring at it with an unreadable expression.

"Yeah, but," Jack ignored the stack of glowing blue canisters at the wall by the opposite end of the dais as he pulled out the utility drawers by the mainframes, "it's good for the back. He could have made a fortune." It was a mixed victory when Jack found the long IV lines in the bottom drawer. 

"That wasn't the least bit funny."

Jack looked up, the tubing in a fist, a quick retort on his lips. But at Ianto's pale face, whatever joke Jack was going to offer died quickly.

"No," Jack agreed. "It wasn't." He took a deep breath. "You said you set a timer for the Rift. When?"

Ianto patted around his jeans. His sleeves rolled up as he twisted around.

"You've kept it on."

Ianto paused. He lifted up his right arm to show Jack. His eyes crinkled when he revealed the wrist strap.

"Never took it off."

"Not even when you shower?" Jack teased as he sat on the edge of the elongated surface. He kept his eyes on Ianto and tried not to think about how cold it felt under him. "Because you in…in just leather—"

"Stop it."

Ianto's voice was quiet, but it shut Jack up effectively. 

Jack tracked Ianto coming around and sittting up on the dais with him, an inch away. The heat from Ianto's body made him squirm.

"You don't have to pretend," Ianto told him softly.

The knowing in Ianto's eyes, the dark tint of understanding made Jack look away.

"Jack. I told you before, none of this matters."

"It's easy," Jack murmured, his eyes drifted to the mainframe that the tubing connects to.

"Easy?"

Jack tore his burning eyes away from the mainframe and back to Ianto. "To think things can be…fine when you're in a different place." Jack saw Ianto's questioning look, Jack gestured towards his head.

"It's a nice idea though." Jack swallowed. And it was. That none of this could matter.

A warm hand slipped over his on the dais. Jack looked down at the hand. His heart clenched at the tiny scrapes and scratches he could see on Ianto's knuckles, the calluses he could feel from rough labor, pain and misery.

"No matter what," Ianto repeated. He wrapped his hand tighter around Jack's hand. 

Jack smiled sadly at their hands. His hand curled under Ianto's. Jack swiped his tongue across his lower lip. 

"How long?" Jack rasped.

"Jack."

" _How long_?" Please, please, Jack pleaded. He lowered his eyes to their hands. He didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want to _think_ about it.

Ianto never pulled his hand away. He fumbled the stopwatch out with his other hand.

Jack smiled to himself. Even in jeans and a worn black denim jacket, the watch still suited Ianto like an extension of himself.

"Five minutes."

Five minutes. Okay, that was just three hundred seconds away. Jack rubbed the IV ends together.

"Want me to do that?"

Jack shook his head. "I…I should…"

Ianto didn't ask again. He took the tubing out of his grasp.

Jack watched dully as Ianto began to mimic Jack, pulling out drawers.

"What are you looking for?"

The drawers jerked as Ianto kept pulling them out, closing them and going back to open them again.

"I'm trying to find…I don't see any…" The drawers began to bang louder as Ianto's search grew frantic.

"PV-35?" Jack guessed. He opened and closed his right hand into a fist. "There…there isn't any."

Ianto stilled. He turned around slowly, his eyes pale.

"God, Jack—"

"It's fine," Jack said quickly. "Once the Rift hits the satellite, that's our signal, I only need to be on this thing for maybe," Jack gulped but the lump in his throat wouldn't go away, "a m-minute. It's fin—"

" _It's not fine_!"

Ianto opened another drawer, made a choking sound then opened another. "There must be…there must be _something_ …"

Jack felt his throat swell tighter and tighter as Ianto searched. The more frenzied Ianto became, the more Jack couldn't breathe. Stop. Just—

"Stop," Jack croaked out loud. "Just stop looking, okay? Just _stop_."

Ianto halted, one hand on a drawer pull, his head bowed, his back towards him.

"You can't do this," Ianto whispered. "Jack…I was there in London. Christ, your heart had _stopped_."

There was a vise clamped around his head, getting smaller and smaller.

"It's just a minute," Jack said quietly.

"It's _one minute_ , Jack!" Ianto spun around. "Sixty seconds! You can't even wait that long for coffee! It's one whole, fucking min—" Ianto stopped short, his eyes on Jack. His shoulders slumped. Ianto stared hard at his shoes. He closed his eyes.

Jack didn't know what made Ianto stop. He didn't know why he couldn't move. Ianto's eyes were red-rimmed, his cheeks stained. And Jack should go over to him and say something. Anything.

"It's just one minute," Jack found himself repeating instead. He cringed at how strained his voice sounded.

Ianto nodded, his eyes still downcast. He slowly walked up to Jack and stopped by Jack's knees.

"All right?" Ianto set his hands on either side of Jack's hips.

Jack nodded mutely and parted his thighs to let Ianto stand between them. He fought a shudder when hands came up his back and the sensation of a warm body pressed up against him.

Ianto kept his embrace loose around Jack, his head resting on his shoulder, the distance between them felt too close yet too far away.

"You're right," Ianto murmured against a spot somewhere between his shoulder and heart. "You're right. It's just one minute. You can do one minute. It's fine. I'm…I'm s-sorry. I don't know what I was…it's just one minute."

Jack closed his eyes and exhaled slowly so whatever was trying to climb out of his throat wouldn't escape. He leaned forward closer and his arms felt like lead when he brought them up. He felt like he was swimming in molasses, trapped in liquid amber as he bend his arms and curved them around Ianto's middle. He clasped his hands together and rested them on Ianto's lower back.

"One minute," Jack whispered.

Ianto nodded. Carefully, his embrace shrank around Jack. A palm gently coast up and down his spine.

"There's no other way. The Doctor can't tap into the—"

"Shh. All right. All right." Ianto's hands moved around to curl around his shoulders. He gave them a brief squeeze.

Ianto tilted his head up. "It's just one minute."

Jack stared at Ianto. Under the scratchy unshaven jaw, the shadowy smudges under his eyes, Ianto looked both painfully young and heartbreakingly old at the same time.

"Yeah," Jack choked out. His arms dropped and Ianto stepped back and suddenly it was cold. Jack shivered. He pulled out the rough sonic device and gripped it with both fists. Jack took a deep breath and swung his legs up to the dais.

"You could wait out there if you—" Jack tried. 

Ianto settled a hand on Jack's knee. "Straighten out," Ianto requested in a small voice.

"You don't have to…" Jack trailed off when Ianto looked up. Jack closed his eyes again. "Yeah…O-okay…You need to use the harnesses so…so I don't fall off when…"

Ianto was feeling the straps. He said nothing as he brushed his thumbs across the leather. His Adam's apple bobbed as he went to Jack's ankles and tugged at the attachments.

"They need to be tight," Jack whispered. He couldn't help but look as Ianto did just that on his ankles, then moved up to do the torso. He felt nothing when the broad cuffs wrapped around him.

"Now the IVs," Jack choked out. His heart began hammering hard, powerful enough to force the air out of his lungs. He took a deep breath and tried again. "I need you to connect all of them."

"It…it helps if you're not watching me," Ianto said in a half whimper.

"Sorry." Jack stared at the ceiling, trying to think of anything other than the burn that pierced his skin and slid—God—into his veins. Jack bit his lower lip then the inside of his cheek when one line of fire jolted down his spine.

"Done," Ianto stammered out. Jack could hear him gulping for air by his head.

"That green meter there, with the toggle," Jack said woodenly. "Set the timer to one minute. When the Rift hits the satellite, the alarms will go off, flip the toggle all the way—"

"All the way?" Ianto strangled out. He took a deep breath. "Sorry. G-go on."

It was hard to get the words out. "Turn that dial on it, yeah, that one there, until the top lights up. Jam the screwdriver into that meter. It should bridge that machine right into the ship. Tosh opened up the Valiant to broad transmit so it'll go right up to the satellite the Rift hit and it'll go right back down—"

"To the Doctor," Ianto finished shakily. He stood by Jack's right arm. He held the screwdriver, looking very much like he wanted to throw it.

"H-how long?" Jack hated how his voice cracked.

Ianto brushed away Jack's hair from his brow.

"Two minutes."

Jack stared at the ceiling again. His heart hammered and distracted him from the pain. Beat for beat, it reminded him of the _thrum-thrum-tap-tap_. The one Saxon drilled into his head for so long. The Master's eyes shone with a white fire when he would ask Jack if he could hear the drumming.

"You want drums?" Jack rasped out loud. "I'll give you drums, you son of a bitch."

 

"What's so funny?" Saxon snarled.

"Martha, what are you thinking?" Francine muttered. She bit her lower lip when Martha's laugh faded. 

Martha tilted her head up to Saxon.

"Faith and hope?" Martha sounded incredulous. "That's it?"

Francine could see Saxon's smirk falter. Lucy Saxon on the deck fidgeted. 

"A telepathic field binding the whole human race together, thinking the same thing at the same time," Saxon said, his voice pitched higher as if mimicking Martha. "You thought you would travel the world, spreading the word."

Martha chuckled. "That sounded like a grand old plan…the first time."

"What?" Tish muttered.

"What's going on?" Clive whispered.

Francine narrowed her eyes. "I don't know."

"You've guessed and nearly caught me so many times," Martha was saying, "so many times. As if you knew where I would go next. Even when you were chasing the wrong people, you still sent killers my way to try and catch me, blew up every hole I ever thought about hiding in."

"God," Francine breathed. Her skin itched all over. "Martha…" Her eyes watered. 

"Then I remembered what the Doctor told me."

"The countdown," Saxon spat out.

"Yes." Martha didn't sound surprised. "The countdown."

_Beep_.

Above them, the counter flipped down to fifty seconds. Francine swallowed. She searched desperately for a sign from Martha but Martha never looked up.

"There are people gathering by the square," one of the pilots reported from behind Saxon, unsure. "They're…they're everywhere, Master."

The Master tsked. "Your people, Doctor." He waved towards the bridge behind him. "All gathering to pray in your name."

"But there are no satellites for your Doctor," Saxon told Martha with a smirk. He kept glancing back at the Doctor. "What do you think you can do with your Doctor this way?"

_Beep._

Thirty-five seconds.

"Who says he was going to stay that way?" Martha returned. "Oh, I forgot to mention he also told me something else." Martha turned towards the cage.

_Beep._

Twenty-eight seconds.

"What?" Saxon demanded. "What else did he tell you?"

Martha faced Saxon and in a clear, steady voice almost tinged with unknown amusement, Martha answered.

"This is your past."

"You've done this before," the Doctor spoke up as he clung to the cage. "All we've done, all we'd planned…all been done before."

"So yes," Martha said. Francine held her breath. Martha's left hand was slowly coming towards the case that was tossed to her. "I thought if I told people if everyone thinks of one word, at one specific time, right across the world. One word, just one thought, at one moment…but with fifteen satellites." Martha scoffed. "It was a good idea."

"But we had already done it the first time we thought of it. Haven't we? In your past," the Doctor added. "Therefore you would have been expecting it."

One by one behind Saxon, on the bridge, alarms were ringing up on the console.

"What's going on?" Saxon demanded. He never removed his eyes on Martha. But at the increasing number of alarms and stammering, the Master twisted around.

"What?"

"There's reports of…explosions, rioting…" The pilot sounded like he could scarcely believe it. "They're destroying the rockets."

_Beep._

Five seconds.

"What was it that you said?" Martha mused out loud. "All of them, every single person on Earth, thinking the same thing at the same time. In perfect unison. In perfect frequency…"

"To cancel out your signal," the Doctor finished.

"Blocking out Archangel," Martha concluded.

Saxon turned beet red as he went up the stairs three at a time to stand over the pilots.

"Launch the rockets!" Saxon ordered. "Every last one of them. Launch them no—"

_Beep_.

Zero.

There was a rumble outside that Francine could feel under her feet. The entire ship shook. Francine fell back. Clive caught her and they stumbled back into the wall, the guard sprawled by her feet and in the midst of upheaval, Francine saw her Martha lunge for the case.

It wasn't clear what was going on. A beam of golden light from somewhere below on the planet shot up and barreled past the windows.

"…coming from Cardiff!" Francine heard someone calling. The pilots were shouting. Saxon was shouting.

"Shoot down that base!"

The ship tilted and chairs skidded across Francine's view down to the doors. 

"…forty percent of the rockets' signal…can't activate…"

"…aiming for satellite five!"

"Jesus, are we crashing?" Clive shouted as the beam of light continued to zip past them like a pulse, thundering by the _Valiant_ like a stampede of horses. The lights on the bridge flickered. Alarms wailed. The consoles on the bridge sparked. But seconds later, the bridge went completely dark. When Francine picked herself up, the lights came back on and there was Martha, standing in front of the stairs, feet apart, gripping an odd silver-looking gun.

"Saxon!" Martha shouted in a voice Francine never heard from her before. The Master froze where he stood just as Martha fired.

"Stop!"

Francine thought Lucy Saxon screamed but the Doctor was louder. He had barreled into the side of his cage and swung it towards the stairs. The chain the prison hung on snapped and sent the cage directly into the beam of light that shot out of Martha's gun. Francine cried out with Martha when the cage was drenched in a sparkle of multicolored light but before anyone could react, someone on deck reported that the _Valiant_ was receiving a transmission from satellite five. 

As soon as the pilot shouted out, a blue light, brilliant as a thunderbolt burst through the roof of the bridge. Light filled the bridge and everything faded into a haze of white shapes. Tish shrieked and Francine panicked when Tish's hands were gone from her arm. Clive swore as he dropped. Francine felt her feet lift as she was thrown back; saw Martha knocked off her feet as everyone crashed hard to the floor. The loudest clap boomed in Francine's ears as the blue light slammed into the cage. Through tearing eyes, from the floor, Francine Jones saw the cage that held the Doctor explode.

 

**Act X:** _"You know what I'm going to say."_

Please, don't miss.

It was Martha's only thought as she grabbed the gun out of the case. The colored vials were thankfully still intact. Her hands shook when she slotted them into the gun in the correct order. The vials bubbled and frothed as soon as they were inserted, the hiss being made when the chemicals began to mix in the chamber made her heart pound. She had practiced this move countless times. At night, in the dark, even when it was too cold to move, until her hands could snatch and twist in smooth motions on cue.

So when the golden light shot across the sky and the Doctor in the cage winked at her, Martha's hands were already in motion before she could even think of the command.

Chairs slammed into her as the ship tilted, rocked by the aerial bombardment that sizzled past the _Valiant_. It reminded her of the fireworks she saw one New Year’s Eve. They had flown up in an endless stream of color and sound that was both frightening and beautiful against the London Eye. Martha gritted her teeth as she landed hard on the floor, her hands scrambling for the case's contents.

"…forty percent of the rockets' signal…can't activate…"

"…from Cardiff…aiming for satellite five!"

Martha wasn't sure what was going on, but she knew Torchwood must have a hand in it and the thought they might still be alive despite Saxon's depravity charged her anew. She ignored the shouting around her, ignored the guards and the people struggling to stay up on their feet. She ignored how all the lights went dark on the bridge. She ignored the pain of crashing into furniture or them into her. She just grabbed the gun out of the attaché, snapped in the chemicals in the dark with the practiced ease borne from countless drills during cold, dark, hungry nights. 

Tom Milligan's face flashed before her as well as Andy Davidson's. She still remembered the little hand on her as the young owner promised to protect her.

Her hand curled tighter around the gun. Martha raised her head, squinted in the dark.

There was a young survivor she turned over to the resistance in Africa because there was no one in his family left alive to care for him. The boy hugged her knees and cried when she told him she needed to go, that she couldn't stay with him.

Martha stood up.

Inside her front left pocket was a painted origami frog a girl made for her. It was for luck. She made it out of the waxy wrapping from the protein bar her family had shared with Martha. Her name was Megumi. She was in Japan.

The lights return and squinting under the sudden glare, Martha sighted Saxon standing on the top of the stairs as dark as death, like an executioner.

"Saxon!" Martha shouted as soon as she saw him. He spun around and stared at her with the kind of face one would wear when confronted with an approaching car. There was one awful moment when Martha hesitated but then hundreds of faces flipped through her mind like a picture book; faces who were no longer there.

Martha pulled the trigger. Maybe Docherty was wrong about her not being a killer.

"Stop!"

There were several voices telling her to stop. Lucy Saxon's scream stood out because Martha had never forgotten her at the end of the universe. She was charging towards her with the same shrill anger Martha had encountered in the silo before poor Chantho stopped her. Too late, though; Martha's finger flexed in response as Saxon's shock morphed into an angry sneer.

The gun was light but its recoil surprised Martha; that was something she hadn't prepare for. Martha staggered back with a grunt so she missed the Doctor's cage spinning towards her gun.

Martha looked up to see if her aim was true and cried out when she saw she had somehow shot the Doctor instead. No! Her gut clenched when she saw the cage drop to the floor. Even Saxon was yelling, running towards the cage with a panic Martha didn't understand.

But that's when someone from above shouted.

"Incoming transmission from five!"

"What?" Saxon was halfway down the steps when he twisted back around to the pilots. "From where? Cut it off!"

"I can't! The beam has scrambled its receptors!"

"Doctor," Martha whimpered as she dropped the gun and stumbled towards him. The ship rocked again and she fell, the cage rolling out of reach.

Just before her fingers could touch the cage, there was a giant and wordless howl. Martha groaned as her head pounded. She clapped her hands over her ears just as light from above her scorched past her and struck the cage. White fire swept across the ceiling, hot and dry and God, she couldn't see. It was like the light had burned out her eyesight. 

"No! Impossible!"

Saxon's outraged call made her look up. It was like staring at the sun: blinding yet riveting. Tears sprang up as she watched the cage hover in the air then disintegrated.

"Stop the transmission! Shut it down now!"

"…can't! It's coming from the _Valiant_ itself! The computers won't respond!"

" _Doctor_!" Martha screamed, her hand stretching out towards the strange blue light where the cage had vanished. The moment her fingertips touched the column of light, a charge surged up her limbs and like a telly gone mad, she saw faces she knew, faces she should know: her mother under a table, a giant insect diving at her, Owen Harper bleeding, Ianto dropping to the ground, monsters climbing out of the sewers, the sky turning wrong, a golden haired woman running towards her, thousands of machines in the alien sky, flipping, flipping, too many faces and too many things. Martha simply screamed as she thought she felt her skin bursting into flames. Martha dropped.

As soon as her fingers pulled away from the light, the frenzied images died into blissful silence. There was a moment of quiet when everything on the bridge went still, so still Martha thought she had gone deaf, but something made her look up. A haze beyond the edge of her vision glowed and beckoned. Martha stared at the trainers she knew so well.

_"Tell me the human race is degenerate now when they can do this."_

Her cheeks were wet when Martha sat up. "Doctor," she breathed.

_"All that power and you could not see this, Master?"_ There was a chuckle that made the hairs on her arms rise. _"What a short-sighted God."_

Martha's smile faltered. She lifted her head up and gaped at the tall figure floating a meter above the floor.

The Doctor stood, youthful as she remembered him, in his suit, still in the human form he preferred. By some strange miracle, he was once more dressed in his pinstripe suit, his silly trainers, all gangly limbs, and scruffy jaw.

But his eyes…

White and glowing, the Doctor stared down at Saxon on the deck with a coldness Martha only caught a glimpse of when she first met him. His hair seemed almost golden and the edges of him wavered like he was under a heat wave.

_"You have interfered for the last time, Master."_

Martha felt a quiver in her guts.

This was _not_ her Doctor.

 

Gwen was staring at the bottom of someone's shoe by the time all the lights came back on. The last thing she remembered was every single bulb that led to the TARDIS exploding then the ship bucked, rocked, and the floor dropped underneath her. Gwen was weightless for a few seconds before she crashed into something soft.

"Um…" Tosh sounded a little tentative and breathless somewhere down by Gwen's feet. "Do you think they heard that?"

Owen was muffled as he had so graciously cushioned both Gwen and Tosh's fall. He swore up and down. It was mostly inaudible though. Oh well, at least Gwen knew he was all right. Mostly.

"Fuc—What the hell did you do?"

"I diverted all the power of the ship into a single circuit and let it collect, forcing the current to build up in the room containing the TARDIS. It doesn't have a circuit-breaker or transformer so it overloaded."

Jesus, Tosh talked like the Doctor, Gwen thought absently.

"English, Tosh! English!" Owen demanded. His arm flopped as he struggled to pull himself out from under them.

"I made things go _'Boom'_!" Tosh piped up with the sort of glee Gwen would expect to be accompanied with some evil laughter and hands rubbing together. 

"So do you think it worked?" Gwen asked, still gasping because Lord, the ship hasn't stopped moving yet.

A dark, smoking metal globe rolled past them. After a beat, two others sedately followed. Gwen gawped at they traveled down the hallway past them without a squawk. The three struck a distant wall and went _thunk_. 

"Uh…think so," Owen mumbled under her. His other arm flopped uselessly in the air. "Get up. You two gits are heavy."

Gwen panted as she rose to her feet. She staggered back to rest against the pipe they were originally hiding behind. She shared a grin with Tosh.

"Like I said before," Gwen managed out. "Brilliant."

"Okay, we better get a move on. I heard the alarms before," Owen said. His eyes darted left and right. 

"Oh, that's probably because the engines cut off before," Tosh dismissed with a hand as she smoothed out her apron with the other.

"The engines…" Owen glared at her. "The engines? You mean the ones that keep us afloat?"

Tosh shot him an annoyed look. "What? They came back on. Come on, this way." 

Gwen grabbed Owen's collar just as he growled low under his breath and made to reach for her throat. She jerked him back. He gestured wildly at Tosh like a traffic womble. Gwen pushed him forward. "Come on."

 

Something was wrong.

Ianto stood by the mainframe, staring transfixed at the dais before him.

The moment the _Valiant_ rocked violently, Ianto did as Jack instructed, ramming the tip of the screwdriver into the gauge. Everything lit up from the point of contact, all across the board. All the IV tubes stiffened and Jack tensed, squeezed his eyes shut as the lines first turned red then neon blue.

Ianto wasn't sure if he was glad Jack kept quiet. Jack had his eyes squeezed tight, his mouth clamped shut as the room hummed with a rhythmic _thump_. London's machine was completely silent, Ianto thought as he held his stopwatch with both hands. Whether that made it better or not was something Ianto refused to think about. His fingers shook as he opened the cover of his watch, closed it and opened it again. 

Twenty more seconds, Ianto told himself. He rocked on his heels as he stared at Jack. Twenty more. Nineteen more.

The ship trembled around him. The floor actually dropped under his feet and there was a mad moment where Ianto thought if the ship crashed, it wouldn't be so bad.

Ianto wanted to touch Jack. Every other second, Jack's breathing hitched. Sweat dripped off his face and the jacket Ianto folded and tucked under Jack's head was already damp. But Ianto stayed back because Jack had asked him to. Ianto stayed by the mainframe, his back pressed to the corner made by the wall and the vibrating equipment. 

The watch face was hard to read. His hand shook too much. The numerals kept blurring.

Ten more seconds.

"Ten more seconds, Jack. Nine," Ianto whispered. He held the stopwatch to his chest, close enough that he could feel the ticking against him.

Eight seconds.

God, Jack paled in front of him, white as he was after Abbadon, as still as in the MX-CR chamber. Ianto clutched to the watch and stared at it because watching Jack made it hard to breathe.

Six seconds.

The Doctor will come back with this, Ianto told himself. Time will be sorted. Jack said this was needed.

Five seconds.

Saxon will be dealt with. 

Fou—

There was a new vibration beneath Ianto. It was sharper, quicker. Ianto stepped away from the mainframe just as a crack split the wall above him and sped towards the mainframe. 

With a fierce cracking sound, the fissure went behind the mainframe and the lights began to flicker wildly. Something wailed. Something sparked.

Someone _screamed_.

"Jack!" Ianto twisted around. Jack had arched off the dais, his mouth open. The scream had died into an airless cry but beams of blue light shot out of Jack's eye sockets and his mouth. Ianto ran back to the mainframe, waving a hand furiously in front of him as sparks flew from the shaking mainframe. It shrieked when Jack couldn't and rattled up and down in place.

Zero. The timer on the mainframe reached the end but the machine didn't shut down, rather the screwdriver whined and the indicator lights popped one after the other.

Ianto grunted when he grabbed the toggle. It was god-awful hot and he thought he could smell his own flesh burning, but he just clenched his teeth and with both hands, he pushed the toggle switch down.

Nothing. 

More sparks. The mainframe was threatening to leap off the wall.

The lights stayed on. 

The timer burst into a puff of glass and smoke.

One minute was already up. The timer's dials was rolling forward now. Ten seconds. Eleven. Twelve.

Jack wasn't screaming any more, but from what Ianto saw, it wasn't a blessing. Jack thrashed, writhed, pinned to the dais by the straps Ianto had bound him with. Ianto tugged at the IV lines but they were now welded into the mainframe. 

"Damn it," Ianto sobbed out of frustration. He grabbed at the lines with both hands, one foot braced on the machine. A line behind him tore out of Jack and flailed as the entire room was presently shaking.

Ianto sighted the screwdriver. He threw down the IVs. He choked when he skidded on Jack's blood on the floor as he grabbed hold of the screwdriver. 

The moment he grabbed it, Ianto felt a force shivering up the screwdriver into his fingers. Ianto jerked back, startled, but encouraged by the flickering reaction on the panels, Ianto took a deep breath and grabbed the screwdriver once more with both hands and pulled.

It felt like it was trapped in stone, an Excalibur that boiled his skin as he pulled. Ianto thought he heard Jack cry out. The screwdriver edged out a bit more and a sharp agony stabbed his hands, shot up his arms and straight to his head.

Every instinct told him to let go. Every nerve screamed for him to _let go_. But whether because of Jack's agonized moans or the fact it felt like he was welded into the thing, Ianto couldn't…wouldn't let go.

Someone was shouting in his ear—Jack, himself, it no longer mattered—and Ianto yanked at the screwdriver with every ounce of his strength. He hollered at the top of his lungs as he _pulled_.

With what was close to the shearing sound of metal slicing through metal, the screwdriver jerked free. An arc of blue light danced from the mainframe to the screwdriver's tip and then exploded inches away from Ianto's face.

Hot, hot air scalded his face and a force equal to a wall slammed into him. The screwdriver fell apart in his hands. The mainframe exploded and the blast sent Ianto back. His body tingled in hard, scorching needles and they blocked out the _crack_ his body made when he crashed into the wall. The canisters splintered and he dropped to the floor. He saw Jack limp and unmoving on the dais as glass and blue stars rained down between them. Ianto tried to call out to Jack, his hand stretched toward him but then the blue light crackled around him, took all the light away and he knew nothing more.

 

Toshiko thought it sounded sad.

It was just like how Gwen had described it: the TARDIS was set in the back, crates piled on either side of it like it was an ordinary box.

Owen used the key around his neck to open the door. Despite their haste and his constant prodding, Owen still staggered to a halt once he was inside. Even with the angry looking wired column towering in the center, the chamber was still something to behold.

A whale song greeted them as they stood there and stared.

"I don't understand any of this," Gwen said breathlessly, "but—God, what did Saxon do to it?"

Her, Toshiko wanted to correct Gwen, but she instead settled a palm on the stone vine.

"You sure the dynamite won't hurt it?" Owen asked. He frowned at the coral that wound up to the ceiling.

"She's tough," Toshiko murmured. "Aren't you?" She gave the rock a pat and was gratified to hear a warble she was sure was agreement. 

"Jack said it'll be fine," Gwen reminded Owen as she started pulling out the bundles from Owen's pack. "How many minutes?"

"Five," Owen said curtly. "I don't want to be here when it all goes to shit." 

Out of the corner of her eye, Toshiko spied Owen muttering "Sorry" as he set the explosives on the curved cage.

"Almost there," Toshiko whispered, almost to herself but there was a suspicion that the TARDIS would understand. "Hang on. Jack sent us."

Maybe it was her imagination, but Toshiko thought she heard a weak coo in response.

 

_"Did you see this happening?"_

Something was wrong. Francine stood back, Tish squished between her and Clive. 

The Doctor stood, _hovered_ , above the stairs in front of Saxon. He was no longer that short, bowed little man in the cage. His skin was smoothed out again, unruly brown hair ablaze with gold and silver. He glowed blue-white and his face…Francine could see from her angle that his eyes were completely white.

"No!" The Master staggered back a step. The pilots were cowered by the consoles. They looked so young as they stared wide-eyed at the Doctor.

"Launch the rockets!" Saxon practically shrieked at them.

Lucy broke out of her paralysis on the landing and darted up the steps to the consoles.

The Doctor said nothing, but his right palm swung towards the consoles. One of them sparked and blew. Lucy screamed and she tumbled down the steps hard.

"Lucy!"

"Doctor!"

Both Martha and Saxon were shouting. Five Toclafane blinked into existence in front of the Doctor, their spikes extended, but the Doctor, without uttering a sound, waved his right arm. There were simultaneous screams from them and they burst apart into metal ribbons and fleshy colored bits. 

"Doctor, stop!" Martha cried out.

The Master began to laugh. He leaned half-slumped on the wall. 

"The vortex," Saxon snarled. He clawed his own chest as he gasped. "All this time refusing, claiming honorable intentions, you finally tasted it. How does it feel, Doctor?" Saxon staggered a step forward, his fists tight and held up in front of him.

"The taste of it. Now you see, can't you? Now you see!"

"Oh God," Francine breathed. Now she knew where she'd seen those eyes before.

"Mum?" Tish whispered.

"Jack," Francine gasped. "The Doctor! He…"

It was as if the Doctor heard her. He never turned towards her but he smiled tightly to himself.

_"He was never your Companion to begin with, Master. The vortex did not belong to you."_

"And it belonged to you?" Saxon sneered as he was backed up against a wall.

_"Yes."_

"D-doctor?" Martha stammered. She got up shakily. She gaped at the Doctor above her.

_"You have tampered with far too much, Master. You have gone too far."_

God. Francine could feel the air _cook_ her exposed skin. There were gasps all around. The guards appeared paralyzed, wide-eyed with fear. No one could move. Francine could feel a rage pressing down on her chest and she knew, just _knew_ it wasn't hers.

"So now you'll kill me," the Master taunted.

"Harry!" Lucy gasped below.

The Doctor looked at Saxon. He chuckled.

_"You? The last of the Time Lords?"_

"It's not suppose to be like this!—It's not fair!" Saxon yelled at him even as he shrank back, sliding down to the wall. 

The smirk on the Doctor's lips was unnerving to see.

_"Tell me, Master…Do you know what happens now?"_

 

Lisa kissed him softly on the mouth and he thought he heard a humming that was so damningly familiar, but before he could call out to it, Ianto jerked awake. 

Like breaking out of the water's surface, Ianto gasped. He sat up coughing, his chest rising and falling as he gulped for air. God, _everything_ hurt!

The bite of glass grinding under his palms pricked his memory and Ianto blinked away the haze that lingered over his eyes.

"Jack!"

It took a few false starts, but Ianto got up on his feet and he stumbled, slipped over glass, and banged into scorched walls before he finally fell onto the dais like an inebriated man. 

"Jack," Ianto moaned when he got his first good look at him. Ianto fought down the urge to vomit and with shaky hands, Ianto pulled out the IV lines carefully and tugged at the buckles and straps that Jack had managed to twist himself in.

Jack's chest rose and fell in ragged breaths. Blood trailed down his eyes like tears, red and dark and slick, gathering with the blood streaming out of his nose and ears to pool by his head.

His fingers barely listened to him as Ianto fumbled to free Jack. 

The moment the constricting torso binding fell open, Jack groaned, gurgled as he drew in a large gulp of air. Limbs moved feebly in place.

"You're all right, it's done," Ianto whispered as he half-collapsed by Jack's head. He brushed an unsteady palm across Jack's brow. Jack blurred in and out before him. Ianto stroked his hair as he fought the tight binding around his chest. "Easy. Easy…"

The wheezing was horrible and Christ, there was so much blood. Ianto didn't flinch when Jack coughed and blood splattered onto his face. 

"Shh," Ianto soothed. He settled a hand on Jack's forehead. He shivered. Jack's skin was beyond chilled. Ianto wrapped his left hand around Jack's wrist and felt a pulse that raced too fast to count.

Jack whimpered and his head lolled towards Ianto.

"Shh," Ianto tried again, but he couldn't stop his voice from cracking, "it's over, it's done."

Eyes fluttered open. Jack gazed blearily up at him. He tried to smile and blood trickled out when his lips cracked.

"Hello," Ianto whispered. He squeezed Jack's hand.

Hello, Jack mouthed back. His eyes glazed over and his legs kicked weakly as he tried to sit up.

"C-catch your breath. Wait. Okay? Give yourself some time." Ianto brushed a hand across Jack's damp hair. "I should have given you the stopwatch," Ianto tried to joke, "Because that was certainly not one minute."

Blue eyes cleared and Jack glanced to his right to look at the smoldering mainframe. Jack turned back and blinked at Ianto.

"It just started going wild and you were screaming and the lights and…I-I tried to shut the machine down but it wouldn't…"

Jack squeezed Ianto's hand over his, stopping him. Jack's right hand rose than flopped weakly to his side. His brow knitted as Jack tried again. 

"What?" Ianto reached for Jack's right hand. "What is it?"

"D-did…" Jack coughed. "D-did…" His upper body jerked as his body spasm. Jack hacked wetly and harshly.

"Hold on. Give yourself a chance to catch your breath first," Ianto pleaded. He wanted to push Jack back down when Jack struggled to sit up. Ianto slipped an arm around Jack's shoulders and eased him up because it hurt to see Jack struggling to try.

Jack coughed and coughed. He doubled over against Ianto as his upper body jerked. His right hand lifted up again and once more dropped.

"Slow breaths," Ianto murmured as he hunched over Jack. He rubbed a hand up and down the hunched back. He tried not to think about how he could feel the ridged curves of protruding ribs and spine.

Jack stared at Ianto with such intensity, Ianto's hand stilled.

"D-did it 'ork?" Jack rasped.

Ianto wanted to shake him and shout, "Who cares?" but instead, Ianto wiped the blood trailing down under Jack's left nostril with his thumb.

"There's been no more alarms, no one's come in here, I'm sure it worked."

It must have been the wrong thing to say because Jack shuddered with the effort to swing his legs over.

"What are you doing?" Ianto exclaimed. He grunted when he caught Jack who had slid off the dais and folded up against him.

"I 'ave to 'ee," Jack said. 

It wasn't enough that Jack did sound a little stronger; Jack was bent over, clinging to the dais as he tried to get his legs to move, heedless of his trousers clinging to the IV wounds that finally stopped bleeding. Ianto's knees buckled as he tried to hold Jack up.

"Jack. Wait. _Wait._ " Ianto walked in front of him by the end of the dais. He placed one hand on Jack's chest. He could feel the hammering under his palm.

"You can barely walk right now. Let's just—" Ianto stared at Jack's unblinking eyes. Ianto closed his briefly. 

"All right," Ianto whispered. "All right. Just let me help you. Let me do most of the work, okay?"

Jack's eyes crinkled and stained lips quavered to turn up. Jack tracked Ianto ducking under his left arm, tried unsuccessfully to hide a shiver when Ianto slipped his right arm around his middle.

With a deep breath, Ianto heft Jack up against him and together, they staggered towards the door, towards the Doctor.

 

Suddenly, Saxon surged to his feet.

"No, it won't happen like this! Not this time!"

When Saxon yanked out the familiar screwdriver out of his jacket, Francine gasped. Clive moved right in front of Francine and Tish.

The Doctor's left hand shot out towards Saxon and the screwdriver flew out of his hand. It landed spinning away below the Doctor.

"Mum!" Martha bolted towards them. Francine caught Martha in her arms. She wrapped her arms tight around Martha's head.

"Oh, Martha," Francine sobbed as she rocked her girl in her embrace. She was never going to let go. "Martha, Martha…"

_"No more,"_ the Doctor seethed. _"Enough."_ His words echoed in the bridge. He hovered closer and stared at the Master. Saxon suddenly grabbed his throat, his mouth agape, gurgling.

"Harry!" Lucy Saxon snatched the screwdriver off the floor and stumbled to her feet and staggered towards the Doctor. "Har—"

Lucy Saxon's shout was cut off and like Saxon, her hands flew up to her throat. She was lifted an inch off the floor and she began to sputter.

"Oh God," Tish gasped.

"Martha," Francine breathed. 

"Something's wrong," Martha squirmed free of Francine's hold. She stared up at the Doctor. "Mum, let go. There's something wrong with the Doctor."

"No, Martha, wait—"

Martha broke free and she weaved towards the Time Lord.

"Doctor," Martha shouted, "What are you doing?"

_"It's all clear now, Martha,"_ the Doctor breathed and his eyes burned a white light that hurt to look at. _"I can stop it here. I can stop it all right now."_

"You can see it," Saxon wheezed. He was flattened to the wall, held in place by an unseen hand. 

_"Yes,"_ the Doctor seethed. _"All you have done. All you will do. I cannot allow it to happen. I told you I would stop you."_

"What are you going to do?" Martha cried out. She looked horrified. Francine couldn't understand why. Her own heart thudded against her chest as she watched both the Master and Lucy Saxon turn red with the strain.

The smile on the Doctor reminded Francine too much of Saxon. 

_"He wants the vortex. I'll give it to him. All of it. He can embrace it as it boils him from the inside."_

"God's strength," Clive muttered to himself.

"No!" Martha shouted. She took a step towards the Doctor.

"Martha, stay away from him!" Francine called out, but when the Doctor turned towards her, his eyes narrowed, Francine's head pounded and she shrank back.

"Mum?" Tish gasped. Her hands curled on Francine's arms to brace her.

"Doctor, stop this!" Martha spun back to gawk at Francine then at the Time Lord. "This isn't you! This isn't—What's happening?"

"He can taste it now," Saxon wheezed. He laughed. "T-the gun…marked him so the vortex knew where to go." Saxon laughed. "And it went to him! All of it!"

"Marked?" Martha sounded hurt. "The formula you passed to me…it wasn't a weapon?"

Saxon kept laughing even as his feet kicked the air.

"You can hear it, can't you?" Saxon taunted. His eyes, even from where Francine was, were bloodshot. "The v-vortex is coursing through you. All that power. You c-can 'ear it. All the an'wers. You can hear the drumming."

The Doctor froze.

"Doctor," Martha whispered. She took another step, her hand reaching towards him. "Doctor, this isn't you. This isn't. It's…it's this vortex…think. _Think_."

_"I…"_ The glow around the Doctor dimmed. The Doctor stared at Saxon, stared at Lucy Saxon and the aura around him flickered. _"Martha. I…"_ He turned towards Martha and Francine caught a glimpse of brown, very confused eyes. He looked back at Saxon and his wife.

_"This is not what I wanted to do,"_ the Doctor whispered. _"Not this."_ He bobbed in the air as the light around him faded. He traveled, still airborne towards the Master. _"I only have one thing to say…"_

They dropped to the floor. Lucy Saxon lay curled on the ground, gasping.

"No!" Saxon snarled. "No! No! No!"

The Doctor appeared worn and sad when he studied Saxon. _"You wouldn't listen."_

"No!" Saxon clawed the wall as if he was trying to break through. He spun around to glare at the Doctor. 

_"You know what I'm going to say."_

His defiance faltered and the Master slid down the wall. He stared up at the Doctor. 

"I will not allow this! No!"

Without a sound, the Doctor landed in front of Saxon. He stood there, staring as Saxon pressed back to the wall like a cornered beast. The light was gone completely from the Doctor.

"I will not listen. I won't!" Saxon snarled. 

The Doctor merely walked over and crouched down in front of Saxon.

"Snap his neck," Clive muttered behind Francine.

But the Doctor did no such thing. He wrapped his arms around the Master, pity in his eyes as he dropped his head and whispered, "I forgive you."

Francine felt something hot bubbling up inside her. She couldn't understand why Martha looked so relieved, why Lucy Saxon sat there crying or why Saxon convulsed in the Doctor's hold.

"My children!" Saxon hissed. He broke free of the Doctor and scrambled away from him. "Protect the paradox!"

"Doctor!" Martha cried out. "The TARDIS!"

The Doctor scanned the bridge anxiously. "Torchwood should have taken car—"

Before the Doctor could finish, Saxon pulled out the circular disk from before.

"No!" The Doctor lunged towards Saxon, grabbed the Master but before he could do anything, the two Time Lords vanished.

 

A misstep sent both Ianto and Jack crashing to the floor again. 

"Let's just rest for a moment," Ianto tried again. He settled a hand on Jack's leg. If anything, Jack looked worse, the more they walked.

"We're almost there," Jack panted. He stared down the hallway. Jack set his jaw and he struggled up. "I…I have to see…" Jack's knees buckled.

"Jack!" Ianto struggled to get up as Jack sagged forward.

"Got ya."

Arms on both side of Jack caught him just before his knees struck the floor.

Ianto sagged back. He smiled wearily at Owen and Gwen.

"You tried to carry him all the way up here?" Owen griped as he struggled to keep Jack upright. "He weighs a ton."

With Tosh's help, Ianto staggered up to rest against the wall.

"That's it," Ianto gasped as he placed one hand on his brow, the other on his chest, "no more cream and sugar in your coffee, Harkness."

"Are you 'alling me f-fat?" Jack managed as he straightened. Jack gulped air, patted Ianto on the shoulder and merely grinned.

Owen's eyes flitted over to Ianto.

"All right?" Owen grunted. He nodded towards Ianto's chest.

Ianto glanced down. His shirt was torn and smeared dark red.

"Jack's blood," Ianto mumbled and his eyes burned, God, the screaming.

"Whoa! Where do you think you're going?" Owen exclaimed when Jack's step slammed him against the wall and Ianto.

"Bridge," Ianto explained when Jack couldn't. "He…" Ianto swallowed, "he wants to know it worked."

"I have to see," Jack wheezed.

Ianto stared at Owen, willing him to understand. The medic studied him for a long moment, before he nodded. Owen turned to Gwen and Tosh. The two nodded as well and pulled out their weapons.

Jack smiled faintly at the multiple _clicks_ of the guns. He stood a little taller and with Ianto still tucked by his side, they steered for the bridge.

 

Martha barely had a chance to absorb the latest events when the console on the upper deck made a shrill noise. Tish screamed and Martha twisted to see what she was pointing at. There was a stream of black, like a swarm of bees steering for the Valiant.

The doors were kicked open just as she bounded up the steps.

"Martha!" Gwen, Owen and Toshiko charged into the room, their guns aimed even when the guards did nothing.

"You okay?" Owen called out as he gestured to the guards to back up against the wall.

"We've all six billion spheres heading straight for us!" Martha shouted back as she scanned the monitors.

"I'm guessing that's a no then," someone gasped.

Martha's head jerked up. "Jack! Ianto!" Relief twisted to dismay when she got a good look at the two. "You look _awful!_ "

"Lovely to see you too Miss Jones," Ianto gasped back.

"Where's the Doctor?" Jack demanded.

"He disappeared with the Master," Tish told Jack.

" _What_?" Martha wasn't sure who said that. She examined the consoles by the main window. She clutched the pilot's chair with a clawed grip. It didn't look like there was anything on it that would help.

"Can't explain. Please tell me you've sorted out the paradox machine," Martha pleaded as the swarm flew closer. She slapped her hand on the alarm, shutting off the squeal that grew as the spheres sped closer. 

"Owen?" Jack shouted out.

"Three seconds!" Owen shot back. "Two! One! Brace yourselves!"

Martha saw her father hold onto her mother, Tish hugged the railing and the others grabbed the table.

Nothing.

"I told you to check the batteries!" Toshiko shouted.

"I did. I—Tosh!"

One of the windows below burst. Tish shrieked. Buzzing, the Toclafane zipped in. Papers flew as wind rushed in. 

"Take cover! Incoming!" Martha heard Jack holler. She could hear gunfire, sparks. The Toclafane just floated there.

It won't be enough, Martha thought just as she threw herself to the floor. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the main window, the black filling the sky as they approached. Her throat closed up. Her eyes burned. God, it won't be enough, Martha despaired. 

Doctor…

Just as the spikes sprung out of the dozens of Toclafane high above them, the _Valiant_ pitched forward a little and there was a distant roar, followed by a few more, all in rapid succession.

With a combined shriek, the Toclafane dissolved into a cloud of smoke.

Martha lifted her head in time to see all the Toclafane in front of the ship vanish.

"Okay," Owen said breathlessly, "my watch may have been off—shit!"

As soon as the last sphere faded from the sky. The _Valiant_ bucked and Martha gasped. She heard Toshiko cry out as the ship tilted and Toshiko slid towards the broken window until Owen caught her. Martha got up to see where her family was when the ship jumped again and Martha felt herself falling down the stairs. Falling…

Right into the Doctor's arms. 

Martha gripped his upper arms and his face bloomed into that wide grin she dreamt about all year.

The ship tipped the other way now and she fell back with the Doctor and they crashed with mutual grunts, bellies down to the ground by the foot of the stairs. Martha found herself grinning back at him as he cupped the back of her head to bid her to duck just as a chair spun past her.

"Everyone down!" the Doctor bellowed. "Time is reversing!" 

Just then, the ship rocked once more and a bulky jar skidded across the floor to sit between them.

Martha stared at the hand dancing in the bubbling water, stared at the Doctor and in the midst of the ship shaking as if falling apart, paper spinning in the air, the two looked at each other.

And laughed.

 

"Time is reversing!" 

The meaning didn't quite absorb into Ianto's mind. He was too busy holding onto one of the conference table legs. Jack was on top of him, his arms stretched over him, holding onto the same leg.

Ianto heard Gwen yelp and Ianto reached out a hand and felt her grab his arm as she slid by him. Ianto gritted his teeth and pulled until Gwen was holding onto the leg.

Things rattled, banged against his legs. Wind whipped around him. He felt Jack press his body down over him and Gwen. The wind pulled and snapped at their legs like a rabid dog. He could hear things uprooting and flying past him. He heard Owen on the other side of the table grunt as a chair collided with his legs. Owen simply hugged Tosh closer under the table.

Too much screaming. It felt like London all over again and the fact that he couldn't smell smoke or burning bodies confused him. Jack's weight pinning him down anchored him and pushed back the large bile-tasting lump that wanted to come out but when Ianto felt his grip being pried off the table, Ianto panicked.

And then, everything stopped.

Ianto was afraid to let go of the table and judging by the way Gwen was trembling, Gwen was thinking the same thing. But then Jack shifted, patted his back and rose shakily to his feet.

The Doctor, looking remarkably exactly like himself, was climbing up to the consoles with an energy Ianto was relieved to see. The rejuvenated Time Lord slapped at a button and a shield came down over the broken window. The wind died down immediately. 

"The paradox is broken," the Doctor declared. He flipped a few switches on a console. "We've reverted back, one year and one day. Two minutes past 8:00 in the morning."

The radio blared instantly after one switch. _"This is UNIT Central. What's happened up there? We just saw the President assassinated!"_

The Doctor grimaced and cut the connection. He grinned at everyone. "You see? Just after the President was killed, but just before the spheres arrived." The Doctor beamed at Martha.

"Everything back to normal," Martha breathed. 

"Planet Earth restored," the Doctor cheered.

The tightness around his chest unraveled. "Everything?" Ianto whispered.

Gwen sounded like she was choking. "All those deaths? Japan? Cardiff? Everywhere?" She stared up at the Doctor with a scared expression.

The Doctor's face softened to understanding. "None of it happened. The rockets, the terror. It never was."

"What about the spheres?" Tosh asked in a trembling voice as she rose to her feet. She clutched Owen's hand for support.

The Doctor's eyes dulled at her question. "Trapped at the end of the universe," he said with a touch of regret.

"But I remember it," Martha's mother muttered to herself. She looked haunted.

"We're at the eye of the storm. The only ones who'll ever know." 

"Then…" Jack spoke up behind him. His voice was dull. "It still happened then. All of it."

The Doctor's smile dropped completely and he stared at Jack with old eyes. 

"Jack. Ah…" The Doctor's shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry. I'm…So sorry."

Ianto touched Jack's arm but Jack jerked away. Jack stared at the Doctor, his face gray and bleak. 

There was a laugh coming from under the stairs.

Ianto tensed when he saw Saxon unwrap his arms from the railing, his tie skewed, his eyes dark with a humor only Saxon enjoyed.

"You would want this to never have happened, wouldn't you, Captain?" Saxon chuckled.

Ianto saw Jack clench his fists.

"All those memories, all those months, all those—"

"Master!" the Doctor roared. "That is enough!"

Saxon glowered at them. Then, he smirked.

"No," he purred, "I don't think so."

Out of nowhere, Lucy exploded, breaking free from one of the guard's hold. Startled, the Doctor and Jack stepped back just as Martha's father came down the stairs to help Owen hold her. Lucy Saxon was a woman possessed. She screamed at them, twisting as she yelled. Owen grimaced as he tried to stay out of the way of her head.

"That's enough, Lucy Saxon!" the Doctor ordered. He walked over and set two hands on her shoulders. "Enough," the Doctor repeated in a softer voice. Lucy calmed and stood there swaying on her feet.

"Yes, Doctor. _Enough_."

Everyone spun around and Ianto stiffened at the sight of Saxon with his screwdriver and three guards dressed in dark suits perched on the upper deck with rifles aimed down towards the lower level. Tish Jones was in front of the guards, guns pointed at her head. Martha's little sister looked pissed.

"Tish!" Martha gasped.

"Drop your weapons," Saxon drawled. "These boys here are not under Archangel's power. They _joined_ the Ministry of Defense voluntarily." He sneered when everyone set their guns on the floor. "Oh, the wonders of the malcontent Generation X."

Jack growled under his breath and Saxon darkened.

"After everything, Jack," Saxon murmured. "You still fall in rank with him instead." Saxon frowned. "I have miscalculated." His eyes drifted to Ianto. A chill rippled down his back at Saxon's calculating stare.

"And young Ianto Jones. I have certainly misjudged your influence to his timeline as well."

"Master, it's over," the Doctor said but he froze when the screwdriver swung back his way.

"Which one, Captain?" Saxon sang out as he swiveled the device from the Doctor to Ianto. "Which one is most crucial for your timeline? Who would you choose? The Doctor?" It pointed towards the Time Lord again. "You've waited so long for him. A Time Lord who was never going to come back or…" The screwdriver turned back towards Ianto. "A mortal who will barely last a blink of your unnatural life, Jack."

"Master, stop this. You've lost—"

"Only this time!" The Master chuckled as the screwdriver went from the Doctor to Ianto like a mad pendulum. "Only this time, as a fellow scientific mind, we both know that it is through trial and error we find the success of our experiment."

Ianto could sense Jack edging forward. Jack was unsteady on his feet but Ianto could feel his anger growing like a physical force next to him. 

"Who would you choose?" the Master taunted. "Uh, uh!" He smirked when he saw Owen and Jack tense. "You might come out fine, Jack, but do you really think your fragile humans in Torchwood would survive?"

Ianto saw a muscle in Jack's jaw flex but he stepped back.

"What do you think you'll accomplish?" the Doctor murmured. "The entire world has been corrected. All your work was undone. Everything."

Ianto could see Saxon's men on the upper deck fidget.

"I'm not looking to accomplish anything," the Master answered coldly before he spun towards the Doctor.

Ianto heard people shouting, bodies in motion, Jack moving away from him, but just as everything burst into life, Ianto saw Saxon, at the last moment, turn back towards him. Saxon's face twisted as a light shot out of his device.

Ianto felt a hard blow to his chest just as Tosh screamed his name and as he fell back, there was one last thought as his head struck the floor.

Jack had made his choice.

 

**Conclusion:** _"We execute him."_

He was having trouble breathing. 

Ianto stared at the ceiling, gasping. There was a weight on his chest that stopped him from drawing a breath.

Odd, he thought fuzzily, it had hurt a lot more last time.

There was shouting above him, bullets flying harmlessly in the air although how Ianto knew that he wasn't quite sure. All he knew for certain was that he couldn't breathe. No, that was an exaggeration; he could breathe. Sort of. It felt like something heavy was sitting on his chest.

"Ianto!"

Ianto thought Gwen sounded shocked but not as stunned as she was before. Getting shot must have gotten quite old for her. 

Ianto could hear Owen yelling—always yelling, that Owen—and Tosh shouting with a ferocity Ianto hadn't expected from her. Then he heard another voice.

"Blimey," the Doctor wheezed, "you're heavy."

"Doctor!" Martha sounded sharp. "You all right?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine. He—Oh, hello! You must be Mr. Jones! We haven't actually met, well, properly, that is."

"Sorry about that, Doctor," a voice apologized, "didn't mean to be quite so rough. Let me help you up there."

Ianto frowned to himself. That wasn't Jack. Where was Jack?

"He didn't choose you."

No, Ianto thought and the heaviness in his chest grew, Jack didn't.

Hands slipped under his head and Ianto groaned when the fingers felt a newly discovered lump on the back of his skull.

Owen's pinched face blocked the ceiling. "Think you can get up, mate?"

Can't. Shot, Ianto thought peevishly.

"No, you weren't, but your head took quite a knocking."

Ianto blinked up at Owen. Had he spoken out loud?

Hands moved under his shoulders and tugged. Ianto struggled to sit up and the weight on his chest shifted to his legs. Owen swore and suddenly he was gone from view.

The room tilted for a second. Ianto took slow breaths before everything cleared and the nausea passed. He looked down automatically and something in his throat squeezed.

"Jack," Ianto croaked.

Slumped over his legs, a fresh bloody stain on his shirt, Jack lay gray and unmoving over Ianto's thighs.

"I…How…" Ianto batted away Owen's hands as he pulled Jack to him. He swept his hands over Jack's torso. The wet heat of the fresh wound directly over Jack's heart made Ianto gag. "I thought…"

"He chose you."

The flat accusation made Ianto look up. Saxon stood in front of him, his screwdriver in his hand and dangling uselessly by his side. Saxon looked at him, no, at Jack with a mixture of confusion and weariness.

Limp, cooling, Jack settled against Ianto's chest. Ianto held him close but shivered at the icy skin he could feel through his shirt. It reminded him too much of Abbadon.

"He'll come back," Ianto whispered when he saw Owen staring at him. Ianto offered a smile but the raw—Ianto couldn't describe it— _something_ on Owen's face wouldn't go away.

"It's like before," Ianto whispered. He brushed a knuckle down Jack's face. "He'll come back." 

Mute, Owen could only nod.

"No. He won't."

Ianto lifted his heavy head up towards Saxon. The insane Time Lord stared at Jack as if seeing him for the first time. Saxon blinked and tiredly, he smiled. It looked more like a failed attempt to smirk though.

"Apparently he can be fixed. He's dead."

Ianto felt numb all of the sudden. "What?" Ianto croaked. He heard Tosh behind him sob, heard Martha gasp, felt Owen settle a hand on his right shoulder, but it wasn't real because they misunderstood. Jack always came back. Always. He…he…

Saxon's triumph shone dully in his eyes and his smile was faint and ancient.

"It looks like he didn't have forever after all."

"Jack," Owen murmured and his grip on Ianto's shoulder tightened.

No, _no_ , they were wrong. All wrong. Ianto stared at Jack. His insides churned. He felt dizzy, distant and wondered if he wasn't really still on the ground, dying because surely it was better than this…

"No," Ianto whispered. He pulled Jack closer and buried his face on Jack's throat. "No, no, no, no…"

"He chose you. A human. A brief speck of the universe." Saxon staggered back a step. He laughed once. Then twice. Suddenly, he wouldn't stop.

"Master, stop this." The Doctor's rough voice halted the laughter. Ianto ignored him, ignored everyone as he waited for Jack's skin to warm and pulse with life again.

"Master," the Doctor tried again, "this madness, this has to stop. The drumming—"

"Is gone," Saxon interrupted. His voice shrank, as untethered as Ianto felt.

"The drumming…it's gone." Saxon stood inches above Ianto, his shadow cast over him. Ianto looked up blearily at the lost look.

Saxon glanced back to the Doctor.

"What do I do now?"

Ianto didn't care to hear the answer. He curled over Jack and breathed against Jack's skin in hopes Jack would find some way to absorb Ianto's life into his body.

"Step away."

Ianto heard Owen spit out, "Piss off!" before he felt a jab on the top of his head. Ianto looked up and found himself staring at Saxon's screwdriver at point-blank range.

"Step. Away." Saxon's eyes were dark, his mouth set and grim.

"No," Ianto snarled and he hugged Jack closer.

"Release him and move away or your friends will bury you without a face."

"Master!" the Doctor snarled.

"Do not test the velocity of my men's bullets, Doctor." There were three _clicks_ in succession above them. Tish Jones could be heard protesting.

The screwdriver dug into the flesh on Ianto's forehead.

"Ianto," Owen urged him. "Come on, mate. Jack wouldn't want you to do this for him."

Ianto stared hard up at Saxon. He shook under Owen's urgent hands but he didn't release Jack.

" _No."_

There was an odd glint in Saxon's eyes that almost looked like approval. The screwdriver pressed deeper and Ianto felt something warm trickle down his face. It tasted coppery.

"Ianto," Gwen pleaded in the back. Tosh did the same but it was another voice that made him look away from Saxon.

"Ianto Jones."

With difficulty, Ianto turned and looked at the Doctor standing to his left on the other side of the table. The Doctor's eyes were nearly colorless with grief.

"Let him go."

It echoed in his head as well as hung in the air. Ianto turned back to Jack and numbly let Owen pull him away. He took care to settle Jack on the floor. When he folded Jack's arms on his chest, Tosh choked out a sob.

Ianto staggered back a few steps but he dug his heels in when Owen tried to pull him back further. Gwen hugged his left arm and Tosh settled her hands on his back and it felt like they were the only things holding him up.

Saxon bent down on one knee, his screwdriver held loosely in his right hand. He stared at Jack, ignoring the rifles cocked when anyone tried to step forward. 

"I don't understand," Saxon told Jack. He frowned to himself. "You would have waited for your Doctor forever, you have forever and yet you chose someone else."

Ianto choked when Saxon stroked Jack's face with the screwdriver in his hand. Gwen and Owen's grip on his arms jerked him back when Ianto strained forward.

"You really never heard the drumming, did you?" Saxon murmured to Jack. "You never heard it like I had." His mouth twisted before he lowered his head.

"I have something of yours," Ianto thought he heard Saxon whisper before the Time Lord sealed his mouth over Jack's.

There was a stunned air that petrified everyone as Saxon kissed Jack. Light blue vapors floated in faint wisps out of Saxon and disappeared around Jack. Even Saxon's men on the upper deck seemed uncertain how to respond.

Ianto stood there, his breathing ragged, his eyes glued to Jack's face. Saxon stroked Jack's face with the screwdriver he held then his other hand moved to caress Jack's cheek.

A hard knot that had been slowly tightening inside him suddenly snapped. 

**_"Don't touch him!"_ **

Ianto wrenched free from Gwen and Owen and before they could stop him, Ianto charged into Saxon.

Saxon's air rushed out and the screwdriver spun away when Ianto tackled him but the Time Lord didn't fight back when Ianto swung fist after fist. Perhaps Saxon merely was too surprised to react. It didn't matter.

"Don't touch him! Don't touch him!"

Ianto was screaming/sobbing, whichever it was that spilled ruthlessly out of his mouth and fueled his fists, as he swung at the sneer that had haunted Jack well before London. He heard shouting above him, felt hands try to grab him, but Ianto threw an elbow or his head back at anyone foolish enough to stop him. He shook them off, ignored the explosion of activity behind him as he kept trying to hit and hit and—

"All right, all right!"

Ianto roared wordlessly as he felt arms slip under his and yank him off. Arms like iron dragged him off Saxon.

"Ianto!"

Owen's face was inches from his, his left palm flat on Ianto's heaving chest.

"It's okay, lad," Martha's father rumbled in his ear. Arms loosened around his chest. "We got him."

Ianto stared blankly at Gwen and Tish pointing rifles at Saxon's men, some of the UNIT guards forced to work under Saxon were holding Lucy Saxon back. Saxon, with his discolored welts and cut lip, staggered up to his feet and glowered at him. Ianto's mind numbly calculated that there was no one left to fight but for the life of him, Ianto couldn't remember why that was important.

But then, his vision cleared to the image of Martha standing behind Owen with a wet face.

"Let me go," Ianto croaked.

Owen studied Ianto for a long moment before he nodded to Mr. Jones.

Ianto stumbled a step when he was released but he cringed when Owen tried to catch him. Ianto waved his hands helplessly at them, warding them back, as he staggered and tripped until he dropped to his knees by Jack. 

Tosh's shaking hands settled on his shoulders.

"No, come here, Ianto," Tosh whispered, her voice thick with tears.

Ianto shook his head. He slipped his hands underneath Jack and cradled him to his chest. Ianto huddled closer when he felt how cold Jack was.

"He'll come back," Ianto insisted, "He will." Ianto stared at Tosh and wished he hadn't when he saw Tosh's tears running unchecked down her face. Did they forget?

"Jack will come back," Ianto tried to assure her, but Tosh's lower lip trembled. "I can feel it. He will. He did before. Don't you remember?"

"Ianto," Tosh choked. She dropped to her knees beside him. "Ianto. Sweetheart. Jack's gone."

With a gasp, Jack's body jerked in Ianto's arms. Tosh squeaked and fell back on her rear.

"Christ, that never gets old," Owen swore as he dropped to his knees next to Ianto. He set down his gun and took Jack's wrist. He grinned at Ianto and gave him a light punch in the arm.

Ianto didn't reply. He was too busy murmuring, "You're all right, you're fine" into Jack's ear.

After a few more coughs and groans, Jack settled. He blinked up at Ianto, squinting. His head rolled to rest against Ianto's shoulder. Jack took careful breaths before his jaw worked, his mouth moving.

"Ouch?" Jack rasped.

A strangely garbled noise came out of Ianto. Owen repeatedly thumped him on the back and Jack closed his eyes briefly and sighed.

Owen carefully lowered Jack's left wrist. He grinned crookedly at Ianto.

"Told you," Ianto muttered. He bent his head over Jack.

"What do we do with this one?" Owen growled. He nodded jerkily towards the back. Owen slapped his hands on his knees and straightened up. "Tosh, toss me some cuffs, will you?"

Ianto tensed when he heard Saxon snarl at Owen when the medic twisted his arms around.

"Sorry. Too tight?" Owen drawled as he snapped the cuffs on Saxon. He looked over at everyone.

"Well?"

Martha's father stepped forward. "We kill him," he growled.

"We execute him," Tish hissed from the upper deck.

"Perhaps UNIT would like a word with him," Tosh said low.

The Doctor shook his head. He held up his hands. "No, that's not the solution."

"Oh, I think so."

Everyone turned towards Martha's mother. Francine Jones held one of their guns that were set down when they had originally been surrendered.

"All those…things, they still happened because of him." Francine's lower lip quivered. "I saw them." 

Saxon scoffed and merely turned his head. He stared at Ianto with a smirk, his eyes murky and dark.

"Francine, you're better than him." The Doctor approached her from the side.

"Of course she is," Saxon sneered. Owen made a face and pushed him away a step.

Ianto watched the gun waver. He almost wished she pulled the trigger but the haunted and scared look on her face made him regret thinking that. He stared as the Doctor reached for her hand and lowered her arms. Quietly, he tugged the gun out of her loose grasp before Martha came over and enveloped her mother in a fierce embrace.

Saxon scowled at the pair before he cast his attention towards the Doctor again. 

"The only Time Lord left in existence," Saxon drawled. He narrowed his eyes and sneered.

The Doctor frowned to himself. "Yes. You're my responsibility from now on."

"How magnanimous of you," Saxon spat out. "So you're just gonna keep me in your TARDIS?"

The Doctor's frown deepened. He studied Saxon, his head cocked. "The only safe place is the TARDIS." The Doctor folded his arms in front of him. "But you already knew that. That's what happened before, wasn't it? You'd already plan—"

A gunshot rang out. Ianto was startled to see Owen's gun in Jack's hand. 

Saxon staggered back. He stared at Jack then at the red blossoming on his chest.

"Poetic," Saxon rasped. He smiled.

"Jack!" The Doctor spun around, his mouth opened in shock.

Jack never flinched at the wide eyes on him. His hand shook and dropped as soon as Owen took back the gun.

"You can't trust him," Jack whispered. He matched the Doctor's gaze unflinching.

"No!"

Lucy Saxon wrenched free from the guards and practically threw herself to catch Saxon.

"No, no, it was supposed to be me. It was supposed to be me," Lucy cried as she wrapped her arms around her husband, but unable to hold on, she dropped to the floor clutching Saxon.

The Doctor crouched down by the pair. Lucy beat a fist at the Doctor, pushing him away until Saxon stopped her.

"It's all right, my dear Lucy. It's all right," Saxon breathed as he touched Lucy's face. "I am sorry, my dear…Loyal to the end…"

"I'm suppose to—"

"P-perhaps it's better this way…for you…Dying in your arms…" 

"You're not dying," the Doctor said, his voice rough and unsteady, "don't be stupid. It's only a bullet. Just regenerate."

Saxon chuckled and muttered something Ianto couldn't hear.

"One little bullet." The Doctor was pleading now. "Come on."

Lucy wailed at whatever Saxon said. The Doctor hunched closer to Saxon.

"Regenerate," the Doctor told him. His words stuttered. He sounded almost frightened. "Just regenerate. Please! Please! Just regenerate! Come on!"

Jack stirred uneasily against Ianto. He stared at the trio, his expression unreadable.

"You've got to. Come on. It can't end like this!"

Saxon stared out the gap made between Lucy and the Doctor. Ianto grimaced and tightened his hold on Jack as if it was enough to ward off the unnerving intensity.

"Remember the Axons? And the Daleks? We're the only two left, there's no one else. _Regenerate_!"

Saxon tore his gaze away from them and looked up at the Doctor then at Lucy.

"The drumming…" His smile was oddly childlike as his eyes fluttered close. "It's back." His hand shook as he grasped the Doctor's jacket. Saxon pulled at it, bringing the Doctor nose to nose with him.

"The drumming's back," Saxon hissed as if he was forcing all his air out. His face then went slack, his eyes dulled and Saxon's head fell back against Lucy's chest. As Lucy keened, doubled over her Master, Saxon's hand dropped from the Doctor's jacket. The Doctor dropped his head and his shoulders shook.

Jack said nothing and turned his face away.

 

Francine tightened her grip on Martha's sleeve, unwilling to let go when the Doctor slouched over the Master and grieved for him like he was the Doctor's child. She didn't understand one bit.

Out of the corner of her right eye, Francine spied Jack Harkness getting up with the same energy and grace of a newborn colt. He gestured to the UNIT guards, who appeared to be more than happy to leave the room with new instructions from someone other than the Master.

"Mum." Martha looked at Francine with a solemn expression. Francine found herself letting go. She watched as Martha walked over to the Doctor, placed her hands on his shoulders and said something in his ear. The Doctor nodded slowly; his movements reminded Francine of when he was an old man sleeping under the stairs. With Martha's hand on his elbow, the Doctor rose to his feet.

"Get the body to some place secure. Gather as many guys as you can, find the rest of his men on this ship." Jack never looked at Saxon while he gave the UNIT guards their instructions. "Then call your command. Tell them the one responsible for Winters' death has been…dealt with."

Yes, Francine thought as she threw an arm over Tish, who came running over to hug her and Clive. She tucked Tish under her chin and glared at the body crumpled by the Doctor's feet. Yes, take him away, Francine thought fiercely as she hugged Tish.

Francine made a face when the guards went over to the body. Saxon looked like an ordinary human now and it bothered her to see him that way: ordinary. Dead, the Master had shrunk and was now just a dead man.

Lucy shrieked when the guards pried the body away from her. Eyes stark, her face as white as a sheet, she flew at Jack and collided into him with a force that made him stagger back a step. He held up his hands, halting everyone in their tracks.

"Filthy beast! You didn't deserve him!" Jack did nothing. He stood there, looking at Lucy like she was a stray cat in the rain. It was pathetic to watch Lucy Saxon beat his chest with her small, white fists.

"Dirty, disgusting animal not fit to carry our Master's—"

Jack's face darkened and his hand swung before anyone could stop him. He grabbed her wrists with a single fist and yanked her away from him. He released her almost immediately as if burned.

"It's over. He's dead," Jack snarled at her face. "Be grateful!"

Lucy stared at Jack with huge eyes. Then her face twisted and it looked like she was going to burst into tears, but instead, with a shrill cry, her hands curled into claws and she lunged at Jack.

The young man who was with Jack—possibly the Ianto Jones Tish said Jack mentioned often—and Tosh leaped in with another man and pulled Lucy back. It took a few tries and Jack was left doubled over, both hands over his left eye, blood dripping to the floor.

Guards came running through the door and Francine wished she could feel reassured at the sight of those red-capped troopers now on their side again. Francine stared at the UNIT soldiers as Ianto and Tosh dragged Lucy Saxon out of the bridge. Francine could still hear her, raging with the fury of a banshee even after the doors closed behind her.

One of Jack's teammates, a grim-mouthed looking Owen Harper, was arguing with Jack, trying to get a better look at Jack's face. Jack shrugged him off and gestured towards the Doctor and Martha with a stained hand. With a scowl, Owen gave Jack a pointed look before heading over to Martha instead.

"Everyone always wants a piece of me, but I’m tired of giving at the moment," Jack muttered as he stumbled away from Owen. He bumped into Francine and she doubted it was because of his eye. He kept one hand clamped over it.

"Jack." Francine pretended to frown at Jack. Jack grinned back sheepishly and it felt good to be exasperated over something this trivial. Jack tottered and Francine grabbed his arm in a flash. He righted himself before anyone noticed. She hid her surprise when she found herself only up to his shoulder. She'd forgotten how tall Jack was. 

Jack hissed when he lowered his hand finally and stared at the blood on his palm. He grimaced when Francine tried to turn his head towards her.

"Ow," Jack whined half-heartedly.

"You're worse than my girls," Francine scolded as she tilted back his chin. His eye looked bloodshot, but otherwise fine. She grimaced at the puffy redness on the left side of his face. Three angry scratches marred his jaw.

"Now that this is over," Jack quipped as he tolerated Francine probing the swelling under his eye, "what say you and me run away to Bora Bora together?"

"Behave." Francine couldn't help but smirk as she swatted his hand before it could touch his face. "I'm older than you, Jack."

Jack scoffed for some reason but said nothing. He stared at the double doors. 

"How are you, love?" Francine asked gently. His shirt hung over his body, untucked and bloody. It was a far cry from when she was sent down to clean him off, but Francine still didn't like how cool his face felt before or how listless his eyes were. 

"Do you want to sit down, Jack?" Francine prodded. She glanced over to Clive. He nodded and inched closer just in case.

Jack made an odd sound and his face contorted. "I'm fine," he muttered, his eyes still on the doors. "UNIT will be here any minute. The Doc…I need to check on the TARDIS…I have to call…call…" Jack frowned to himself. "Who do I have to call?"

"Never mind that." Francine tugged at Jack's elbow. It worried her how Jack looked to be leaning on nothing in particular. "Why don't you sit here?" Francine gestured at a chair Clive pulled over by his leg.

Jack looked down at himself, at the bridge around him. His hands gestured at nothing in particular in the air. "There are things I…I need to do…"

"I think you've done enough."

Jack glanced over his shoulder at the Doctor. The Doctor stood there, his hands deep in his pockets, his face blank.

Jack dropped his eyes and turned back towards the doors. 

The doors opened and Francine bit back a smile when the young man from before steered right for Jack. His eyes, like the color of the ocean, were glued to Jack as he veered around strewn furniture easily to reach Jack. Tosh hurried in after him, panting as if she had been running.

"Jack?" Ianto gasped as soon as he was within reach to grab Jack's sleeve. 

Jack gestured towards his own face wordlessly and Ianto visibly relaxed.

"Good Lord," Francine muttered to herself when Jack turned around and his eye was perfectly fine now, his face back to the ashen pallor of before.

"I heal fast, too. No scars," Jack explained woodenly as he wiped his face clean of blood with his sleeve. 

So you think, Francine thought but she said nothing. She smiled at Tosh who flew right into her open arms.

"Are you hurt?" Tosh demanded as she pulled back to examine Francine. "Lord, when that guard took you, I thought for sure…" Whatever Tosh saw on Francine's face satisfied her. She turned around to Jack.

"You should have seen her, Jack," Tosh said, her hands gesturing wildly. She mimicked Francine swinging her tray. "I thought for sure she killed that man—"

" _Mum_?" Martha and Tish both squawked. Martha, having overheard Tosh, spun around with her mouth open.

Francine rolled her eyes. "I didn't hit that boy too hard. I—oh, by the way, he's in the dirty linens room on level two. Someone might want to get him out before the smell kills him." 

Tosh snickered.

"Sounds like you two made a lethal team," Jack said. He smiled faintly. 

"Your backhand and Tosh's brains," Ianto added. He chuckled but the sound stuttered as if he'd forgotten how to make it.

"Ah yes." The Doctor spoke up, his voice hoarse with disuse. "That reminds me. Brilliant, Toshiko Sato. Your device worked beautifully."

Tosh blushed before she swiveled towards the Doctor. The Doctor blinked at her shining face.

"It was an incredible machine! The blueprints were perfect! Oh, I didn't have the equipment here or I could have made it more stable. Maybe a laser drill for the circuits? Gold wiring? Think of what we can do with it!"

Jack fidgeted his feet. "Uh, Tosh?"

Francine raised an eyebrow when Tosh never noticed. It was like her girls during Christmas. 

"The frequency can certainly be modified to a broader range. Maybe to a two hundred hertz scale? Do you think it can be on a recycling broadband? Or maybe…"

Now Martha was squirming. She gave Jack an uneasy look. "Tosh?"

Oh, but Tosh couldn't be stopped. Her face lit up as her enthusiasm grew. "IR controls! Oh, this could simplify—Doctor?"

The Doctor had walked up to Tosh during her fast chatter. He stood there, smiling broadly like the day Francine had met him. It made her hackles rise to see that grin. Francine wondered if this was the same grin that charmed her Martha into leaving her family, her life for adventure.

"Ah, Toshiko Sato," the Doctor sighed. He dropped his hands on both sides of her shoulders. "The device, no, _you_ are fantastic."

From here, Francine could see Tosh's ears pink.

"T-thank you," Tosh stammered. "But really, I—mmpf!"

Before Tosh could say anything more, the Doctor lowered his head and kissed Tosh fully on the mouth. Tosh squeaked. Jack and Martha collectively groaned and someone yelped, "Oi!" from somewhere in the back.

It was long enough that Francine was about to walk over and give the Doctor a good thrashing when they finally parted. The Doctor stepped back and looked at Tosh, waiting.

Tosh, her blush now on her face and neck, blinked. She touched her lips; she blinked again.

Then her eyes widened.

"Son of a bitch!" she blurted and before anyone could react, she kicked the Doctor right in the shins. Hard. The Doctor yipped and hopped on his good foot. Martha merely shook her head.

"I'm not a Time Lord and I saw that coming," Martha muttered under her breath.

"Tosh?" Ianto squeezed into the group and touched Tosh's arm briefly. "What is it?"

"It's gone! The technology!" Tosh exclaimed. "All of it!" Tosh looked torn between bursting into tears and being thoroughly pissed. She chose the latter. She glowered at the Doctor.

"It's a little premature for humanity to have this technology," the Doctor said as he edged back, a little behind Martha. He stared warily at Tosh's feet. "This century isn't ready for it."

Tosh stared at the Doctor and it looked like she was going to kick him again when she spun around and stomped away.

"Tosh?" Ianto called out, his brow knitted together. "Where are you going?"

"To get normal clothes!" Tosh shouted back. Her apron was tossed over her shoulder and two guards scurried out of her way as she stalked past. She didn't stop as she stormed through the doors, her friend Gwen at her heels.

Everyone looked back at the Doctor, who stared back perplexed.

"What?"

Whatever anyone was going to say, was forgotten when Jack, without another word, simply dropped to the floor before anyone could catch him.

 

Fire raced up from his lower back as fingers dug into his flesh…

With a strangled cry, Jack started. He flailed.

Hands touched him, voices soothed. Jack swung his fists wildly until the touch stroking his head finally registered as something familiar. 

"What?" Jack coughed. He looked up blearily to find Ianto sitting on the edge of whatever bed Jack was on. The give of the mattress and the blankets tangled around his torso unsettled him.

"You're in the TARDIS," Ianto said, his voice quiet and as still as a lake at night. "We brought you back to the TARDIS."

Jack turned his head left and right, but the recognizable surroundings of his old room only made his heart hammer faster.

"The others?" Jack asked as he took deep breaths to slow the pounding in his chest. "Owen? Tosh? Gwen?" Jack struggled up on his elbows. "The D-doctor. Mart—"

A hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Everyone's fine. Owen and the others went with UNIT to search the ship for the rest of Saxon's men. Martha's with her family." Ianto paused. "The Doctor. He's…he's…with the body."

Jack stared at Ianto. The words slowly filtered in and suddenly, Jack felt tired, depleted. Jack sagged and nearly pitched sideways off the bed but Ianto's arm shot out and caught him. Jack held up a hand holding Ianto back as he slumped against the headboard.

"How long was I out?" Jack croaked. He was bothered that his hands shook when he brought them up to scrub his face."

"A few hours," Ianto calculated. He twisted around and turning back, he held a tall glass in his hand. "Thought it might be better to let you to rest in here than out…there."

Jack's throat worked and he tried not to gulp as he accepted the glass of water. He drank, savored the crisp feel of water slipping a cool trail down his throat. He used the moment to gather priorities around him like a fence. Quickly as he drained the glass, Jack rearranged everything in his head.

"Do we have confirmation that everything reversed down there?" Jack wheezed.

The knowing eyes were hard to look at and Ianto must have realized because he cleared his throat and ducked his head. Ianto nodded. 

"People are panicking at the assassination on the telly, but that's it. UNIT is taking charge now and Owen was more than happy to let them muddle through this mess." Ianto smiled tightly. "A Brigadier general just came up on the _Valiant_ and the first thing he asked was 'where the bloody hell is that ruddy Doctor?'" 

Jack smiled faintly. "The Doctor is known to bring trouble with him." He stared into his empty glass. "So everything on Earth…"

"No one remembers the Toclafane or the end of the world." Ianto sounded awed. He swiped his tongue across his lower lip. "Everything, it's been a year for us, but in reality, it's only been minutes for them."

"That year never happened for them," Jack said. He swallowed. "The year that never was." Jack choked as he tried to laugh. "Welcome to time travel."

Ianto's eyes were huge when he stared at Jack. He kept ironing out a piece of the blanket over Jack with a palm. 

"I…I called my family and they…they were sitting around at home watching the telly." Ianto swallowed. "The whole time, they were all home when the Toclafane…"

"They're all right now," Jack reminded Ianto. "Your family's still watching the telly, probably making all kinds of conspiracy theories with the rest of the world."

Ianto tried to smile but it crumbled quickly.

"Before…Rhys called Gwen and God, the look on Gwen's face, Jack, when that mobile rang. Owen and I knew she'd kept that thing charged in her pocket, but when it rang…You should have seen it. And Tosh, she was able to reach her family. They're all okay. _Alive._ Jack, it's…" Ianto took a deep breath. Ianto stared at his hands worrying a corner of the blanket. He pulled his hands away.

"Sorry. S-sorry, I'm just prattling on like…" Ianto ran a hand through his hair. "Everyone's acting like it's only been minutes. _Minutes_. Not an entire year! I-I…I'm almost afraid to believe it."

Jack wished he could feel what Ianto was feeling right now but there was a hollow sensation in his chest that wouldn't go away. "All those deaths. Everything that had happened. Everything's been erased."

"Not everything." Ianto looked at Jack. Then, a shadow flitted across his face and Ianto averted his gaze. He sighed.

"Sorry," Ianto whispered. 

Jack curled both hands around the empty glass. "It's over," Jack said dully. "I'm sorry you have to remember."

"I'm sorry you have to remember, too," Ianto said quietly.

The glass cracked in Jack's grasp and dug into his palms.

Ianto swore. "Here. Let me get a bin. Wait, careful, just toss it here…"

Jack stared at his lap and the pinkish dots swirling in the spilled water before the blanket over his legs greedily soaked it up. Jack's throat worked.

"I need a shower," Jack croaked.

"Do you…" Ianto lowered his eyes. "I'll wait out here."

Jack nodded. He got to his feet shakily and tried not to run as he stumbled towards the washing area in the back.

 

He thought for sure when he stood in front of Ianto that it was the end.

Jack stood in the small stall and stared at the wall as water came down from above like rain. It didn't matter how long he stood there, the water couldn't get rid of the suffocating gritty skin that wrapped tight around his bones. Jack settled one hand on the wall, one hand on his chest. The hum that usually pulsed under his palms was faint. The one in his chest was strong.

The absurdity of it made Jack laugh, but it died quickly because it took too much energy.

The wall was cool and slick when Jack rested his head on the wall. The soap he had scrubbed into his skin until his body felt raw had trickled down his back. He stopped when the suds slithered down over his buttocks and felt too much like something else. 

Jack breathed through his nose, held the air before exhaling slowly and he tried to imagine his muscles relaxing one at a time. It was a routine he'd used all year—God, had it only been a year?

Inhale. Exhale. The muscles on his shoulders flexed then relaxed. It felt like chains were still pulling his limbs back. Jack tried to imagine the tendons behind his blades, around the joints that had popped from hanging on chains when Jack was too tired to stand.

Inhale. Exhale. Jack then arched his back to stretch the cord of muscles that followed the profile of his spine, the ones that always tore first under the whips. He tensed then released.

Inhale. Ex—

Jack choked as a sharp slicing blow cut across the back of his legs, fire licked greedily around his middle then the whine of a screwdriver as it burned a white hot line over his sto—

Nononononostopstop…

"Jack? Jack!"

Cold air rushed in when the stall door opened and Jack was too caught up in shadowy agony to realize. Hands—no, leave me alone, damn it—curled around his shoulders and turned him around until his back was to the wall now. No, he didn't want to see his face when—

"Jack! Look at me! Come on! Look at me…"

His bare shoulders slapped against the wet wall for the third time before Jack finally exhaled. His lungs burned from the strain and he could barely see through the steam that misted from the hot shower and collided with the cool air from outside.

Ianto, soaked through in his t-shirt and jeans, stood inside the shower with him. His shoes squished when he shifted his weight. 

"Where are you?" Ianto asked, his voice higher than Jack ever heard it before. His hands felt cold on Jack's face. Ianto held his head with both hands, forcing Jack to look at him. "Jack, quickly, where are you right now?"

"TARDIS," Jack groaned although it took a second to find the answer. He would have slid down the wall but Ianto's grip on his biceps stopped his descent.

Fingers relaxed a little and Ianto acted reluctant when he dropped his hands.

"Okay," Ianto said, his voice trembling a little. "I-I heard…well…here…I'll let you take your shower."

Jack's arm shot out and he grabbed a fist of wet cotton on Ianto's back just as he started to leave. Ianto stopped short and turned to face him.

"Don't," Jack croaked. "Don't go." He released his hold and moved to grasp a handful of the shirt's front instead.

Water dribbled down Ianto's face, streams of water running down like tears from hair plastered to his skull, wet brushstrokes of cotton defined the contours of his torso and the sinewy cords of strength borne from too much battle and not enough food to eat.

Jack stared at Ianto and tried to get his mouth working again, but he could only inhale, exhale.

"I can step outside," Ianto said quietly after a period of hesitation. "It'll be all right."

The understanding and the words were too much to hear.

"Don't talk," Jack rasped. "Just…don't go."

Ianto nodded and, despite how uncomfortable he must be feeling, huddled closer to Jack under the unrelenting shower, his hands loose and light over Jack's arms.

Jack pulled harder at the sodden shirt and watched the neckline stretch under the water's weight and expose Ianto's throat and the hollow dip under his Adam's apple. He raised his other hand and reached for Ianto's jaw but found his arm wouldn't obey and landed on Ianto's shoulder instead.

Blue eyes deep and quiet stared at Jack's face, never straying as Jack released Ianto's shirt and moved his hand up to his other shoulder.

The water was hot. Jack could sense the sweat instead of the shower beading across his forehead. He cupped Ianto's jaw, his thumb rubbing under Ianto's eye. Jack wished the water he wiped clean under Ianto's eye were tears and the simple gesture he just did had fixed everything.

Both hands framing Ianto's face now, Jack felt his chest heave as he leaned in. Ianto never moved. His hands stayed feather-light on Jack's arms. 

It was close enough that Jack could see the tears collected at the corners of Ianto's eyes. He paused at the sight of himself reflected in the solemn eyes that guided him every night of every day. Jack was unrecognizable in them and something shriveled inside him.

Ianto closed his eyes, sealing Jack's image away.

Jack exhaled on Ianto's face, his mouth parted and before he changed his mind, Jack lowered his mouth.

Lips parted and accepted him without hesitation. Moist, warm, soft yet unyielding, Ianto's mouth felt both familiar and alien to Jack. The roughness of stubble under Jack's palm was unlike the slick, shaven jaw that had scraped against him. The soaked fabric felt different to the wool that rubbed against him, fine wool that was both smooth and coarse. The hands on his arms were almost limp, never demanding as Jack moved his arms to pull Ianto to his chest.

Tentative taste sharpened to nips and Jack dove into Ianto's mouth with a bruising kiss as his hands curled and clawed. He wasn't sure if he wanted to pull Ianto close or push him away. 

Each blow, each burn, Jack tried to exorcise by devouring just a little more of what Ianto offered. He made a sound when a ghostly touch soiled his skin, he shuddered when a knife nicked deep into bone. Frantic, mind too full, too loud to hold one thought longer than a blink, Jack clutched Ianto to him like a lifesaver.

It was the thick threaded texture of denim that brushed against his own soft genitals that finally made the red haze clear and Jack became very aware of how still and silent Ianto was. Jack meant to let go but he ended up pushing Ianto back harder than he should have and the momentum sent Jack himself crashing back into the wall.

Jack stared at the swollen lower lip, the tiny trickle of blood at the corner of Ianto's mouth. Ianto staggered back a step but he never moved to wipe his mouth. 

Jack couldn't stand anymore and his knees buckled.

"Sorry," Jack gasped. "I'm…God, I'm sorry."

In the tight space, it took Ianto only a step forward for him to slip his arms under Jack's, stopping his descent.

"It's all right," Ianto said as he hauled Jack up. "It's fine."

No it wasn't and Jack wanted to punch Ianto for saying that it was. His hand shook though, wouldn't bunch and then the vibrations traveled up his body and Jack couldn't speak anymore.

Ianto simply pulled Jack to him and held him.

They stood under the shower, no words between them. Jack's arms were limp against his sides; his body shook as if the water crashing over them was ice cold. Ianto said nothing. He didn't even say it was okay. His arms just went around Jack, careful not to stand too close, his head settled gingerly on the crook of Jack's right shoulder.

The shaking finally stopped but Ianto didn't let go. Jack couldn't find the strength to step back like he should and simply rested his heavy head on top of Ianto's.

"It's over," Jack rasped. "All of it. It's over."

Ianto just nodded.

Jack gulped and clenched his jaw.

Ianto's hands moved to cup the back of his neck.

Jack pulled back enough to see Ianto. He stared at the eyes so vivid and old, it was like looking at the birth of a universe with all the sparkle and brightness of new stars. The reflection he saw in Ianto's gaze started to look a little more familiar, less unsettling.

Hands trembled as they moved up to cradle the back of Ianto's head. Ianto stared up at him, his expression revealing none of the revulsion Jack felt curdling inside himself, and his face was open and waiting. 

Jack's hands steadied. He held Ianto's face and thought of a time when the impossible had happened and Ianto held him within his mind while Saxon had raged and tore his body to shreds. Jack dipped his head again and this time, Ianto tilted his head up to follow.

The kiss this time tasted more of salt, of the water from the shower, of the air he breathed. Ianto tasted like Ianto now: quiet yet firm, warm and embracing like a soft blanket wrapped around Jack's body and mind.

Water sluiced when Jack turned up his hand to curve around the back of Ianto's skull. Ianto's fingers skimmed over Jack like piano keys. His fingers were callused but always full of grace. They rubbed circles on Jack's back. He kept them between Jack's shoulders after wandering lower made Jack whimper.

The curve of Ianto's spine arched into Jack's hand when Jack slipped a hand under Ianto's damp shirt. Ianto sighed when Jack did nothing more than stroke the slick skin discovered under the wet cotton.

Carefully, Jack rolled the soaked shirt up Ianto's torso like peeling paper off an artifact. One hand bunching the shirt higher, Jack's other hand tentatively touched flesh that flexed and breathed under his touch.

Ianto said nothing as the shirt rolled over his head but he did smile ruefully when Jack rubbed a palm over the unruly spikes of hair to smooth them down. 

There was a moment when his breath hitched though seeing pink water rippling down Ianto's face and torso, pink water that spun around the drain below them.

"Your blood."

Ianto's voice was a surprise and Ianto kept his hands on Jack's back when Jack started.

"It's your blood," Ianto whispered. "I'm fine."

Jack nodded. The taste of bile still lingered in his mouth when he remembered how the Master's eyes flicked over to Ianto even as his body turned towards the Doctor. 

"Alive," Jack said, hushed, afraid to say it out loud and curse them both. He said it instead with his fingers writing it in the water over Ianto's skin, in every language he could think of. Jack gathered the soap again from the alcove and scrubbed rich lather over Ianto's neck and torso; every part that had blood.

Jack could see Ianto's eyes darkening, a hunger that was unfulfilled for both of them for so long, but all Jack could feel was cold, numb, needles pricking deeper and deeper into him. But he wasn't going to deny the murky cloud in Ianto's eyes. He moved his hands to Ianto's jeans. Jack worked free the top button, peeled the denim down Ianto's hips before he realized Ianto had been calling him.

"It's okay," Ianto was saying over and over, "Jack, we don't have to do this."

It was only when Ianto nudged him to rest against the wall that Jack discovered he was shaking so bad, his fingers were tangled in the belt loops. Jack chuckled, laughed, maybe choked and his hands were batted away.

Ianto stepped out of the denim after kicking off his shoes and they plopped down in a corner. Ianto took a deep breath then took another step, close enough that Ianto's body heat warmed Jack's skin. He wrapped his arms around Jack again.

Jack closed his eyes briefly at the feel of damp, warm muscle breathing against him. His fingers pressed weakly at the wet skin he could feel. He kissed the top of Ianto's head, traced the contour of Ianto's right ear with a finger and pulled Ianto even closer.

The heated, velvety swell bumping against him made him tense at first but then Ianto shifted and it brushed against him, tickling along the junction of his hip and torso instead. The responding fever on his skin felt faintly familiar. Jack knew this once. Once, this erased the dreams and the cold darkness.

His hands swept up Ianto's back. Ianto stood feet apart and rubbed against Jack as his hands floated with airy caresses up Jack's arms.

"It's done," Jack rasped as he ground his hips into Ianto, "It's over." His voice shook. Jack massaged the firm body in his arms, slathered suds down Ianto's body. Jack followed the lather's journey with his fingers, pausing as they traveled to Ianto's groin, but he pushed aside whatever was chilling into ice inside and wrapped his hands around Ianto.

The small gasp nearly made Jack pull back but then Ianto wiggled closer to Jack, his hips jerking forward as he tried to thrust into Jack's loose fist. Slick, smelling of soap and sweat, Ianto moaned deep in his throat as he rested his forehead on Jack's chest.

The pace rocking against him, the heat of another's skin was something Jack remembered. Ianto's hand curled around Jack's cock was a memory Jack had thought at one point was just a dream. He matched Ianto's pace with slow, unsure snaps of his own hips and when they collided and crashed against each other, Jack bit his lower lip.

Hard silk poked at him, ground against his semi-aroused state. Jack thrust harder into Ianto's fist, desperate to match the stiff, throbbing heat against his hip, but Ianto would only loosen his fist, his other hand splayed on Jack's right hip to hold him back.

Eventually, Ianto's restraining hand dropped. He whimpered and murmured Jack's name over and over as they clung to each other, hips jerking against each other in a frantic, growing need to feel.

The whispers of memory that scored his body dropped away one by one. Jack smashed his mouth against Ianto's to smother the raw sound that wanted to come out of his throat. Ianto was no longer motionless, now a moving set of sensations of wet skin, fingers, and searching mouth.

Closer and closer Jack could feel something under his skin squirming to get out. His skin itched where Ianto didn't touch, his skin boiled in places where Ianto did. 

The phantom chains on his wrists fell away.

The claws on his bones slackened.

The film that surrounded him dissolved.

Jack buried his face into Ianto's shoulder and with a shudder, he came into Ianto's hands and everything simply fell apart.

 

"I thought I died."

Jack wasn't sure why he said it out loud. Lying on the bed, Ianto's head on his shoulder, they drowsily listened to the weak hum of the TARDIS above them. He should have been content to stay in a limbo, in a place where it felt like time stood still.

After the shower, Jack vaguely remembered being steered back to bed. Jack didn't argue, didn't protest. It required too much and it felt easier to just let Ianto wrap a towel around him and guide him out by the hand. 

A shirt was pulled over his head, his legs coaxed into trousers, a thick towel scrubbed carefully over his hair. Jack just watched Ianto through the proceedings, lulled to complacency by Ianto's calm and rolling vowels that actually caressed his mind.

Jack had blinked drowsily at Ianto as he pulled a clean t-shirt over his head. Ianto made sure Jack knew what he did. He talked about the warm socks he rolled over Jack's bony ankles, commented on the service shirt he slipped over Jack's shoulders, talked about the wrist strap he returned to Jack's wrist. 

Ianto had found a set of dry clothes in his exact size in the closet; the TARDIS and her magic again. He looked odd in Jack's clothes but at the time, it wasn't in Jack to form a teasing remark. Dressed, Ianto then eased him down to the bed only slipping in when Jack wouldn't let go of this hand. 

They stayed, legs tangled, snug under a thick duvet Jack vaguely remembered Rose had given him when he caught a form of pneumonia after a trip to an ocean colony. She'd stayed with him that night while he shivered and burned. She then convinced the Doctor to make a trip to Hong Kong in the mid-nineteenth century because she said that was where the best bedding was made.

"I was dead, wasn't I?" Jack rubbed his cheek on Ianto's hair that smelled like soap and life and everything untainted. 

Ianto's head rolled as he gazed up at Jack. His eyes dimmed, his arms tightened around Jack's middle and Ianto turned to stare at the ceiling.

"Yes, you were," Ianto whispered. The quaver in his voice begged Jack not ask anymore so Jack didn't.

Jack followed Ianto's eyes and studied the golden pink ceiling that rose as high as a cathedral. The TARDIS warbled but other than the occasional feeble note, the recovering ship was mostly quiet. The silence made Jack's throat ache.

"I thought Saxon was going to kill the Doctor," Ianto said quietly. His left hand absently patted Jack's chest. "I thought for sure you went to…"

"I didn't." Jack rubbed his chin against Ianto's temple. Hair shorn too short tickled his lips and Jack mused Ianto had his hair cut very short at some point. He wondered who did it. He was sorry he wasn't there to do it. "I knew he would have killed you."

"But…" Ianto fidgeted. "I saw him turn…even _I_ thought at first he was going to kill the Doctor. What made you so sure he would try and kill me?"

Jack's eyes burned. "Because that's what would have broken me," Jack croaked.

Silent, Ianto's only response was to rest his head over Jack's heart. Ianto kissed Jack's collarbone.

Jack lay there listening to Ianto breathe and thought it was the only other sound besides the TARDIS that he could listen to all night. Jack ran a hand up and down Ianto's back, his fingers lazily following the strong arch of Ianto's spine. It felt so… _ordinary_ after so many extraordinary things had happened.

Jack snorted.

"What?"

"Just thinking he went to a lot of trouble just to…I'm still not sure why he decided to scre—to interfere with _my_ timeline." Jack sighed. What did it accomplish?

Ianto squirmed next to Jack and he propped himself up on an elbow.

"Jack." Ianto hesitated. His face contorted and it reminded Jack of that night, down in the vaults, steps away from where Lisa was hidden away; the hesitation that shone even in the dark tunnels.

"We know Saxon tampered with your timeline. Do you think if…if he hadn't…do you think we still would have met?"

Jack took a deep breath. It was a question Jack was trying not to think about.

Ianto dropped his eyes and he bit his lower lip. 

"There's no way to ever know," Jack said finally. He pulled out a hand from under the covers and with two fingers, tipped Ianto's chin up.

"Although," Jack said quietly, "I can't imagine how my life would have been if I'd _never_ met you." It didn't feel like it never should have happened. In fact, it felt so _right_.

Ianto nodded and gave him a shaky smile.

"Same here," Ianto whispered. He took a deep breath. "Even if we…I mean, because of Lisa—"

"I told you. I forgave you," Jack interrupted.

Ianto blinked at him. His lower lip trembling, Ianto shook his head.

"Wait," Ianto murmured, "let me finish. If…even if we'd never…you know…I think we would have…" Ianto settled his free hand over Jack's.

"I think this thing between us would have still happened eventually." Ianto rubbed every knuckle on Jack's hand with his thumb. "It feels like the natural next step," Ianto added softly.

Jack stared at their hands over his heart.

"Lisa or not," Jack said quietly, "you're my best friend. I don't think there was anyone else I could have trusted."

"Well, I did a brilliant thing with that trust, didn't I?" Ianto said bitterly.

"Hey." Jack's hand slipped out from under Ianto's and he settled it on Ianto's jaw. Ianto leaned against his hand.

"In the past now, okay?" Jack curled his hand slightly to cup Ianto's cheek. "All of it. The past now."

Ianto stared at Jack for a long moment before he nodded.

Above them, the TARDIS cooed but her tune was sad and it faded at times.

Ianto tilted his head up. His brow furrowed as he studied the ceiling.

"We used a lot of dynamite," Ianto murmured. His mouth crinkled with regret. "It was the only thing we had."

"She's tough," Jack assured him "But yeah, she'll need some repairs but not because of you guys," Jack added quickly when Ianto jerked and stared up at her in dismay. "The Mas—that paradox machine took a lot out of her."

The lines furrowed across Ianto's brow smoothed. He studied Jack.

"Are you going to help the Doctor fix her?"

Jack stopped. His throat squeezed as he gave it some thought before he nodded slowly. "If…if he asks for my help." Jack hesitated. "If he wants it. I helped with repairs before so she trusts me to tinker with her. It would stand to reason he would ask."

Ianto's head bobbed and he idly rubbed the blanket over Jack's heart. His fingers walked up his chest and traced the slope of his collarbone.

Jack stared at Ianto and his intense study of his neck and throat. "I'm coming back," Jack murmured.

Ianto nodded, not looking up. His eyes stayed on Jack's jaw. He brushed a finger along Jack's chin, his mouth, his nose like he was committing Jack to memory.

"I am," Jack stressed, hurt. 

Ianto's eyes lifted. They looked a little resigned, a little tired. But despite that, Ianto smiled.

"I'll understand if you don't though."

The first thing that came to mind was that Ianto _didn't_ want him to come back. But no, Jack thought. If anything, during the past year Ianto had proved the exact opposite. 

Nevertheless, something must have shown on his face because Ianto sighed. He dipped his head and carefully kissed the corner of his mouth.

"I'm just saying," Ianto murmured, "that this Doctor, he…he was the one you should have been waiting for and now he's here. The right Doctor. What if that's what was tampered with in the original timeline?"

"We don't know what should have happened in the timeline," Jack repeated. He captured Ianto's hand, halting his mapping. "Stop that. Stop acting like this will be the last time we'll see each other." Jack's throat worked. "I feel like I wasted so much time with you already."

Ianto's gaze dropped and he exhaled slowly. He raised a hand to sweep the hair away from Jack's forehead. 

Jack felt the soothing strokes brush across him. He looked blearily at Ianto. He wished his head didn't feel so stuffed with cotton right now. He watched Ianto, his face so serious, so focused as he explored every part of Jack's face.

"Tired?" Ianto's fingers never stopped.

"No," Jack mumbled even as his eyelids were sliding shut. 

Ianto chuckled deep in his throat. It was a pleasant rumble against his chest.

"Your eyes are closed."

"I'm meditating."

"How spiritual of you." Soft lips peppered his neck and left ear. Jack swallowed and Ianto kissed his Adam's apple when it bobbed. 

"What were you meditating about?"

"Your coffee," Jack sighed.

Ianto laughed against his shoulder when he eased back down on the bed.

Even lying down, Ianto's fingers still lingered on him, never demanding, inquisitive in touch. Jack felt himself sinking deeper into the bed. He heard Ianto murmur by his ear and remembered something.

"Carrot," Jack slurred.

"Hm?" Fingers carded through his hair now.

"There were times…" Jack tried to swallow back a yawn but Ianto's quiet puff of laughter told him he failed.

"You called me…" Jack's brow knitted. "Carrot…no…carat… _cariad_?"

The fingers paused over his eyes.

"What does that mean?" Jack mumbled sleepily. "The TARDIS never translated it."

Ianto kissed his jaw.

"Perverted old man."

Jack's right eye opened with difficulty and glared at Ianto smiling at him. 

"No it doesn't," Jack yawned. He burrowed deeper into the comfortable hollow Ianto formed with the bed and the duvet. Warm, shadowy, dark, and quiet. Jack wiggled against Ianto and felt Ianto press his lips on Jack's ear.

Ianto chuckled again and Jack thought he could hear it forev—for a very long time. 

Hands cradled him and it reminded him of the trance the Doctor placed him in before: cocooned in a wrapping of peace and cottony heat. It invited lethargy; it sheltered him away from memories.

"I'll come back," Jack mumbled as he sank deeper into Ianto's embrace. "I'll come back, damn it."

As Jack floated into real sleep for the first time in a long time, Ianto just held him and said nothing. 

 

He didn't mean to fall asleep, but he did with his face pressed into Jack's throat, his arms wrapped loosely around Jack.

Somewhere between tracing the firm profile of Jack's jaw and the gentle lobe of Jack's left ear, Ianto had nodded off. He slept with the scent of Jack and soap around him. 

Eventually though, Ianto could sense they were being watched. There was also a faint odor of smoke, of burnt wood. His left eyelid opened sluggishly and he studied the figure standing at the foot of the bed. Both eyes opened and Ianto peered past the duvet at the visitor.

"Ah." The Doctor sounded sheepish for getting caught. He rocked on his heels. "Didn't mean to wake you."

Ianto stretched as he sat up. "Didn't mean to sleep." He looked down at Jack, still curled towards his spot. 

"No, no," the Doctor murmured when Ianto reached over to nudge Jack on the shoulder, "don't wake him. I think it's the first time he's ever been able to sleep like this."

Ianto pursed his lips at the Time Lord. The Doctor looked a little ragged. Even the usually wild disarray of his brown hair was listless, flopped over his eyes like he had been under the rain except he was dry. The pinstripe suit hung loosely even on the Doctor's lanky frame. The Doctor wore his long tan wool coat like a death shroud. 

Ianto made a face. Sitting up, the smoke was more acute. "Was something burning?"

The Doctor's expression cooled; his eyes were suddenly dull. 

"Funeral pyre," the Doctor offered succinctly. 

"Oh." Ianto didn't know what else to say. He didn't want to apologize either. He peered up at the Time Lord.

"You're…not going to stay there staring at us, are you?"

The Doctor made a face. "Most certainly not! I just thought…well…thought I would peek in and see how you two were doing."

It was unsettling to hear the Doctor fumble for words, not when the Time Lord usually seemed to favor a more rapid-fire vocabulary that made people's heads spin. Ianto carefully swung his legs around the bed and levered off. He pulled the duvet up higher, past Jack's shoulders. Jack mumbled something, squirmed briefly before he settled back with a low sigh that made the corners of his mouth upturn.

"Now who's staring?"

Ianto glared at the Doctor over his shoulder. The Doctor merely grinned back. 

Ianto held up a finger when the Doctor's eyebrows rose after he got a better glimpse at his outfit. The Doctor's mouth snapped shut and he nodded towards the door. Ianto hesitated, his eyes on Jack. 

"He'll be fine," the Doctor whispered. "She'll tell me if anything happens."

Ianto glanced around the room and reluctantly nodded. He followed the Doctor out, but kept checking over his shoulder until they shut the door behind him.

 

To Ianto's surprise, the Doctor stopped outside of the door and no further. He stared at the door and Ianto came to the startling conclusion that the Doctor didn't want to stray too far either.

His chest twinging, Ianto rested back against the door and swallowed before he cleared his throat.

"Where are the others?" Ianto asked. Something pinched inside him when he realized he left Owen and the others to handle everything.

"Your Dr. Harper is checking on the Jones family, making sure everyone is in reasonable health. Gwen Cooper—remarkable resemblance, really—was coordinating planes to head back to London and Ms. Sato…" The Doctor fidgeted where he stood. "Don't quite know but Martha advised I should avoid her for the time being."

Ianto bit back a smirk. "Is Martha all right?"

The Doctor's smile was wide, his eyes dark with a paternal pride that reminded Ianto of his father the day he graduated uni.

"Oh, she's fine. Well…she will be." The smile faded to something more melancholy. "She will be."

"And you?" Ianto asked carefully.

"Hm? Oh, quite all right. I'm a little muffled right now, like water in my ears. Nothing a spot of tea won't cure. A good leaf for whatever ails you. Perhaps a good biscuit as well."

The Doctor looked very serious when he said that. Ianto didn't know what to make of it so he just ducked his head. 

"Were you really going to keep him alive in the TARDIS?" Bollocks. Of all the things he should say, _that_ was not on his short list.

The Doctor gave him a look before his shoulders lifted up, then dropped. 

"A bit moot to ask now don't you think?" The Doctor shook his head and pursed his lips in thought. 

"If that's what I had to do." There was a rueful grin, as the Doctor's thoughts seem to have turned inward. "It would have been time for a change. Maybe I've been wandering for too long. I would have someone to care for." The smile dropped.

"Does no good to speculate now though, eh?" The Doctor rocked on his heels. "The Master's dead, UNIT has Lucy Saxon and the year has been reverted."

The about face was unsettling.

"I think Jack was right," Ianto tried, his words careful. "You couldn't have trusted him."

"No, I couldn't have but I've been surprised before." The Doctor stared past Ianto's shoulders to the door. "Many times, in fact. I've been surprised by how many times humans have proven to be much bigger on the inside." The Time Lord chuckled to himself at whatever he found amusing.

"Like the TARDIS," Ianto murmured. He sobered. "But Saxon wasn't human."

"No," the Time Lord muttered, his expression darkening, "he wasn't."

Ianto didn't know how to respond. He struggled for something to say. His eyes wandered down the hall and drifted to the double doors that led to the main chamber. He thought of the blackened, scorched ruins that smoldered in the main chamber. Thank God Jack hadn't see it. Ianto's throat closed up when he saw the twisted cage piercing the console like a harpoon. The stench of burnt metal and glass made him want to vomit.

"Sorry about the dynamite."

"Hm? Oh, that?" The congenial smile was back as the Doctor studied around him. 

"A few sticks of nitroglycerin and sawdust won't get rid of her that easily," the Doctor scoffed. "I once accidentally had five dozen Rhynerotarians rampaging in her main chamber and she turned out fine in the end."

Ianto frowned to himself. "How did you _accidentally_ get sixty Rhy-Rhy-whatever in there?"

The Doctor shot him an exasperated look. "Well they weren't sixty to begin with." He shook his head, muttering. "Told her not to feed them but no, Ace couldn't resist those big eyes and they just multiplied and goodness, the _smell_ …"

Ace? Ianto rolled his eyes. "Let me guess? They bred like tribbles?" Ianto joked.

Ianto was given a rather impolite snort. "Tribbles? Oh no, their mating seasons far exceed—hang on, how do you know about tribbles?"

"How do I—you mean they're _real_?" Ianto gaped at the Time Lord who stared back with such a bland expression, Ianto couldn't tell if he was serious or not. He was afraid it was the former. Nevertheless, Ianto huffed, folded his arms and leaned back against the door. He studied the Doctor a long time. 

Finally, Ianto cleared his throat. 

"What now?" Ianto rasped.

The Doctor cocked his head towards him. 

"The timeline?" Ianto's insides twisted. "Saxon had interfered with it. What does it mean for, well…everything."

"Time moves on." The Doctor's eyes aged before him and Ianto couldn't look away. "Time doesn't stop. What the Master did was merely dam the flow but like all things in life, the river of time will continue…whatever path is carved out before it."

It made sense yet it didn't and it made Ianto feel very small that he couldn't wrap his mind around it. Both the Doctor and Jack treated time with a practiced ease and the casual air a time traveler would have honed in his or her lifetime.

"So the universe won't…implode or anything, will it?" Ianto asked tentatively.

The Doctor cocked his head as if listening for something in the air. He frowned to himself. His eyes drifted to Ianto and widened slightly.

Ianto's throat suddenly went dry. "Uh…Doctor?"

The Time Lord's dark scrutiny was making Ianto squirm before the Doctor shook his head, stuck a finger in his ear and muttered something about water. He nodded to himself.

"Not for another thousand years, no."

Ianto's mouth dropped open. "A t-thousand…" Ianto's mouth snapped shut at the Doctor's toothy grin. "Not funny."

The Doctor made a face. "Yes, I'd forgotten you're a humorless sort of fellow."

Ianto counted to ten. Then to fifteen. "Look—" he began.

"The universe is the universe," the Doctor interrupted, his hand up. "She doesn't give up her secrets easily. Whatever the Master hoped to achieve, whatever past he wished to correct, was sorted out all on its own." The Doctor waved a lazy hand towards Ianto then himself. "We were mere players." Teeth flashed again. "All the universe's a stage to paraphrase."

"Shakespeare would have wept if he was still alive," Ianto deadpanned.

The grin snapped into a scowl. "Blimey, you must be a joy to work with, Torchwood."

One, two, three, four…

Ianto loosened his fist before he did anything he would regret and inadvertently start a galactic war. Ianto took a deep breath.

"So, we're fine. Everything is how it should be?" Ianto bit his lower lip. "Even Jack?"

The Doctor's expression sagged. The Time Lord dipped his head and contemplated his shoes.

"The Master went back with the sole purpose of destroying Jack's timeline." The Doctor shook his head. "Where he should be? I…I simply don't know. We can only guess. The only one who does know is dead."

Ianto covered his mouth with a hand. "Then we don't know if we were supposed to be part of his life?"

"Does it matter?" the Doctor pointed out. "He is now."

"But if he was suppose to be with…" Ianto's throat worked. "He waited for you but instead, he got… _him_."

Brown eyes darkened to near black. "There's nothing we can do about that now. Whatever subtle differences there are, the stone has been cast, and the ripples in the water already have gone far beyond our comprehension. Wondering will only bring madness."

Ianto nodded but the nausea brewing inside didn't go away completely.

"It is what it is, Ianto," the Doctor said kindly.

Ianto blinked at his name. He smiled tentatively at the Doctor.

"At least no more visits from talking rodents for me," Ianto joked.

"That wasn't a rodent," the Doctor huffed, "it was a common house mouse."

"Very common," Ianto drawled.

The Doctor peered at his bare feet. "You know, now that I have a better look, your feet look more to be a size—"

"Doctor!" Ianto stepped back and wished he was wearing shoes. 

The Doctor bared his teeth at him. Cheeky alien…

Irritation died as the door against Ianto's back reminded him. Ianto cleared his throat and nodded back towards the door he was leaning on.

Brown eyes shadowed. "Oh." The Doctor slipped his hands in his trousers. He shrugged.

"Martha and I are planning to spend some time in the vortex." At Ianto's questioning look, the Doctor reiterated, "A sort of limbo where the regular stream of time pauses." The Doctor patted the wall next to Ianto. 

"The old girl needs a lot of work, lots of repair." The Doctor hesitated.

"I was going to ask Jack if he would remain to help."

It wasn't a surprise but Ianto's stomach still lurched. He worked his jaw and stared at his bare feet.

"Jack…uh…he mentioned you might ask and that…" Ianto tapped his right foot against his left. "He said he would help if you asked."

"Ah." The strange lilt in the Doctor's voice made Ianto looked up.

"You thought he might say no," Ianto guessed.

The Doctor shrugged. "There are too many variables to determine that, but yes, I thought once he knew the truth Jack might not—"

"The truth?"

The sick churning in his gut returned when the Doctor merely shook his head. Ianto straightened and stepped away from the door.

"What truth?"

The Doctor sighed and even his hair seemed to deflate further. 

"That I was never going to come back for him."

The walls shrank around him. Ianto stared. Nothing would come out of his throat.

The Doctor merely sighed again and met Ianto's stunned look with shadowed eyes.

"You…" It took a few gulps of air before he could speak. "So what Saxon said…t-that was true? You were never— _Why?_ " At the Doctor's hesitation, all the pieces fell into place.

"Because you thought he was wrong? Because he can't die? You said at the end of the universe that…" Ianto's breath quickened when the Doctor said nothing. "That was it then? You were never going to come back for him? Was that what the original timeline was? Jack… _abandoned_ far into the future simply because you were… _prejudiced_?"

The Doctor blinked. He scratched his jaw. "I never thought of it that way," he mused.

God, he wanted to hit something, preferably someone. Ianto stood there, breathing harshly, his hands balled into tight fists against his sides.

"And Jack doesn't know this?" Ianto whispered. He was suddenly very afraid their voices would carry into the room behind him.

"The Master taunted him with this but I doubt Jack believed him…" The Doctor paused. "At least not entirely." The Doctor's mouth twitched as if he was trying to smile. It died quickly and the Doctor appeared resigned.

"But sooner or later, Jack is bound to ask."

Inside something was screaming so loud, Ianto thought his ears would bleed.

"And you'll tell him?"

The Doctor nodded. "I owe him the truth. I owe him that much."

"No. You owe him a _lie_."

The Doctor looked at him sharply. "What?" He shook his head. "No, I won't lie."

The screaming was scouring his guts from the inside and Ianto wasn't sure if it was because of what the Doctor said or what Ianto was going to say.

"You can't, _can't_ tell Jack you were never going to come back for him." Ianto was beginning to shake. "If he…if he finds out you were never going to…it'll destroy him."

The Doctor's face screwed up. "Lying to him won't solve anything and I owe him the—"

"You owe him this!" The screaming had vibrated down to his limbs and suddenly Ianto was grabbing the Doctor's jacket and slamming him against the opposite wall. Startled, the Doctor raised his arms in defense but only grunted when his back struck the hard surface.

"Please," Ianto whispered. He bowed his head over the fists still clutching onto the suit like a lifeline. His eyes burned. His mouth tasted sour as he pleaded.

"Please. You can't. You just…you just _can't_ tell him the truth. He's waited so long, even when the one who came back tore him apart, Jack still waited for you. You can't tell him."

The Doctor never pushed him away. 

"Do you realize what you're asking?" the Doctor asked, his voice gruff.

Ianto sniffled but he nodded against the Doctor.

"If you tell him, you'll do the one thing that Saxon was trying to do," Ianto whispered. The Doctor flinched.

"What you're asking me to do…" The Doctor gripped Ianto's shoulders to push him back but Ianto held on. 

"After everything Jack has done for you…" Ianto couldn't finish.

"Ianto Jones, do you truly understand what you're asking me to do? What it might mean for you as well?" the Doctor's voice became thin and demanding. 

Ianto shivered. "Please," he whispered brokenly. "Jack needs this."

Hands moved around. The Doctor awkwardly patted Ianto's shoulders.

"I'm sorry," the Doctor said sadly. "I'm so, so sorry."

Ianto held on, not sure which he hoped the Doctor was apologizing for.

 

The first thing Jack noticed was the spot next to him was empty.

But he wasn't alone.

Cold needles raced up his back and Jack twisted, ready to kick at the body he could sense sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Easy, Captain."

A strong grip on the duvet covering his legs held him down but the deep timber relaxed him.

Jack rolled onto his back and blinked blearily at the Doctor. He sat up and looked around him.

"Your little team are preparing to head back to Cardiff in a few hours," the Doctor explained. "The rift has been testy since that timed release." The Doctor snorted under his breath. "They couldn't understand how that was possible if time was reversed. I offered to find an orange, maybe a pomelo to explain but for some reason, they refused."

"Huh?" Jack's brow furrowed. "Oranges? What?" 

The Doctor shook his head. "Never mind." He smiled brightly. "Well then. Interesting group, your Torchwood."

Jack smirked wanly. "Bet you never thought you would say that."

The Doctor glowered at him. He harrumphed. "Yes, well, they’ve proven to be bigger on the inside." He smiled at Jack. "Like some people I know."

Jack sighed. He sat cross-legged and dropped his head. 

"Are you sure about that?" Jack asked dully.

The Doctor mirrored Jack and sat, facing him. 

"Yes."

Jack nodded to himself. He swiped his tongue across his lower lip.

"I'm sorry." Jack shrugged, not looking up. "For…you know…shooting him."

"No you're not."

Startled, Jack lifted his eyes and met the Doctor's gaze empty of any anger.

"No," Jack agreed, "no, I'm not. But I know you wanted to…save him."

"This happened before, Jack," the Doctor told him in a serious voice. "I would have tried before and as this showed us, he failed to be saved the first time." His face grew stormy.

"I don't give second chances."

Jack stared. "You gave me one and I thought…I thought I proved myself to you and Rose—"

"You did." The Doctor's eyes were a rare warm brown that Jack had only seen cast upon Rose before. "You did, Jack. You've proven yourself a thousand times over."

"Then why—" Jack clamped his mouth shut. He lowered his eyes.

"Why what?" the Doctor quietly prodded.

Jack shook his head. "You're heading off to the vortex?"

The Doctor blinked at the change of subject. "The TARDIS needs a complete overhaul. Be safer in there."

"Better than on a planet with dinosaurs," Jack commented archly.

"So I overshot it by a million years! It can happen!"

Jack snickered. "When Rose came back with that egg to make breakfast…"

The Doctor chuckled as well. "Oh, the scream she made when it started hatching."

It was odd but vaguely comforting to laugh in this room, with this Doctor, at this time. Jack wasn't sure how he should feel and again, like before, wished Rose was here to act as a buffer with her usual sweet and giving nature that she shared with them both.

"I miss her, too."

Jack leveled his gaze at the Doctor and the ancient eyes that once again didn't match the youthful face and that felt perfectly right.

"Jack…" the Doctor paused. "What Rose did…" He shook his head. "Please don't blame her. She thought—well, I don't know what she was thin—no, I do." The Doctor surprised Jack by settling a hand on Jack's knee.

"Don't ever think what was done to you was punishment." The Doctor's mouth curved to something worn, fragile and a little sad. "She came back to help us, must have felt your death and she…" The Doctor shook his head. "Ah, what she must have felt when she saw you were dead. She brought you back, but…"

"She brought me back forever," Jack finished.

The Doctor looked at him, willing Jack not to look away.

"She just wanted you to live again and like every human, she took it too far but…" The Doctor settled both hands on either side of Jack's face. His hands were cool, but his words weren't.

"What happened to you was done out of love, Jack. Nothing more."

Jack didn't move, could barely breathe. He opened his mouth then closed it a couple of times before he whispered, "I don't blame her." He never did.

"But you've always wondered," the Doctor guessed.

Jack sat back, pulling out of the Doctor's touch.

"I understand Rose's reasoning. I can even understand why you left." Jack gave a self-deprecating laugh. "The Master told me often enough."

"Don't take everything the Master told you at face value," the Doctor rumbled. "Not everything he said was true."

Jack mutely nodded. He stared at the Doctor, his heart hammering and thought frantically for something to say. But he couldn't think of anything else. Nothing else except…

"During that year…the year that never was…he always made sure I knew that you were never going to come back for me." Jack tried to laugh but it stuck painfully in his throat. "I guess he thought I would be grateful to him for coming back to get me."

The Doctor didn't comment. He studied Jack with the same sorrowful eyes his canine counterpart wore as it stood silently behind the Master.

"Doctor…" Jack stopped. He couldn't ask. Even when alone with the Doctor's projection, Jack couldn't ask and now, inches away from him, the words choked him. 

Jack forced himself to grin as he fumbled to wiggle out from under the covers. "Never mind. I…long day." Long year. "I-I…"

The Doctor never laughed. He never said a word. He just looked at Jack with an aged and worn gaze.

Jack shrank back to where he had been sitting.

"Is it true? You were never going to come back for me?" Jack whispered. Finally voiced, it felt like the ground opened up below him. 

The Doctor stared at him with an intensity that pinned Jack to the spot. The Time Lord never said a word but his eyes were dark and fathomless. After a few moments, he took a deep breath.

"No." The Doctor's gaze never wavered. "It's not true."

"Oh." Jack wanted to ask when the Doctor would have returned. Jack wanted to ask why the Doctor took so long. But Jack's mind went completely blank.

"Oh," Jack choked. He dropped his gaze. "That's…that's g-good to know. I-I…"

"Ah, Jack." Hands rested on his shoulders made Jack look up and he stared at the Doctor who was suddenly very close, very blurry.

The Doctor's eyes gleamed with a wetness Jack didn't understand but the sad smile the Doctor wore thawed an icy lump that had been sitting in his gut for so long, growing colder and colder as years passed on Earth.

"Ah, Jack." The Doctor's voice cracked. He pulled Jack's head down to his shoulder. "I am sorry. So, so sorry. Shh…"

It was then Jack realized he was making small, incoherent sounds, his throat too tight to form anything else. He could taste salt as tears streamed down his face and the more he tried to stop them, the more they wouldn't stop.

"Just let it go, Jack," the Doctor murmured. A hand curled around his neck, smooth and cool where Ianto's had been calloused and warm. "I'm so sorry, Jack."

"I forgive you," Jack whispered. He pressed his face into the Doctor's narrow shoulder and the last of the sharp ice inside him thawed away into nothing.

 

"Idiot."

Ianto hastily wiped his eyes with the heel of his hand and pulled the door shut, closing the crack. He spun around and saw Owen standing there, his mouth pressed to a thin line, his arms folded in front of him.

"What," Ianto rasped. "What are you talking about?"

"You know what this means?" Owen bit out. "If that Doctor asks Jack to stay after the ship's fixed, chances are he will now, thanks to you."

Ianto stared. "You…you heard," he managed.

Owen gave a curt nod. "Your bright idea? Yea. Should have come right out and boxed you though when I heard."

Ianto touched the door. He sniffed loudly. "Saxon tampered with Jack's timeline. What if he really belonged here?"

"How do you know he doesn't belong with us?"

Ianto turned sharply. "You don't know that."

"Well, you don't know if he belongs with that bloke either," Owen pointed out. "He left Jack in the first place if I heard correctly."

Ianto shifted uneasily. "He…"

"Don't worry. I can keep a secret," Owen scoffed. He glowered at the door. "But what if it happens again? Habits die hard. It sounds to me all the more reason he knows the truth—"

It took him a few blinks before Ianto realized he had Owen up against a wall, a forearm under Owen's chin.

Owen looked at Ianto impassively, pinned to the wall by Ianto's arm.

"Wrong bloke," Owen growled low. He jerked his head towards the door. " _He's_ the one you should be doing that to."

Ianto stared at Owen before he staggered back. He mumbled an apology—at least he thought he did—and staggered back.

"At least your shoulder seems to be working," Owen grumbled as he massaged under his jaw. "Now that we have proper things again, remind me to put you under every annoying scanner there is, you twit."

"It feels fine," Ianto muttered as he rotated his right shoulder. For once it didn't feel as stiff. "Owen, I'm…I'm sorry." Ianto lowered his eyes. "But if this is what's best for Jack, I…I can't interfere. Enough of that has been done to Jack." Ianto's eyes blurred as he stared at the ground.

Owen sighed and Ianto felt an arm drop over his shoulders.

"You're still an idiot," Owen griped but he steered Ianto away from the door. "Come on. UNIT's dropping us off in Cardiff."

Ianto forced himself not to look over his shoulder at the door. His feet dragged as he walked farther away but he made himself face forward. A part of him held Jack's promise to his chest, another part of him was already shoring up for the lonely possibility that this might be goodbye.

Owen swatted the back of his head before he shoved his hands into his jeans. "Hurry up, narco boy. Let us go find a pub and we'll all get pissed. My treat."

Ianto smiled despite it all. A few mind-numbing pints sounded good right now. "And how are you going to pay for this?"

Owen gleefully brandished a brown leather billfold over his shoulder as he headed for the double doors. "I found someone's wallet."


	42. "Epilogue"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning For This Chapter: SAP! LOL.**
> 
> **Notes For This Chapter:** Note there are events/dialogue here that was referenced in DW's "Last of the Time Lords" and TW's "Kiss Kiss Bang Bang".

**Act I**  
 **Week One, Version Two**

Coming back to the Hub was strange, very strange. The information centre looked like how he vaguely remembered it and the stack of pamphlets he'd set out to be sorted for a concert that was performing in a week—he read it a few times before he was able to convince himself the year printed was the correct one—was still by the mug with the ceramic lid Jack had given him for Christmas.

Ianto didn't know why, but he felt ridiculously pleased to find the stoneware piece intact and waiting for him. Silly thing. Jack technically didn't give it to him. It was lost in 1941 and Ianto bought it for himself. Somehow though, its non-traditional origins oddly reminded him of Jack.

After they had teleported back to Cardiff during the year that never was, Ianto had tried to come up to the surface and into the office but it had collapsed during the time they were away. Even the hatchway in the vaults area was too mangled to try to squeeze through. Owen had said it was stupid to try to salvage a bunch of outdated pamphlets and maps. Gwen said it was too risky; the Toclafane patrolled the _Plass_ all day. So Ianto opted not to say anything but whenever he could, he'd tried to poke and move some of the debris away from the ladder but he was never able to climb up into his office again.

The hour at the pub was bittersweet; they all saw faces they had never known until Saxon. Most had died in the year that never was but were resurrected when the year was voided. It grew to be unnerving to be drinking in a room slowly filling with people who were previously dead. Afterwards, Owen and the others had gone straight for the invisible lift while Ianto opened up the office. The routine, after having not followed it for so long, felt alien. He stood by the pamphlets that weren't outdated anymore, by the fern that was no longer dead but still needed watering, holding the ceramic disk that had lost its mug mate decades ago with both hands. Ianto was a statue in front of his computer, clutching the pottery until Owen rang him up on the mobile, yowling that despite the year having been reversed, the coffee machine _still_ didn't work.

Ianto heard them ring up the _Valiant_ every few hours, talking to UNIT, sometimes to Jack. The number of people they needed to retrieve and debrief was staggering. Saxon had collected a huge personal army when he was minister and they were mixed in with the UNIT troops forced to work in exchange for their families' safety. 

Each time Jack came on the phone, Owen or Tosh looked at Ianto questioningly but he would shake his head. Talking to Jack right now would only make things worse. For whom though, Ianto wasn't sure anymore.

 

Ianto slipped his hands under the shirt and felt the firm muscles tense and expand under his palms. Lips nibbled at his throat as fingers undo his flies and gingerly pull him out with humbling care and reverence.

"Yes," Ianto breathed as fingers squeezed him and pulled with long leisurely strokes. "Yes." Ianto pressed into the knowing grip as more fingers brushed tenderly at his entrance, silently seeking permission.

Ianto opened his mouth to a seeking one, sighed when he felt firm yet soft lips—always a contradiction—seal over his mouth. Ianto deepened his kiss…

And woke up.

His skin still felt flushed in the spots where he thought he could feel Jack’s touch. Ianto stared up at his ceiling to try and maintain the dream but already it was dissolving into the sleepy confusion of the awake.

Ianto muffled a sob into his pillow, curled around Jack's side of the bed and fell back asleep.

 

"You're being stupid, you know," Owen announced on the third day they were back. He stood by the gurney while Ianto buttoned up his shirt. True to his word, Owen was putting Ianto under every scanner and X-ray machine available to him. Then again, everyone else suffered the same attentions. Owen declared that they all needed physicals and dispensed vitamins like it was water to everyone. It would have been touching if it hadn't interrupted Ianto's hoover session in Jack's—no, it is just the main office now—office. God, the dust that had gathered there was deplorable. 

"What have I apparently done this time?" Ianto sighed. Owen had already given him a lecture on not doing the physical therapy for his shoulder frequently enough.

"Ignoring his calls," Owen said around a generous bite of chocolate _HobNob_. "It's not going to make things easier, you know. You're just confusing the hell out of our Captain."

"I won't influence his decision," Ianto bit out as he did his cuffs. "Whatever Jack decides, it has to be of his own choosing, not stemming out of some sort of…gratitude." He glowered at Owen when he heard a loud munch. "At least use a napkin," Ianto snapped. Damn Gwen for indulging Owen. Did she really have to buy one of each flavor for him?

Owen made a face, crumbs and all, and popped the last morsel into his mouth. 

" _Gratitude_?" Owen scoffed. "What makes you think Jack _owes_ you anything? The sex wasn't _that_ good, was it?"

"Owen!" Ianto growled as he was sprinkled with _HobNob_ dust. He wasn't sure if that irked him or Owen's comment.

Owen rolled his eyes. He made a show of wiping his mouth with Ianto's tie before handing it to him.

Ianto made like he was going to strangle Owen with it. Harper was unimpressed.

The silk neckwear dropped to his lap. Ianto stared at the striped pattern and realized he had automatically put it on because it was Jack's favorite.

"Jack might feel a sense of duty to stay with me and the last thing I want is to let that make the decision for him." Ianto's face gave a little before he screwed it back to the one he had worn since their return.

"His life was taken out of his hands far too many times already." Ianto twisted the tie around his left hand. "Whatever he decides…I won't be the one to do it for him."

"All right," Owen conceded. "He might not have had a choice when he went with Saxon and whatever that bloody Master did, he didn't have a choice then either but with you? You and Jack shagging—"

"We weren't like that," Ianto interrupted because the description simply rankled him. "Jack and I. We weren't…like that."

To his surprise, Owen didn't retort or scoff or even laugh; he just nodded his head.

"Think that time he made his own choice there, mate."

Ianto bit his lip and ducked his head. Owen exhaled sharply.

"Cor, you two can drive a man to drink with all your dramatics," Owen groaned.

"What was your excuse before?" Ianto joked weakly. It earned him a scuff to the back of his head by a hand dusted with mocha _HobNob_ crumbs.

Ianto sobered. "He waited so long, Owen. Back then, I didn't understand why he would for such a man but that was because it was Saxon, but this one…" Ianto idly swung his legs. The tie wrinkled and knotted in his hands.

"This man could take him to the stars. The things I think they must have seen before…I don't know how long his lifespan is but it has to be a lot longer than…" Ianto made a rueful smile, "…us mere mortals."

Owen was scribbling something on Ianto's medical file. He grunted.

"Didn't seem to bother Jack before to be with us _mere_ mortals," Owen muttered as he scratched his pen against his chin. 

But it did, Ianto thought with a pang. Jack always feared Ianto had been wasting his life with him, but in hindsight, Ianto wondered if it wasn't also for another reason.

"You seem to think for sure he'll decide to go with that ruddy police box," Owen observed, his lips pursed.

Ianto shrugged but there was a lump in his throat.

"Well, I still think you're an idiot." Owen gave him a slap to the back of Ianto's head that nearly unseated him off the gurney. "If you hadn't told the bloody Doctor to lie…" Owen shook his head, muttering. 

"Think of how much he'll lose if he stays here with us instead," Ianto murmured. His shoulders slumped. "We'll all eventually leave him." Ianto worried the tie again. "It might be better if he did stay with the Doctor."

Owen stopped writing for a moment. He squinted at Ianto. 

"Wasn't there some sort of nauseatingly sloppy saying about 'better to' whatever and 'lost' and shit like that?"

Ianto grimaced. "A little more eloquently put, but yes. I don't think—"

The pen wagged in front of him. 

"That's your problem, mate. All you do _is_ think." Owen scribbled something more. "Bloody irritating if you ask me." The pen clicked shut and Owen closed his file with a snap. "This kind of touchy feely shit isn't stuff that requires thinking. Doesn't work that way." He whacked the file on Ianto's knee.

"Now off. Cooper's next." Owen popped another _HobNob_ in his mouth, this time a caramel one. It was disturbing, really, how much sugar the medic could consume.

Ianto made a show of sweeping crumbs off his lap and hopped off the gurney. He was halfway up the stairs when Owen stopped him.

"You're so worried about letting him make his own choice," Owen called out. "But doing nothing and ignoring him so he's got to make a decision—isn't this the same thing you're trying to prevent?"

Ianto stilled and gulped. Ianto twisted around, but Owen was already snapping off his gloves and getting a fresh set of syringes out. He stared at the back of Owen's head for a long time before he went back up the stairs. There was still cleaning to be done.

 

"I'm sorry," Ianto whispered as he arched into the hands slipping around his back. "I just wanted to make things easier for you."

Silent, the shadow merely pressed his face to Ianto's chest. Ianto hissed when he felt teeth grazing a nipple, laving it until it hardened.

"I want to ask you to stay," Ianto groaned as he thrust his throbbing erection against a strong thigh. He whimpered when a matching heat brushed against him in a sly, wordless challenge. Ianto growled as he curled his hands around broad shoulders and ground his hips against him. Ianto felt the body on him shake.

"I want to ask," Ianto whispered as he felt both their releases combine and cool on his belly. He reached up and stroked the cheek in front of him. Ianto moved to cup the back of the other's neck and pulled him in.

"But I need to do the right thing for you," Ianto murmured as he pulled the head towards him. Their lips met halfway and the exhale on his mouth beckoned.

"I'm sorry," Ianto whispered just as he kissed him. "I'm sor—"

His mobile rang and Ianto started. The bed was empty again but he forced himself to concentrate on locating his mobile instead.

 _"Ianto?"_ Gwen's sleepy voice woke him further. _"Sorry, love, but Tosh was on the overnight shift and she just got a Weevil alert. I know it's late but could you meet Owen and I—"_

"Ten minutes," Ianto said as steady as he could. He levered himself off the rumpled bed. He stood at the foot of his bed, his throat tight. Ianto closed his eyes and pivoted away.

 

"Oh, I wish I could have seen it," Tosh sighed on the fifth day. She sat back on the couch with her hands wrapped around her favorite mug. Her glasses were pulled back to rest on top of her head.

"Gwen said it was quite a show. Every single one of those Toclafane dropped." Tosh toed off her heels and stretched out her legs on the tiny coffee table in front of them. Unlike everyone else who always managed to kick up a mess, Tosh took very particular care her crossed ankles didn't upset the neat piles on the table.

"With the year undone, there'll be no readings either," Tosh mourned. "God, I would have loved to have sees even just a spark!"

Ianto sank back on the couch as well and remembered a time when Jack threw pizza crusts up in the air and their pterodactyl swooped in and ate them up. He could still remember those teeth snapping up the leftovers. He remembered how warm Jack was when he pressed against him, an automatic reflex to seek shelter and Jack had seemed, at the time, the most logical choice. Ianto smiled to himself. He'd always wondered if Jack had done it on purpose.

"Owen's right," Tosh suddenly said. She studied Ianto over the top of her mug.

"You are being an idiot." 

Ianto swallowed back a sigh. "Tosh—"

"You should have seen him," Tosh cut him off. "When we thought Saxon had shot you. He absolutely flipped, Ianto. Nothing reached him. I…I'd never seen him like that before." Tosh hugged the mug to her chest and gave a shiver. "And when he saw you again…" She sniffled.

Tosh pulled up her right leg and nudged him with her foot. 

"If you ask him to stay, he would, you know." Tosh smiled as she took a sip. "I think it's pretty clear by now how he feels about you. Vice versa, I'm sure."

Ianto felt a lump in his throat. It was hard to speak around so he just pulled his mug up to his lips.

"Ianto—"

"I know! I know if I ask, he'll probably stay. That's just the way Jack is…" Ianto stared into his mug. He had tried to make tea but it wasn't the same, he'd put in too much sugar and there was still a leaf floating like a twig in a pond on top.

"But?" Tosh prodded gently.

"But is he staying because I asked him or because he wants to?" 

"Oh." Tosh waved off his concern. "Why wouldn't he want to? The Doctor—"

"Even when it was Saxon, Jack still waited and he would have kept waiting even if it took another hundred years!" Ianto bit his lower lip. His head dropped low to his chest. "Sorry. I-I didn't mean to snap. It's just…"

"I want him to stay," Ianto confessed, "but staying might not be the best thing for him."

"We're not that bad." Tosh paused. "Well…maybe Owen. He _did_ shoot him, after all."

They shared a strained chuckle.

"He's calling for another update in an hour. He's been asking how you were doing," Tosh said quietly. "Does that sound like a man who doesn't want to stay?"

Ianto sank down into the couch. Tosh slipped back on her shoes, kissed the top of his head and went back to her computer when it began beeping. He sat there for a long time. When the phone rang an hour later, Ianto went to do a check on the vaults. He told himself, as he wandered the archives without a flashlight, that he wasn't hiding.

 

"You're right," Gwen said, later that night, as she read the reports Ianto had received from UNIT.

Startled, Ianto stared at the top of her head. "Pardon?"

"About Jack." Gwen made a face as she sorted through the pages. "I can't believe all these people joined voluntarily," she muttered as she held up one list to squint at it.

Ianto waited for as long as he could but when it looked like Gwen wasn't going to continue, Ianto asked slowly. "What about Jack?"

Gwen sighed and set the papers down on her workstation. Ianto was careful about which of Jack's usual paperwork to pass along, the ones Ianto knew Jack would have been comfortable with if he was here. Her desk simply wasn't built for the regular workload. Her own work was left in a dented carton, shoved under her feet.

"I know we've all been pushing you." Gwen shrugged. Gwen touched his left arm briefly. "Sorry. We should be more supportive. You're right. This is Jack's decision. If he wants to stay, he'll stay." 

Ianto swallowed and forced a smile on his face. "Precisely."

"I mean," Gwen continued as she grimaced at one form, "if he stays because you asked, we wouldn't know if Jack was going to leave us again one day."

The smile faded. "Right," Ianto whispered, more to himself.

"Especially since…" Gwen heaved another sigh. "Jack was going to leave us anyway." She bit her lower lip, her eyes downcast. "He was just biding his time with us until the Doctor arrived."

Ianto couldn't form a response around the lump in his throat.

"Oh bollocks," Gwen swore as folders slipped off her desk one by one. "How does he deal with this everyday? Five different departments want five different versions of the same answer!"

Ianto bit back a smirk. It was close enough to what Jack used to bemoan about. "He usually just ignores them until they tire of asking. That's how we were never integrated into Archangel. Jack never signed off on it." 

Gwen snorted. "Saved by administrative grace. Good to know for future reference." She made a face at the mess on the floor. "I thought Owen was joking when he said it was my turn to be in charge."

Ianto crouched down and picked up the folders. As he straightened, the office in the back caught his eye.

"You could…move desks if you want. It's…there's more room," Ianto nodded towards the back. He held the folders to his chest. After an initial straightening up, Ianto had not gone back inside since.

Gwen stared at the back office, at the generous mahogany desk. She averted her gaze to her station.

"Nah," Gwen replied in an overly bright voice. She began attacking her keyboard with a little too much enthusiasm. "We spent so much time in there that year, I'm a little bored of it, you know?"

"Of course," Ianto murmured as he set the stack at a spot behind her monitor.

"Besides…" Gwen slouched and pulled back her hands from her keyboard. "It would just feel too strange." The gap in her teeth flashed quickly. Almost immediately though, Gwen sobered and faced her keyboard again. 

"Still feels like his office, you know?" Gwen shot Ianto a guilty look.

Ianto exhaled and dropped down in a chair next to her. "I know."

Gwen slipped her hand over his and squeezed.

 

It was becoming harder to sleep in his flat. Ianto woke again, his face still flushed from kisses and touches that he wished left marks on his skin but didn't. He lay on the bed, disturbed to find he was sleeping on one side, his favored side. It made looking to his left and the empty spot next to him all the more painful.

Ianto ended up on his couch by dawn, watching _Star Wars_ over and over again until he fell back asleep. He dreamed about Jack standing on a sand dune against a setting sun.

 

On the seventh day of a year that should have past, a UNIT lieutenant came into the tourist office, saluted sharply to Ianto then curtly told him to sign on the X on his clipboard. He left Ianto with a poorly wrapped brown paper package that was tied with a piece of…shoelace?

Ianto sat back and stared at its contents. He closed his eyes briefly before he reached in and took the item and stroked it absently like it was a sleeping puppy. "You can't send this to me, Jack," Ianto murmured to himself. His eyes burned.

The leather band gleamed from its recent care, supple and warm. It felt sleek under his finger when he ran it across its surface. Ianto opened the device face and brushed a finger carefully across the buttons. Each one of them gleamed as if someone had polished each one. There was a piece of a yellow post-it over one button with an unhappy face on it, which Ianto could only assume was the equivalent of skull-and-crossbones on a medicine bottle. 

Ianto held the wrist strap up to his nose and thought he could smell Jack's skin pressed into the leather. Slowly, Ianto wrapped the strap around his right arm and the weight felt like a familiar hand curled around him.

By the time he realized he was walking, Ianto was already in the lift, his right hand tucked securely in his suit pocket, his shoes tapping as the lift made its slow descent. His steps were hurried by the time he reached the cog doors.

"Is that the _Valiant_?" Ianto called as he neared Tosh, her index finger on her earpiece. Gwen and Owen were huddled over her and when they looked up with similar bleak expressions on their faces, Ianto halted in his tracks.

"Oh," Ianto mumbled. Suddenly, he felt foolish standing on the metal pathwaywith Jack's wrist strap on his arm. "W-when did it leave?"

"An hour ago," Tosh said, low as if she was afraid to raise her voice. "But Jack did tell us they were going to take the TARDIS into the vortex to make repairs if it took too long. When they're done, he'll…this doesn't mean anything."

"Course not," Owen declared loudly as he tugged at his lab coat and strode to Autopsy. "Doesn't mean a bloody thing. Oi, narco boy. Coffee?" Owen didn't wait for a reply. His feet stomped loudly down the metal steps.

Gwen's expression as she approached him made Ianto inwardly cringe. She looked like she wanted to cry but she was making a tremendous effort not to do so. It was the attempt that made it hard to look at.

"He found his Doctor, love," Gwen murmured as she drew Ianto into a hug. He didn't resist, his right hand still in his pocket, his eyes still on Tosh trying to dab her eyes dry without anyone noticing. "It's good."

"Yes," Ianto mumbled. His right hand curled slightly in his pocket.

"It is."

 

 

**Act II**  
 **Week Two, Version Two**

A routine, even if it was a reluctant one, eventually falls into place when it was repeated enough times. Get up, shower off the ghostly touches of Jack's kisses on his cock, dress, make breakfast then drive to the _Plass_. Make coffee, feed the Weevils, make pleasantries, go home, make dinner, dream. Repeat. 

If done in enough repetitions, everything would eventually be completed without another thought. Automation got him through Lisa in the basement, when his family was torn apart when they lost one and all the things that served to upset Ianto Jones' world. 

Routine was his way of survival in the past. Ianto hoped it would be what carried him through waking every morning tasting Jack's damp skin and the feeling of fullness when Jack entered him. There were places that ached that never ached before and Ianto wasn't sure how he was supposed to move on from that. It was mind-numbing routine that prevented him from realizing so many times that he'd put on the vortex manipulator again as he dressed. No one ever noticed though. If they did see it peeking out from his sleeve, no one ever said. Not saying anything became a routine as well.

Gwen stubbornly stayed by her workstation even if the space around her expanded with the boxes of files that surrounded her. Owen nearly broke his ankle tripping over a box of week old police reports, but he just kicked the box under her station with a savage look and stormed back into Autopsy. New routine there: Owen usually stayed in the medical bay unless another Rift alert rummaged him out of his hole.

It worked for a little over two weeks until Ianto caught Gwen and Tosh, their heads close together with a large white box sitting between them on Gwen's chair.

"I don't remember signing for that," Ianto mused as he set down their coffees from the shop above. The machine was still broken; it needed a part Ianto hadn't the heart to replace. It was left to idle in the kitchen area, a big, ornate machine of stainless steel and brass.

Gwen started and she stared up at Ianto with huge eyes.

"Oh," she stammered, "Coffee? Oh good. I wanted a cup."

Tosh's nose was already buried in her mug with a sudden thirst.

Ianto frowned. "What?" He tilted his head and considered the box. His brow knitted when he noticed the stamp branded on the box.

"The _Valiant_?"

Gwen's shoulders slumped. 

"I went to get it when someone from UNIT called," Gwen admitted. She settled her hands on the box, her fingers twitching as if they wanted to drum on the surface. Ianto wanted to swat her hands.

"They could have just sent it to me," Ianto murmured, confused. "You didn't have to make the trip." At Gwen's nervous glance to Tosh, his gut clenched. "What is it?"

Gwen, despite Tosh's murmur of protest, opened the box lid.

"…Oh," Ianto muttered. He locked his knees to fight the urge to sit down. "I…I'd wondered where it had gone."

The dark blue greatcoat looked ill-placed folded and tucked securely into the box. Bloodstains still marred the lapels and the buttons dangled from threads that were slowly fraying.

"They found it in one of the private chambers," Gwen said quietly. Her hand settled on the collar and Ianto caught her giving it a pat before she closed the lid over the greatcoat. "They tracked down that it had belonged to…well, UNIT thought it best if it was returned to us."

Ianto's fingers rested lightly on the box.

"Well," he found himself saying quite calmly, "they were right. This should be archived in case…in case he comes back for it." Ianto smiled sadly at the box. "He was fond of this coat."

Tosh made a noise. "I could—"

"No. Archives is my department. Remember?" Ianto pulled the box out of Gwen's grip and tried not to hug the box to him. "It's all right," he told the girls' stricken faces. "I'll take care of Jac— _it_. I'll take care of it."

Ianto's knees shook as he forced himself to walk slowly as he brought it upstairs. But in the relative privacy of his office, the sign outside was flipped to "Closed" and Ianto held the greatcoat on his lap for hours, his fingers running lightly across the wool.

 

The buttons were far too stained and chipped so Ianto snipped them off their threads. He brought the greatcoat home, brushed the wool to break up the crusted stains of blood and other things Ianto didn't want to try to identify. Then, Ianto cleaned the fabric by scrubbing slow circles of suds over the soiled spots. 

Done, Ianto hung it, button-less and smelling of wet wool and soap, outside his closet and he fell asleep staring at it silent and still on his wardrobe. 

That night, he dreamt of Jack in a land of nothing but dust, no sky, no other living being around and his Jack, God, his beautiful, beautiful Jack was slumped facedown on the floor, abandoned once more and now completely stranded, his body slowly turning to stone.

The scream ripping out of his throat hurt when Ianto woke. He jerked out of sleep, gasping because of the vise around his chest. He could still taste the ash that was collecting in Jack's throat and his skin tingled with the increasing lack of circulation.

Jack's vortex manipulator sat on his nightstand like an accusation; left behind by its owner, a time traveling piece left to a man firmly anchored to Earth in the twenty first century. Jack's arm was empty of the one thing that had saved him before from a graveyard in space.

Ianto spent the rest of the night in the Hub, on the camp bed that still smelled like Jack, curled under the threadbare afghan and greatcoat.

 

**Act III**  
 **Week Three, Version Two**

The call was picked up on the fourth ring.

 _"Hello?"_ Francine answered with a yawn.

Ianto grimaced. Of course she was still asleep. Sleeping in the Hub took all sense of time away. He bit his lower lip. "Is…is this Mrs. Jones? Martha Jones' mother?"

 _"Who is this?"_ If anything, the voice chilled.

This was a bad idea. Ianto checked the Hub, but no one would be here for hours. He clutched the greatcoat to him like a blanket.

"I uh…M-my name is Ianto Jones. We haven't met formally but—"

 _"Ianto."_ Francine Jones' voice warmed several degrees. _"Of course. Jack mentioned you quite often."_

"Oh…" Ianto wasn't sure how to respond. "T-thank you."

 _"If you're looking for Martha,"_ Mrs. Jones sniffed, _"she isn't here. She's with that Doctor."_

Ianto was sort of glad; it meant she was with Jack. Surely she would make certain that Jack wouldn't be left behind?

"I just…" Ianto fumbled. "I'm sorry to be calling this early. Sorry. I should have…I've woken you, haven't I?"

 _"It's all right. I haven't been able to sleep normal hours these days. A year of odd shifts and engine noise has changed the way I sleep."_ Martha's mother laughed, in a grating voice. _"It changed a lot of things yet everything's still the same. Lord, I still can't understand it."_

Ianto smiled sadly. He hugged the greatcoat to him. "Same here. I just…It's been three weeks. I…" Ianto sighed.

 _"Has it?"_ Mrs. Jones mused. _"Has it really been three weeks? I've stop keeping track of time a long time ago."_ She paused. _"How can I help you? I doubt you called at this hour just to chat."_

Ianto idly picked at the threads where the buttons had been. "I was wondering if you have heard from them—from Martha?"

 _"No,"_ Francine replied shortly. _"Apparently in this wonderful police box, there's no telephone."_

"Sorry," Ianto murmured.

_"Has Jack returned yet?"_

His mouth soured. "Not…not yet. I don't know if he will. Not in my lifetime at least. But I'm sure Martha will be back soon," Ianto added hastily.

Mrs. Jones didn't comment. 

Ianto stroked a sleeve of the greatcoat and he rubbed the material between two fingers. 

"Everyone keeps telling me they'll be back," Ianto said quietly. "I want to believe them but…"

 _"You're afraid of being disappointed,"_ Mrs. Jones guessed.

"N-no. I-I just…" Ianto took a deep breath.

"I'm afraid if I believe them, then when it doesn't happen—I'm sorry. I just wanted to see if Martha was back yet. I wanted to talk to her."

 _"No."_ Martha's mother sounded decidedly unhappy. _"Martha promised to be back soon. I've asked her many times not to go."_ There was a weary sigh by his ear. _"There's not much to offer here but home. I pray it's enough. I can't give her the stars like he can."_

Ianto swallowed. "At least you have that to offer her to return to. I don't," Ianto said but as soon as the words left his mouth, Ianto regretted them immediately.

Mrs. Jones was very quiet, to the point Ianto thought he had lost the connection. 

_"That's what you think,"_ Mrs. Jones said with an audible smile in her voice. _"Get some sleep, Ianto."_

Ianto stared at his mobile after the click. He shuffled back down the hatchway. Ianto sat on the camp bed and stared at the vortex manipulator folded by the pillow. Ianto pulled the afghan over his shoulders and huddled into the greatcoat and drifted into yet another uneasy sleep dreaming about smooth skin and gentle touches.

 

Fingers danced through his hair. Ianto stared at the darkness and it took a few seconds before he remembered he was in the Hub and not at his flat. He blinked in the dark and at the shadow slowly clearing to a face he knew.

"Missed you," Ianto whispered, still fuzzy with sleep. He reached up and was gratified to feel warm skin under his arms.

"You're not home." The answering hushed voice sounded awed, curious.

Ianto pulled the solid form he thought he could feel until his mouth was breathing softly into an ear.

"Couldn't sleep there," Ianto murmured before he nibbled on a lobe. His arms drifted and he imagined muscle tensing against him, a spine curving when Ianto coaxed him to settle between his parted legs.

"Sh," Ianto soothed when he imagined tremors where he stroked. His palms rubbed across smooth skin, flawless and taut over muscle. Perhaps it was greedy, but he pulled the body in with his legs around the middle. 

"I need to feel you in me," Ianto said softly as his fingers curled in the hem of cotton, a texture he knew so well. 

"Hush," Ianto murmured as the body he had wrapped himself around trembled. Ianto pulled him in closer until there was no chance to slip away like a thought. "Please. It's been so long."

A head nodded against his jaw and the body against him calmed. The feel of silky skin made him weep inside as he peeled cotton off with a hurried hand. Skin vibrated where he touched.

Ianto turned his head slightly when the head dipped, the mouth seeking.

"Not yet," Ianto pleaded. His fingers hurried, buttons undone and popped in his haste. "Not yet."

The puzzlement was clear in the shy touches to his mouth, his face, but Ianto was too desperate to care. Ianto could feel time trickling away like an hourglass. His hands pushed fabric away, tugged the body lower and he groaned as he felt fingertips grazing his entrance.

Slicked, Ianto could only moan under his breath as something hot and throbbing inched slowly inside him and the trembling he felt before returned, only now it was from the strain of holding back. Ianto tightened his legs and drew the body close enough for his hands to card through sable soft hair.

There was no allowance for hesitation. Ianto urged the thrusts to deepen, arching into each stroke, his fingers digging into bunched muscle as he tried to get the deep and powerful full feeling inside his body to stay, leave a mark he could embrace the rest of his life.

"Harder," Ianto panted. "I need to…feel you…forever…"

The rhythm faltered but only for a tick because Ianto clawed the body even closer, met each jerk of hips with a demanding thrust of his own.

In the dark, where shadows only hinted at reality, Ianto came after he felt the cock inside him twitch and fill him with a wet heat Ianto knew no other soul could give him.

"Stay," Ianto sobbed as his body shuddered with yet another release. Hands cradled him as he thought he could feel himself falling. "God, please. _Stay_."

A kiss dotted the corner of his mouth. Arms wrapped around him with what Ianto knew were empty promises.

"For as long as you want me." 

Ianto closed his eyes when he felt another kiss on his mouth. He parted his mouth, breathed when he felt the other open to accept his tongue. Sleep pulled insistently and Ianto sank into the embrace, his chest already aching for what he'd find when he woke.

 

Ianto was afraid to open his eyes as soon as awareness returned. He was cocooned with a warmth that was lingering longer than usual and his body physically ached like…

His eyes flew open.

There was something, _someone_ snug against his back, legs tangled with his, one knee wedged in-between his. Oh God, did he get pissed last night and bring someone into the Hub?

Lips nibbled at the back of his neck.

"Too early," someone mumbled. "Go back to sleep."

Ianto sat up, his arms whipping out and striking something, a cheek or an ear, maybe an eye.

"Ow," a voice mumbled plaintively. "You weren't this rowdy in bed be—"

"Jack!" Ianto stared at the man lying curled on his side at the edge of the bed.

Jack raised his head, his hair a messy flop over his brow, a knuckle rubbing his insulted eye. 

"Morning?" Jack mumbled. His eyebrow arched at Ianto.

"You're…" Ianto couldn't stop staring. "You're here."

Jack wrinkled his nose. "Uh yeah? I thought that was pretty clear last night when I found you sleeping in my bed. By the way, why aren't you in your—Ianto!" Jack yelped when Ianto lunged towards him.

Perhaps Ianto had been used to sleeping in the camp bed alone these days. Perhaps Jack was too close to the edge. Whatever it was, Ianto was sure it wasn't because he threw himself at Jack and engulfed him in a fierce hug…

And rolled them off the bed.

Jack grunted but he was snickering, his bare back on the floor, and Ianto straddled on top of him.

"Ow! Morning to you, too," Jack laughed. His hands framed Ianto's face to hold back the kisses peppering his throat. "Wait, wait, wait! Where was this last night?"

"Thought…" Ianto nipped an earlobe. "It…" He grazed his teeth down a damp line between Jack's pecs. "Was…another…" He laved the hollows of Jack's collarbone. "…dream."

"Wow, you dream like that every night? I—" Jack moaned as Ianto rubbed against him. 

"You're really here," Ianto panted as he rocked his growing erection against Jack's stomach. He didn't care for how long or why. Ianto didn't care what he looked like with his hands running all over Jack's body. "Here in my bed."

" _My_ bed," Jack pointed out as he brushed a palm over Ianto's hair, "and we're not in bed. _You_ threw me out of it." Jack's laugh rumbled up Ianto's back. "I can't believe you threw me out of the bed!"

"Narrow bed. I told you. You should have—Jack!" Ianto shouted as Jack rolled them until Ianto was on the floor now. "Shit! The floor's _cold_!"

Jack grinned. He wiggled as he straddled Ianto and Ianto could feel the stickiness of last night drying on their bellies. 

Jack chuckled when he caught Ianto's blush. He stroked the back of his hand over the warmth on Ianto's flushed cheeks.

"Only you can be that shy after practically demanding that I take off my clothes," Jack teased.

Ianto paled. He could still remember the quivering as he practically manhandled Jack. "Oh God…"

"I'm fine," Jack assured Ianto. He dipped his head. Jack nuzzled a spot on Ianto's throat. Muscle rippled as Jack arched into Ianto's hands curled on his lower back.

"I'm sorry," Ianto murmured, but a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth when he could feel a rumbling in Jack's chest as his hands rubbed Jack up and down his sides. 

"It had been so long," Ianto confessed. He sighed deeply when Jack settled his entire naked length across him. The cold concrete floor was now forgotten. 

"It was the longest three weeks," Ianto whispered. He looked in wonder at the smooth expanse of skin before him, the long legs, the blue eyes that widened.

"Three weeks?" Jack repeated.

Ianto frowned as a thought occurred. "Hang on. How did you get here? You said you didn't find me at home so you were…"

Jack chuckled nervously. He pulled up, propping himself above Ianto with an elbow on either side of Ianto's head. "Ah… _yeah_. Sorry about your living room. The TARDIS is still a bit shaky with her landings."

Ianto stared. "My…my living room?" Ianto echoed blankly. "The TARDIS?" How did a police box fit in there?

"I tried to find all the magazines that flew off but I think she landed on top of them and the coffee table and…"

"My coffee table?" Ianto mumbled. 

Jack fidgeted and the brushing of soft genitals against him momentarily distracted Ianto.

"Wait," Ianto said slowly as sense returned. "If you came by the TARDIS, that means—"

"Teabags!" A head popped into view in the hatchway. "They use teabags! Jack, haven't you taught them anything…" Brown eyes blinked.

"Blimey, Jack. You don't waste any time, do you?"

"Doctor," Ianto greeted weakly. The concrete floor was very cold against his buttocks again.

Jack sat up before Ianto could pull him down to shield himself. 

"Three weeks," Jack huffed.

"Pardon?" The Doctor stared at Jack, baffled and it irked Ianto that he didn't seem shocked by Jack's nakedness.

"It's been three _weeks_ for them," Jack complained. He twisted around and Ianto grabbed the afghan off the camp bed and tried to cover up what he could of his…dignity. 

The Doctor blinked. His eyes widened. "Ah."

"You are in so much trouble when Martha finds out how long it's really been," Jack warned. 

"Um…Jack?" Ianto spoke up meekly.

"You said you were going to try for three days!"

"Excuse me," Ianto tried again. Jack kept wiggling to twist around to talk to the Doctor, which didn't help. Ianto was caught in the crossroads of grinding his hips against Jack and wanting to hide under the afghan.

"She's still wobbly. Be grateful it wasn't three _years_!"

"Oh, is that supposed to make me feel better?" Jack turned back, his hands waving helplessly in the air.

"Ianto, I swear. The Doctor tried to get us back to your timeline in three days, not—"

"Jack," the Doctor spoke up, his face thoughtful. "Maybe you want to get dressed before you finish your apology? Young Torchwood there looks cold."

Ianto blinked up at the Time Lord. He bristled when he realized where the Doctor was looking. 

"Out!" Ianto shouted and even Jack scrambled off him. Ianto wrapped the afghan tighter around himself. "Out! Have you no decency, sir?"

"Really, Torchwood. It's nothing to be upset about. It's perfect normal. Cold tends to shrink the human male—"

A perfectly aimed pillow halted whatever the Doctor was going to say.

 

Ianto scowled as he padded barefoot across the Hub’s main room in his trousers and shirt left open. He was torn between being exasperated over the mess of paper all over the floor and smiling fondly at the blue police box huddled close to the water sculpture. He thought he heard the TARDIS purr as he walked by. 

"What are you doing?" Ianto exclaimed. His steps quickened when he realized the Doctor was hunched over the coffee machine. The Doctor was pointing his screwdriver at the brewer.

"Done!" the Doctor announced. "Shouldn't cause anymore problems now." He straightened with a broad grin.

Ianto narrowed his eyes. "You fixed it?"

The Doctor looked affronted. "Of course!"

It was tempting to go around the Doctor to see for himself but Ianto eyed the screwdriver he held warily and decided against it. 

"It really was supposed to be three days."

Ianto peered up and it occurred to him the Doctor had never looked so…old before; aged eyes on a youthful face. His stomach churned.

"Oh." Ianto lowered his gaze from the unsettling sight. He swiped his tongue across his lower lip. "Where's Martha?"

"Home. With her family." The Doctor shoved his hands in his pockets. "Jack's right. She's not going to be happy when she finds out how long it has been for her family."

"I think Francine will just be grateful she's back," Ianto murmured. He grimaced and shot the Doctor a look.

The Time Lord smiled wearily. He nodded.

"How are you?" Ianto asked after some hesitation. It made him uneasy that it seemed like the suit still hung loosely on the Time Lord like Jack's shirt did when Jack had dressed.

"Me?" The Doctor's brow rose. "Good. Good. Not as muzzy as before but time is still blurry for me, but it'll get better." The Doctor glanced past Ianto's shoulder to the office. "As will Jack."

Ianto swallowed. He nodded. "Everything's completely reversed. No one remembers. Before, every single one of these people knew your name."

The Doctor grimaced. "Good."

"After everything you've done, everything Jack and Martha—"

"I don't need people to know my name," the Doctor interrupted. He grinned wolfishly. "I work better in anonymity. Everyone knows who I am and they all scramble to make me a god. I don't work well as a god. I don't give days off."

What frightened Ianto was that he suspected the Doctor was serious.

The Doctor's smile faded. "Do not hurt him, Ianto Jones."

Ianto bit his lower lip. "I…but…" Ianto's shoulders slumped. "Eventually, I will hurt him when I die and leave him." Ianto pulled his shirt shut, suddenly cold. 

A hand settled on his shoulder and Ianto gazed up at warm brown eyes. He couldn't look away. 

"Not for a very, very, very long time," the Doctor said. "Make sure he's never alone again. Teach him that." The Doctor sighed and even his hair seemed to deflate. "I can't." 

Ianto stared at the Doctor. He nodded mutely. 

The Time Lord's eyes crinkled and within a blink, the Doctor's face changed. The switch took Ianto aback.

"Now, answer me this." The Doctor pointed to a box on the counter. " _Teabags_?"

"They make decent tea," Ianto protested. "It tastes exactly the same if you do it properly."

The Doctor rolled his eyes. He grumbled to himself as he moved things around on the counter, pointedly ignoring Ianto's glower. After finding a clean mug—although to Ianto's ire, the Time Lord did sniff it first—the Doctor set it below the dispenser and tapped at the toggle.

"Here."

Ianto edged back from the steaming cup thrust into his face. "What is it?" Ianto asked as he took the cup and peeked at the light caramel color liquid.

"Just drink it," the Doctor insisted.

A tentative sip invited the taste of floral richness and a subtle roasted tang to his tongue. Ceylon, Ianto realized as he took another sip before his eyes widened and he spit it out.

"Too hot?"

"This…" Ianto sputtered. "This is tea!"

The Doctor beamed. He patted the machine. "It'll make the perfect cup each time now."

"That's supposed to be a _coffee maker_!"

"Oops…"

 

To Jack's amusement, the Doctor sighed in relief when he peered around the coffee maker to see who was approaching.

"You," Jack teased, "committed a cardinal sin when you tampered with his machine." Jack stroked the TARDIS as he went by and the wood rumbled in acknowledgement. He leaned against the counter as he pulled his braces over his shoulders. It was ridiculous, Jack mused. Why bother getting dressed when he was planning to take them off soon?

"And I thought a Texkoratika was scary," the Doctor grumbled as he pushed up his glasses when they slid down his nose. He tapped his screwdriver to the brewer. "A decaffeinated human is very frightening to behold. A Dalek would flee." 

The Doctor knocked the large percolator with a knuckle. "A coffee maker. Bah. What a waste of perfectly good metal, although the alloy isn't perfect." The Doctor paused at Jack's expression.

"What?"

Jack shrugged. He scratched his jaw with a finger and looked down at his socks. "Nothing. Just…good to hear you babbling again."

"I don't babble," the Doctor exclaimed. He pulled off his spectacles and shook them at Jack. "I dispense perfectly useful information."

"Babble," Jack drawled.

The Doctor grunted and stuck his nose towards the coffee maker again.

Jack stood there, his arms folded across his chest and thought about how stifling it had been in the central chamber of the TARDIS all those weeks. There were days Jack couldn't even look at the Doctor. Thank God Martha always made a point to be there with them, even if it was just to talk while the two worked. Between Martha and the clangs and bangs of repair, there were days when Jack forgot about the Master.

"You're going to be okay?" Jack asked quietly. The TARDIS was going to be a lot quieter now.

The tinkering stilled.

"Yeah," the Doctor grunted and the metallic clanging started up again before it paused again.

"You?"

Jack took a deep breath. "Gotta be. I…I had plenty of time to think this past year, the Year That Never Was." Jack gazed around the Hub with a faint smile.

"And I kept thinking about that team of mine." Jack exhaled. "Like you said, Doctor, responsibility.

The Doctor's head popped back out from behind the machine with a wide smile, his eyes warm.

"Defending the Earth. Can't argue with that." The Doctor's grin softened.

"You have a good team here, Jack."

Jack's breath caught. Speechless, he could only bob his head.

"That Ianto Jones fellow is good," the Doctor said. He shrugged before adding, "For an overly caffeinated ape."

Jack burst out laughing. "I'll tell him you said that."

The Doctor sniffed. "He doesn't scare me."

"So why are you fixing that thing for him?"

The Doctor harrumphed and the banging sounded louder now.

Jack studied the top of the Time Lord's head, his throat tight.

"Ianto's good for me," Jack said softly. His eyes burned. "I…I’ve never met anyone like him. I just want to spend as much time as he has even if it isn't…forever."

The noise behind the coffee maker stopped completely. The Doctor moved away from the counter to Jack. He gingerly settled his hands on Jack's arms, having learned the hard way by a broken nose not to startle Jack these days.

"There's all sorts of forever," the Doctor said softly. "Don't waste time grieving the future. You end up losing the present."

Jack nodded. He reached over and clasped the Doctor's wrists and felt the double beats thumping in a reassuring pace in the thin wrists.

"Ah." The Doctor's eyes lit up when he spied what was peeking out of Jack's sleeve. "Your vortex manipulator."

Jack grinned as he lifted up his arm. "I have to admit. I did miss having it on my wrist. I—Hey, I need that!

The Doctor captured his wrist in a careful but loose grip. "I can't have you walking around with a time-traveling teleport," the Doctor muttered as he pointed his sonic screwdriver at the controls. "You could go anywhere—twice." The Doctor looked up at him with pursed lips but his eyes twinkled. "The second time to apologize."

Damn. Jack didn't say it out loud, but the Doctor did have a point. He stared at the screwdriver's glowing tip while the wrist strap's controls dulled.

"And what about me?" Jack asked, subdued. "Can you fix that? Will I ever be able to die?"

The screwdriver dimmed and the Doctor sighed as he pulled away. Jack fought the instinct to snatch his arm back and dropped it to his side instead.

"Nothing I can do." The Doctor smiled tiredly at him. "We tried everything, remember? You're an impossible thing, Jack."

The smile hurt on his face. "Been called that before."

The Doctor chuckled, but it died too quickly. 

The weary brown eyes were too much. Jack cracked a wider smile.

"But I keep wondering…what about aging? ‘Cause I can't die but I keep getting older." Jack gestured towards his hair. "The odd little grey hair, you know?" Jack wished he were only pretending when he shivered. "What happens if I live for a million years?"

The eyes seemed to shadow further. "I'm sorry. I really don't know."

All right. _So_ not working. Jack laughed awkwardly. 

"Okay, vanity. Sorry." Jack shrugged. "Yeah, can't help it." Jack spread his arms wide and looked down at himself. He winked at the Time Lord. "Used to be a poster boy when I was a kid back on the Boeshane Peninsula."

Jack was heartened to hear a chuckle.

"Really?" The Doctor's mouth quirked. "Boeshane?" 

Jack nodded. "Tiny little place. I was the first one ever to be signed up for the Time Agency."

"They must have been proud," the Doctor murmured, his smile broader now.

Well, the citizens of Boeshane were, at least. Jack winked again. "That's for sure. The Face of Boe they called me. I used to—Doctor?"

For some reason, the Doctor blanched.

"Oh," the Doctor stammered. "I-I see." The Doctor studied Jack with a scrutiny that knotted Jack's gut.

"What is it?" Jack's skin prickled. He didn't like that look. That was the look of 'start running' as Rose used to call it. 

"Ripples," the Doctor muttered. He seemed to be slipping deeper into himself. "Ripples indeed…"

"What?"

Jack's voice snapped the Doctor to the present. "Hm? Oh, nothing, nothing. The universe will sort itself out."

"Uh…sort what out?" Jack hedged.

The Doctor would only shake his head. "No need to worry about it. Better for you at least. The rest will balance." 

"You always talk in riddles," Jack grumbled. "Just like Ianto."

The Doctor snapped his fingers suddenly. "Ah! Before I forget!"

Jack blinked when the Doctor pulled out an almost cobweb thin silver chain out of his suit pocket. At the end of the loop, hung a TARDIS key.

"Korevite metal," the Doctor said as he draped the necklace over Jack's head. 

Jack touched the key sitting at the center of his chest.

"Feels warm," Jack said to himself.

"Most durable alloy in three galaxies. Virtually indestructible, seamless clasp," the Doctor explained. "It'll extend a stasis field around everything it carries. It can't be torn off, cut and short of a temperature of three suns, it won't ever melt."

Jack stared at the Doctor. "That detour you wanted to make," Jack remembered, "On our way back."

The smile given to him reminded him of his father.

"I promised I would return this key to you," the Doctor murmured. "No more hiding your key in a boot. No one will ever take this away from you."

The key blurred as Jack held it up from the chain but before he could say anything, the Doctor surprised him again when he gently pulled Jack into his arms.

"I once heard," the Doctor murmured, "that I was worth fighting for." There was a light kiss to the top of his head.

"You are worth fighting for, Jack. There are so many people who think so. Don't ever forget that."

Jack wrapped his arms around the Doctor. He pressed his face to the Doctor's chest.

"Thank you," Jack whispered to the double hearts beating underneath him. 

 

"You don't have to do this."

Ianto smiled to himself as he finished buttoning Jack's cuffs. "I want to."

"Like I said before, I didn't hire you as a butler."

"You need one," Ianto countered as he reached over and fixed the shirt, "you missed one again."

Jack sat patiently on the edge of the bed as Ianto corrected the buttons.

"Why can't I wear my coat again?"

"Because I snipped off all the buttons."

"Oh." Jack digested this. "And you snipped off all the buttons _because_ …"

Ianto bit back a snicker as he tugged the braces over Jack's shoulders.

"I thought we were coming back in three days," Jack offered. He fidgeted on the bed. "I am sorry, you know I'm sorry, right? That…that wasn't why you cut off all the buttons right?"

Ianto clamped his mouth shut to prevent the laughter from escaping. He felt almost giddy standing over Jack. The impulse to just sod it and tumble back into bed with Jack was overwhelming.

"And the Doctor fixed the coffee machine," Jack added.

"Quiet," Ianto told him in a stern voice. Luckily, Jack's quarters were too dark for Jack to see his smirk. 

Ianto turned around to finish dressing himself.

"And you needed a new shirt," Jack was still trying. "How was I supposed to know you didn't have a spare? I didn't mean to come all over it." 

Ianto blushed furiously as he tucked the shirttails into his trousers.

"I think it looks nice," Jack offered.

"It's _pink_ ," Ianto grumbled to Jack over his shoulder.

"I bought it a while back. I was going to give it to you." Jack sounded almost contrite. Almost. "I placed it in the back of the closet, it's the only shirt in there in your size. Hey, I said you could wear one of mine."

"Oh, as if that isn't obvious," Ianto muttered as he knotted his tie in the dark.

"Uh, I think it's pretty clear by now about us." 

Ianto threw up his arms. "There. Done. I'm in a pink shirt. Happy?"

Jack sat back on the camp bed with a crooked smile.

"Your sincerity would be more convincing if you didn't look so smug," Ianto warned.

The smile flipped into a pout.

"Well, I still think it looks nice," Jack huffed under his breath.

And it surprisingly did, but Ianto refused to say it as he slipped on his jacket. He froze when he heard the alarms.

"The others," Jack said, suddenly tense.

"The others," Ianto agreed. He tweaked his tie. "Ready?"

"Not really." Nevertheless, Jack followed him up the ladder.

"…not picking that up!" Owen was announcing. "It wasn't like this when I left yesterday."

"Well it wasn't me," Gwen argued. "Look at this! God, I just sorted all this. Will someone come and please just take over?"

"That's it? I was hoping for a little power struggle, resolved by some naked wrestling," Jack spoke up as he stepped out of the office.

The collective reactions were comical. Ianto even forgave the coffee cup that dropped out of Owen's hand, halfway to his mouth.

"Jack?" Tosh breathed, her eyes huge.

Ianto could see Jack's shoulders stiffen as he lifted up a hand.

"Hello?" Jack said tentatively. He grunted and staggered back when both Gwen and Tosh tackled him. Ianto winced when the two began throwing far too many questions at Jack. Jack looked a little dazed at the excited, verbal rapid-fire interjections.

Ianto edged around to lean against the railing by the medical bay because he didn't think he could reach the couch.

The surprise on Jack's face hurt to see, almost as much as the minute flinches Jack tried to hide when a caress touched a memory he wouldn't share. But Jack was here. Ianto's mind still reeled.

"So," Owen drawled as he sidled up next to Ianto. "He came back."

Ianto glanced over at Owen. He shrugged and chuckled awkwardly. "Yes, I uh, I suppose he did."

Owen studied Ianto for a long moment.

"What?"

Owen smirked. "Nice shirt, mate."

Ianto bristled but before he could box Owen in the nose, Owen cleared his throat.

"Where's the Doctor?" Owen rubbed his hands together and grinned with full teeth. "Time for a medical exam."

Jack pulled back from the girls and glared at Owen. "He went to London. He dropped off Martha there this morning. He's probably avoiding a potential dissection, too."

"Damn it," Owen scowled. He narrowed his eyes at Jack. 

"They don't have food in that ruddy police box?" Owen said gruffly, "I think a medical exam is still in order."

Ianto turned back to Jack with renewed scrutiny. He silently agreed with Owen's assessment.

"Aw, Owen. You care. You really do." Jack approached Owen with wide-open arms. "Come here, you!" 

"Get away, Harkness!" Owen flapped his hands towards Jack like he was a fly. "I know I'm irresistible but learn to control yourself!"

"Jack." Gwen called. "Did he fix you? 

Ianto grimaced. Owen muttered under his breath. Tosh winced.

The smile was too slow to react to Gwen's question. "What's to fix? You don't mess with this level of perfection."

Gwen laughed awkwardly, suddenly looking like she wished she had never asked. 

"Martha's back then?" Tosh asked quickly.

Jack looked relieved at the question. "She's with her family. The Doctor went to say goodbye."

"Goodbye?" Ianto blurted out. 

Jack's smile dimmed. "He…The Doctor is pretty sure Martha would want to stay with her family. They've been through a lot."

"Are…" Ianto gulped. "Are you going back to him then?"

Jack turned to Ianto, his gaze intense. His mouth curved into a soft smile.

"I came back for you," Jack murmured as he walked up to Ianto.

Ianto blinked at Jack as hands came up to his face.

"Oh," Ianto stammered, "t-that's nice. I-I…"

Whatever he was going to say was swallowed by Jack's mouth sealed over his. His shoulders, which had tensed on contact, relaxed. Ianto settled his hands on Jack's hips and his tongue slipped in greedily to swipe the inside of Jack's mouth.

Ianto forgot they weren't alone until Owen cleared his throat again.

"Eh…you mean all of us, right, Captain?"

"Owen!" Gwen hissed.

"Oi, I just wanted some clarification!"

Ianto and Jack parted and Ianto fuzzily realized that Jack didn't step away as he answered Owen. The voices sailed over him, but all Ianto could think about was the feel of Jack sturdy and solid against him.

A high-pitched sound began to tear his attention away.

"I have a police report coming in!" Gwen was saying as her computer began to beep. "CRIMINT says a sports car was stolen by a…" She muttered under her breath and typed something to get CCTV up. "…This."

Owen and Tosh squinted. "Is…is that a _fish_?" Tosh exclaimed.

"Oh." Jack rolled his eyes. "That's a blowfish. They are so annoying. Nothing but booze and—What?"

Everyone stared at Jack.

"A blowfish?" Ianto managed.

"A blowfish…" Owen said slowly, "driving a sports car." A huge grin bloomed on his face.

"I'm driving!" Owen hollered and he bolted for the cog doors.

"What? No, Owen!" Gwen exasperated as she pivoted around to go after him. "Not after last time—Welcome back, Jack," Gwen added hastily before she took off. "Owen! Wait! Come back here!"

"Oh, here we go again," Tosh muttered. "Glad you're back, Jack. Now come on. Owen!"

Before Ianto could follow, Jack grabbed his wrist and pulled him back against him.

"I really did come back for you," Jack murmured as he brushed his lips across Ianto's brow. "I wanted the chance to be able to tell you that I…" Jack kissed him softly on the mouth.

"I can wait," Ianto told Jack. "For as long as it takes you, as long as you know how I feel, whether you ever say it or not."

"I will." Jack buried his face into Ianto's throat and breathed deep. "I…just…I need time. I…"

"Whatever you need, _cariad_ ," Ianto whispered into Jack's hair.

Jack chuckled thickly. "Did you just call me a perverted old man, again?"

"Yup."

Jack sniffed and he drew Ianto closer. "Why don't we let them chase the carjacking seafood by themselves?"

Oh, it was tempting. Ianto hummed as he felt Jack's mouth on his ear. Ianto mumbled as he carded his hand through Jack's hair. It was just a blowfish. Surely three people would be enough?

"Because," Ianto said breathlessly, "the last time Owen drove, he nearly hit some kids and his response was 'if kids are out at midnight, they've got it coming.'"

Jack stilled. "Owen said that?"

To Ianto's dismay, Jack pulled away. "Come on, let's take the invisible lift. We'll catch up with them there."

Ianto was about to protest when Jack took his right hand and clutched it tight. 

"Ready?" Jack said over his shoulder as he dragged Ianto towards the concrete slab.

Ianto stared at his back then at the hand curled firmly around his wrist. He followed, simply because it didn't make sense not to. This was his life now, ever since Jack walked out of the TARDIS long ago. And Jack came back to him and completed that life.

Ianto tightened his grip on Jack's hand. 

"I'm ready," Ianto answered as he quickened his step. Soon, his stride matched Jack's as they stepped onto the lift and rose to the surface to greet the new day together.

 

**The End (for now)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I want to take this opportunity to thank everyone on LJ for your steadfast support and comments throughout a story that got longer and longer and longer. I've learned so much about posting through LJ, about writing this, about the fandom and the generosity of fans. There was a lot of ups and downs with muses, flames, the occasional peanut butter covered cat, and mommy rantings. But you have all stuck by the story with patience and such goodwill that makes me humble._
> 
>  
> 
> _This universe isn't over yet. I hope to continue this different path throughout the next series. Please bear with me. It's a lot harder than I had originally thought!_
> 
>  
> 
> _Until then, always feel free to let me know what you think about TOS and see you all very, very soon._
> 
>  
> 
> _Smooches,_  
>  _d8rkmessngr_
> 
> _______________
> 
> **Additional Notes:** _Many thanks to snakeling & soullessminion for betaing this chapter. And trtmx for her magic trick that saved my sanity! LOL._

**Author's Note:**

>  **Author's Notes:** Please note this is an AU that will cross over DW to TW season one. I'm probably spoiling my own story, but it will eventually be Janto. There's a bit of a journey first. I hope you enjoy. I'm working on this and intend to post regularly every other day. And again, I always believe in happy endings. So without further ado…


End file.
